The Devil Wears Prada, which I’m enjoying. Anyone who’s had an asshole for a boss would probably enjoy it – and really, who hasn’t had an asshole for a boss at one time or another? The thing that I love most about the book, though, is that it’s about the assistant to the editor-in-chief of a beauty magazine – and the author, Lauren Weisberger, was for a time the assistant to Anna Wintour, editor-in-chief of Vogue.
Of COURSE Lauren Weisberger insists that the book is fiction, but I think we all know that that’s a load of crap. The best thing is that Anna Wintour – if she even gives a shit – can’t do anything about it. If she sues Lauren Weisberger, she’s as good as admitting that the boss from hell in the book is based on her.
I’ll admit that the fashion stuff in the book goes in one ear and out the other. The most expensive item I’m wearing at this very moment would be my $20 bra from Lane Bryant (although now that I think about it, my Dilbert t-shirt might have cost a bit more than that), and I have zip, zero, zilch interest in Prada or any of the other myriad designer names thrown around in the book.
Probably a good thing I don’t live in New York City, or work in the fashion industry then, I guess.
Pet store kitty pictures are up
here.
So, I was sitting in front of the computer yesterday afternoon – of course – while Fred was mowing the lawn. I glanced up and saw two birds, one of them definitely a robin. As I watched, one fed worms to the other one, and then flew off, probably in search of more food. The one who’d been fed just sat there, and I started to wonder whether it was a baby who’d fallen out of the nest. It wasn’t all that small, but it also didn’t look like a fully grown bird, either.
Naturally, I grabbed the camera and crawled to the window.
It stood in the grass for a few moments, and then hopped into the front flower bed.
At one point it looked directly at me, but didn’t seem concerned to see me there.
And then it settled down amongst the Petunias and glanced at me again.
I’d decided it was a baby and opened the door to see if I could get any better pictures, and it flew away. I guess that answers that!
At the pet store today, every cat I picked up and held licked the sweat off my face. I have no idea why I sweat so much while I’m there, but it absolutely runs down my face the entire time. Apparently scooping litter box, refilling water and food dishes, and cleaning out cages is more work than you’d think!
Anyway, none of the cats have ever shown any interest in the sweat running down my face before, but by the end of today’s stint I was afraid I wouldn’t have any skin left, they were licking so vigorously.
Probably the hormones. (Heh – Fred always says “You blame EVERYTHING on the fact that you’re about to have your period, having your period, or just HAD your period!” Well, duh.)
We watched
The Blue Collar Comedy Tour last night (other movies rented this week:
Die Another Day,
About Schmidt, and
Far From Heaven. I watched Die Another Day with Fred the other night, so he’d damn well better watch Far From Heaven with me! Bond movies bore me to death, and I’m not sure why.)
We’d only heard of two of the comedians on The Blue Collar Comedy Tour – Jeff Foxworthy and Bill Engvall – but the other two – Ron White and Larry the Cable Guy – were pretty funny too. We didn’t laugh hysterically the entire time, but there were several laugh-out-loud moments. The best part was at the end when all four of them were on the stage, and each of them took turns telling a story. The best by far was the story told by Ron White. I thought Fred was going to pass out, he was laughing so hard.
Highly recommended, if just for that.
Fred found the first Japanese beetle on one of the rose bushes yesterday. We’ve pretty much decided we’re going to yank the rose bushes up and put something else in their place. We like our roses, but it’s not worth having to spray poison on the bushes all the time. I fucking hate Japanese beetles, especially when they get CAUGHT IN MY HAIR.
My sister Debbie posted in my comments the other day to remind me that when I was little, I was TERRIFIED of bugs of any kind. And I didn’t call them bugs – I called them “beechies.” Don’t ask me, I have no idea on earth where that came from. My mother tells the story that when we lived in Indiana, I ran outside to play. As I ran onto the lawn, a swarm of locusts flew up into the air and I shrieked like I was on fire and ran back into the house screaming “Beechies! Beechies!”
So anyway, we’re probably going to have a landscaper come and suggest something pretty and easy to care for to put in the front flower beds. If y’all have any suggestions, feel free to post them in the comments, as long as the suggestion isn’t “Awww, Robyn, don’t rip out the pretty rose bushes!” 🙂
Speaking of flowers and the like, I planted yellowish Million Bells plants in pots on the front step. They’re looking good so far.
“::gasp!:: It is The Momma! And she sees that I am outside!”
“Quick! I must run for the door before she catches and beats me severely!”
(Honestly, I have no idea why he thinks he’s not supposed to be outside, but he always freaks and runs inside when he sees us)]]>