reading: Magical Thinking, by Augusten Burroughs. I’m actually enjoying it a little more than Running With Scissors.
Finished last night: Between Sisters. Whoo, didn’t I cry like a great big baby toward the end. Good book; I’d definitely call it chick lit, though (I’m adding that just so those of you who don’t like chick lit don’t go out and buy it).
* * *
So, that Michael Jackson thing; what a production, eh? I had no idea the jury had come back with a verdict until Liz called and told me – in the course of telling me other things – that they were going to read the verdict at 4:30 eastern time. I turned it over to CNN while we were talking and watched the motorcade, then Fred got home and I paused the TV and we went upstairs to talk. Then he went off on his hike, and I went in and played with the kittens, and I got back downstairs around 4:15ish, and they still hadn’t read the verdict. They did so while I was making dinner, and I was both very surprised and not surprised at all.
Because, to be honest, I didn’t pay any attention to the trial while it was going on, so I have no idea what evidence they had or how it was presented, or anything.
I called Fred to tell him what the verdict was, and he paused and then said “Well, except for Martha Stewart, rich white women never go to jail!”
It took me a minute to get it. Duh.
So I called Liz back and we talked for a few more minutes, and I reminded her that back in the day when the verdict came back on the not-guilty OJ Simpson, I’d been watching the news coverage, and as soon as the verdict was announced, my phone rang and it was Liz on the other end, saying “Can you believe this?”, and half a second later my call waiting beeped, and it was Debbie, and she said “Can you believe this?” Which was a big thing, actually, because for the longest time Debbie didn’t think OJ had done it and we’d made fun of her in a big way for that, but toward the end of the trial she came to believe that he
had done it.
Yeah, I think OJ did it. Do I think Michael Jackson molested that boy? I don’t know. I think he probably did. I also think that the result of this trial is only going to encourage him to have young boys sleep in his house and bed, and no one’s going to be able to convince him that it’s a bad idea.
And in the future, should any young boys claim that Michael Jackson molested them, I think that their parents should be tossed in jail without a second thought. I mean, how fucking stupid would you have to be to let your child anywhere near that man?
They will, though. Because people are fucking idiots.
* * *
When I got the
Dyson for my birthday two years ago, I also got a large packet of this stuff called
Zorb carpet maintenance powder. I put it in the closet and left it there until yesterday, when I was looking for something – or actually, I think I was putting away the spray bottle of The Works I bought at Wal-Mart two weeks ago – and I saw it. I took it down and looked at it, and thought about it, and then decided I’d give it a try on the carpet in the living room.
The carpet in the living room, I should tell you, is Berber carpet, and I loathe it with every fiber of my being. There’s a spot near the couch and loveseat where Fred knocked over a huge cup of iced tea a while back, and I’ve gone over it and over it and OVER IT with the steam cleaner, and cannot get the stain to come up. At first it looks like the stain is gone, but then the carpet dries and the stain is very clearly still there.
Also, the carpet in front of the loveseat and couch, where we sit every night, is matted and dirty from our dirty, dirty feet, and no amount of steam cleaning will get that up, either.
We were SUPPOSED TO get new carpet for the living room back when we got our tax refund, but we spent it all on the
TV WE DID NOT NEED, and somehow when it comes to buying something so that the house will look like less of a shithole, well, that seems to somehow mysteriously not happen.
It’s a good thing for him he’s so damn cute, that’s all I’ll say.
So anyway, I brought the packet of Zorb downstairs, and I opened it, and sprinkled it all over the living room carpet, then groomed it into the carpet (as far as I could tell from the instructions on the back, you “groom” the Zorb powder – which is damp, by the way – into the carpet by running your vacuum cleaner (turned off) over it, which spreads it out and kind of pushes it into the carpet). I set the timer for 45 minutes, and when it went off I vacuumed the powder back up.
Honestly, I couldn’t really tell if the Zorb had made any difference in the cleanliness of the carpet. I thought for a while that it did, but then we were sitting and eating our evening snacks in front of the TV, and Fred dropped 63 pieces of popcorn on the carpet, and I had to kill him, and now there’s a great big blood stain where the dirt was.
(No, not really)
I think I’d like to give the Zorb a try on regular carpet and see if I can tell any difference.
* * *
The section about the foster cats.
I was going to tell y’all something about the kittens, but for the life of me I can’t remember what it was. Hmm.
I went into the cat room after I worked out this morning, and let me tell you – apparently kittens REALLY like the smell (and taste) of sweat. They practically knocked me down so they could sniff me all over, and Snoopy climbed up onto my shoulder and buried his face in my sweaty hair and purred like mad. Flossie and Snoopy licked behind my knees, and Edgar sniffed my feet until his mouth hung open.
Hey, at least it was fresh sweat, and not stinky old sweat!
Grumpy Edgar.
Snoopy grooms himself in the condo, while Oy and Edgar snooze on top.
Flossie just loves to snuggle up with my feet, sit next to my feet, sit on my feet, and sit next to my feet with her paws on them. I think she has a foot fetish.
Sleeping Peanut.
They caught a mouse!
Every time I would grab the mouse to use it, Flossie would come running to steal it away from me.
Oh, I remember what I was going to say about the kittens.
Jane, who is a know-it-all, said back when we first got the kittens, (something like) “Why bother to give them names? You’ll just immediately give them names like Mister Boogers.”
Well, she’s right. I’m starting to give the kittens nicknames. I can’t help it! Oy is becoming “Little Man”, Snoopy is becoming “Piggy” (I swear to god, that cat would eat lint if you put a bowl of it in front of him), Flossie is becoming “Miss Prissy” and Edgar is becoming “Eggs” or “Eggie”, and Peanut is becoming “Pinochle.”
(Shaddup)
Today’s cat movie is
here. I call it “Fight Club”, because all those little kittens do is fight, fight, fight.
New movie tomorrow, then I’m all out of kitten movies. Guess I’ll need to take the camera back upstairs, eh?
* * *
Spanky in mid-lick.
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