letter in support of Martha Stewart. (Link found over at Aimee‘s) I’m neither a fan or a critic of Martha Stewart – I’m pretty neutral on her – but I think it’s ridiculous that she’s looking at so much jail time.
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If you…
1. …owned a restaurant, what kind of food would you serve? As long as I don’t have to do any of the cooking (because that’s a restaurant that would go out of business mighty damn quickly), I’d love to have a restaurant that offered healthy, yet tasty foods. In normal sized servings, everything using natural ingredients, and nutritional information on the menu. When I used to work at Fred’s company, I always thought it would be a cool idea to have a delivery-only restaurant that delivered salads, soups, and sandwiches. Yet I have no desire to ever work in a restaurant again, thanks. Oh, wait! Or I’d have a seafood restaurant. Seafood every day. Yum!
2. …owned a small store, what kind of merchandise would you sell? It’d be a book store/ cafe. And you bet your ass I’d have one or two store cats.
3. …wrote a book, what genre would it be? Chick lit, with an edge. Also, lots of swearing. Heh.
4. …ran a school, what would you teach? I couldn’t possibly teach, I’d have to run the office.
5. …recorded an album, what kind of music would be on it? Country, and I would entitle it “Robyn Sings Country (for the Tone-Deaf).”
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Confidential to Joanna – Miz Poo says that anyone who owns cats and would go out and buy leather furniture is asking for it, because leather furniture feels so very good on kitty toes that kitties have to thank the leather furniture by sharpening their claws. Also, nothing makes claws sharper than leather. Miz Poo offers that you can buy kits to patch up leather furniture, and according to the infomercials that she watches late at night while we’re asleep, you can’t even tell where the leather has been patched. Good investment, thinks Miz Poo, two paws up!
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After getting up to 84 this past weekend (whoo!), I woke up and came downstairs this morning to find that it was 33� out, and isn’t supposed to get any warmer than 50 today. Brrr!
I know that your hearts are breaking for me, especially those of you who had snow recently.
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The spud has this week off from spring break and she’s already started the “Are you going anywhere tomorrow? How about the next day? The day after?” dance. Tomorrow I’m taking her to take the test for her learner’s permit, god save us. She came downstairs while I was sitting on the couch reading yesterday and said “Sean (her friend from school) said that he passed the test for the learner’s permit and didn’t study at all.” She said this in a tone that conveyed the message “He didn’t study, so you shouldn’t keep telling ME to study, either.”
I put down my book and turned to her.
“But you didn’t pass the test the first time you took it,” I said slowly. “So clearly YOU do need to study.”
She stood and let it sink in, then turned and flounced off.
What the fuck?
At dinner, we were talking about how Fred is going to be in charge of teaching the spud to drive (when I told my father that back in December, he scoffed and said “But I thought women were supposed to have more patience!” Patience? What the hell does that have to do with it? I just don’t want to die!), and the spud said “Auntie Debbie showed me how to drive in the parking lot thingy.”
PARKING LOT THINGY. AGH! I snapped “‘Parking lot’ would have sufficed!”, and she stared at me blankly.
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It amazes me that when left to my own devices, I’ll sleep for 9 hours. But when I have a hard time to getting to sleep at night and then have to get up early the next morning, thus netting me only about 5 hours of sleep, I don’t have a problem waking up, and once I’m up I don’t really feel tired during the day. Odd, no?
I had a hell of a time getting to sleep last night, first because I started reading
Passing for Thin and didn’t want to put it down, and then Fred came into the room around 11:00 and told me he couldn’t get to sleep and was going to go work out. When I looked at the clock and realized it was almost midnight and he hadn’t come upstairs yet, I went downstairs to make sure he hadn’t been crushed under a falling weight (he hadn’t; he was just sitting in front of the computer ’til he cooled down). Miz Poo, who was snoozing on the pillow on my desk woke up and realized it was bedtime, and followed me back upstairs. I turned off the light and rolled over, and thus began the three-act play “How Loud Can I Lick My Ass?”, with Miz Pooty J. And3rson in the starring role.
Act 1: LicklicklickSLURP, lick. Bed shakes. Momma lifts her head and glares. “Miz Poo, do you fucking MIND?” LicklicklickSLURPSLURP bed shakes and shakes. Momma grabs Miz Poo and pushes her off the bed.
(2 minute intermission)
Act 2: Miz Poo jumps up on the bed and springboards across Momma. Momma, who was close to drifting off yells “argh!” Miz Poo settles on her usual pillow. Is quiet for a few minutes to lull Momma into a false sense of security. When Momma is relaxed and thinks she might actually be able to go to sleep, Miz hoists the leg over her head and begins. LicklicklickSLURP. SLURP! SLURP! SLURP! Momma touches Miz Poo gently on the back. “Don’t make me hurt you, goddamnit,” she says gently, but Miz Poo will not be deterred from her ass. SLURP! SLURP! SLURP!, and Momma has decided This Is Enough, grabs Miz Poo, and pushes her over the side of the bed.
(8 minute intermission)
Act 3: Momma has actually begun drifting off to sleep when the Poo jumps up and shakes the bed. She springboards across Momma, digging her back claws in while jumping, and Momma suspects this is on purpose. “Ow, DAMNIT!” Momma yells, but Miz Poo cares not. She settles on the pillow next to Momma, curls up, and sighs contentedly. Momma shifts around, trying to sleep. Momma is actually asleep when the licking and slurping and shaking begins. “Oh please YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” Momma yells, but Miz Poo ignores licking the fur on her side. Lick, lick. Shake, shake. Lick, lick, lick. The bed shakes, the Momma cries, the Spanky sleeps in his pillow without moving. Momma grabs Miz Poo and deposits her none-too-gently on the floor. When Miz Poo makes as if to jump back up on the bed, Momma makes a loud, scary hissing noise that scares Miz Poo, who runs under the bed. Miz Poo does not jump up onto the bed for hours and hours, until Momma is sound asleep and cannot feel the bed shaking, or hear the licking and slurping. All are happy.
Curtains. Applause.
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He must’ve just smelled something really good, ’cause his mouth’s hanging open. Goofy cat.
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