Gotta vacuum the house.
Gotta clean the bathroom.
Gotta watch some of the shows on the DVR.
Gotta scrub out the litter box.
Gotta clean the kitchen.
Gotta finish my book.
Gotta make a dent in the pile of magazines I read every month.
And the list is endless.
But I sit in front of the computer, and I keep on clicking, and I don’t know why. I really don’t think it’s a procrastination thing, because I do it whether there’s housework to be done or shows to be watched.
At some point I’ll stop and I’ll say to myself “What is it? What are you looking for? WHAT?”
And I never know.
Sometimes I think I’m looking for a connection, and I think about turning on MSN Messenger, or finding a chat room to lurk in, but that’s not it.
But I don’t know what I am looking for.
It’s a fucking mystery.
* * *
I read somewhere that Nicole Richie may be joining the cast of The O.C. Please, god, let it NOT be true. That girl annoys the holy fuck out of me. And she’s not even cute! She’s like an animated cadaver. I mean, I don’t care if she wants to be skin and bones, but it pains me to look at her. She was slightly cute during the first season of The Simple Life (not that I watched past the first episode of that show), but anyone’s going to look cute next to Paris Hilton, really.
Speaking of Richies, I turned the TV on the other morning when I rolled out of bed – I like to listen to CMT when I’m putting in my contacts and getting dressed and all that – and imagine my surprise when I saw Kenny Rogers and Lionel Richie on the Grand Ole Opry stage together, singing Ruby. Well, Kenny Rogers was singing the bulk of the song, and Lionel Richie would do the “Don’t take your love to town/ I still need some company/ Don’t take your love to town/ God sakes turn around” lines. It was funny as hell (maybe you have to be a Kenny Rogers fan, I don’t know.
I thought it was funny as hell.) because Lionel Richie was totally mocking the deep, overdramatic tone Kenny Rogers used in those lines. Kenny Rogers looked pretty amused, too.
I’d offer up a link of the video, but a cursory Google search gives me nothin’.
I love Kenny Rogers. I just went and looked at
his website, and was reminded anew of just how many songs he has that I love. I may end up spending the afternoon downloading some of them.
(Side note: I was a kid when Lucille came out, and there’s a line in the song that goes “You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille/ Four hungry children and a crop in the field”, and for the longest time I thought it was “Four hungry children and they crap in the field.” and I could never figure out why the adults in the room thought that Kenny Rogers singing about children crapping in a field was okay.)
* * *
Currently
reading:
Chore Whore, by Heather H. Howard.
Recently finished:
Velocity, by Dean Koontz, and
Gone, by Lisa Gardner. Both very good books that kept me up well past midnight because I could NOT put them down.
* * *
Ever since I went and got Sugarbutt and brought him home from the vet’s, Fred has made it clear to me that we were NOT adopting him. I’d say something about how cute Sugarbutt was, playing with Tom Cullen, and Fred would say “Yeah, Tom Cullen sure is going to miss Sugarbutt when he goes to be adopted!”
Over the last week, I’ve stopped saying anything about the possibility of Sugarbutt (I was really dropping very broad, very strong hints about it), in hopes that without any pressure from me or anyone else, Fred would come to the conclusion that we should adopt Sugarbutt all on his own.
Every day I dreaded opening my email, afraid that there’d be one from the shelter manager telling me that it was time to take Sugarbutt to the pet store. And every time y’all left a “PLEASE adopt Sugarbutt!” comment, I cringed. Because Fred? Doesn’t like the peer pressure. AT ALL. And I was afraid he’d be all “You can’t tell me what to do! Sugarbutt GOES!” Which is why, you might or might not have noticed, I didn’t respond to those comments, in hopes that if I didn’t bring any more attention to them, Fred might not really notice them.
Anyway, last night we were laying down after dinner, chatting about this and that, and I just got the feeling that it was time for a serious discussion.
“Can we have a serious discussion about something?” I said.
“If we must,” he said.
“What can I do to convince you to adopt Sugarbutt?” I was willing, y’all, to do ANYTHING. I was willing to get a job, to swear to stop buying books forever, write the novel he’s always pushing me to write. ANYTHING.
He sighed. I steeled myself to hear him remind me that I’d sworn, back when we started fostering kittens, that I wouldn’t beg to keep any of the kittens we fostered. I thought maybe he’d say “Have Miz Poo put to sleep, and you can keep Sugarbutt” (not that he really wants Miz Poo put to sleep; he just knows there’s no way on god’s green earth I’d agree to that. She’s my BAYBEE!). I didn’t know what he’d say, but from the sound of that sigh, it didn’t look good.
“Please. I decided a week ago we were going to adopt him, I’ve just been torturing you.”
WHEW!
Then he went on to say “But no more foster kittens again, ever.” and when I pushed him he said it was because he was afraid we’d end up with 20 cats, and I swore that if I ever seriously tried to get him to let me adopt another foster kitten, he could pack up Miz Poo, drive me to the vet, and I’d take her in and have her put to sleep myself. He relented, but I have to put the promise in writing and sign it.
So Sugarbutt is joining the family! And I still get to foster kittens, though not ’til sometime next Spring! Woohoo!
“SUCKERS!!!!!!”
All of today’s uploaded pictures are
here.
* * *
Previously
2004: I seem to be a tad less fluttery today.
2003: No entry.
2002: Pictures.
2001: Fred in the dog house. Literally.
2000: I said “It’s a good thing you put your first AND last name, PLUS ‘your daughter’, otherwise I’d never have known!”
1999: Oddly, even though he’s had two doses of the antibiotic, he’s feeling worse instead of better. ]]>