new logo! This one was created by the lovely and talented Chrystal, ain’t it great? Thanks, Chrystal! Those of you who have sent me logos, don’t worry – I still love ’em, and they’re still in the queue; they’ll show up sooner or later!

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Today’s earworm: Let herself go on a singles cruise, To Vegas once, then to Honolulu. Let herself go to New York City: A week at the Spa; came back knocked-out pretty. When he said he didn’t love her no more, She let herself go. (She Let Herself Go, by George Strait.)
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I discovered yesterday that there’s a Super Suppers in Huntsville, and I spent a good ten minutes looking over the site and drooling. And then when I was cooking dinner (how awesome am I, cooking dinner I can’t eat? Luckily it’s something I’m not all that crazy about.) Fred came downstairs to put green beans and almonds in the microwave, and I said “Do you know what Super Suppers is?” “No,” he said. “It’s this place where you go, and they have all the fixins ready to make dinner, and you make it and bring it home and freeze it and eat it when you want.” Silence. Silence. Silence. “And this makes you a sucker?” he suggested. “No,” I said, laughing. “Super SUPPERS.” “Oh! I thought you said Super Suckers.” I totally need to get a job, so I can afford to (1) Hire cleaners, because GOD IN HEAVEN do I hate cleaning house and I don’t do it nearly often enough and (2) Visit Super Suppers once a month or so because GOD IN HEAVEN do I hate cooking, and I’ve had most of the last month off from cooking for Fred and the spud, but still? Hate it. HATE. I might have had the weight loss surgery, but it doesn’t deter me from going for the world title in laziness. I might have been beaten out by a tenth of a point last year (STUPID judges, “leech” does not equal “lazy”, there’s no WAY Kevin Federline deserved that title!), but this year I WILL PREVAIL. Anyway. It’s funny that I talk of how much I hate cleaning, because yesterday I spent about two hours cleaning, between scrubbing down the bathroom (which I JUST cleaned last Sunday! Did you feel the earth stop turning on its axis?) (PS: Those Mr. Clean Eraser sponges ROCK; I don’t know the last time the shower was that clean.), vacuuming the entire house, and doing laundry. The bad part about the cleaning was that I got a little too close to the cleaner fumes when I was in the shower, and I coughed so hard I shot a lung across the bathroom, where Sugarbutt grabbed it up and took off with it. I don’t know where it is now; either he ate it, or it’s sitting under a bed, covered with cat hair and dust. Good thing I have two of ’em! Still so much cleaning left to do, though. I haven’t mopped my downstairs floors since the day before I had surgery, and they’re in desperate need of cleaning. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow after I have my hairs did. Speaking of Fred misunderstanding me, I called him on Friday after I started reading The Working Poor, specifically the chapter on how people get screwed over by H & R Bl0ck. “Did you talk to the accountant about the fact that we shut down Thr3e T0es Pub1ishing, Inc?” I asked him. “I sent her an email. Why?” “Because I’m reading this book and the chapter’s about how people get screwed over by H & R Bl0ck, and it reminded me of taxes.” “Is it a good book?” he asked. “So far it is,” I said. “But it makes me feel like a bloated rich person.” (Not working makes me feel guilty when I read about how hard some people struggle just to make ends meet. But then, if I got a job I’d be taking it away from someone who needs it, right? Um… right? And it’s not like I’m wasting my ivy league education or anything. These are the justifications I give to convince myself I shouldn’t feel guilty. Doesn’t work, though.) Fred started laughing. “Did you – what did you say? Because what I heard sounded awfully funny!” “That I feel like a bloated rich person*?” “Oh,” he said, still laughing. “I thought you said ‘bloated French person’.” Either he needs a hearing aid or I need to be more careful about enunciating what I’m saying. *We are not rich people. We are not poor people. We are middle class-ish. If we were rich people, I’d HAVE cleaning people and a cook and would be driving a yellow mustang. (Not that I don’t love my E’gar. He’s a good little car!)
I have no cat pictures for you today, so I thought I’d post some pictures of Sugarbutt and Tommy so we can marvel that they were ever that tiny.
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Previously 2005: Tony: Yeah, sure. Jack: Okay, fine. 2004: This is my new boyfriend. I call him Jimmy. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: “If you get a package that’s too big for your box,” he said carefully, “we. will. put. a. yellow. slip. in. your. box. You. should. bring. it. up. to. the. counter. and. we. will. get. the. package. for. you.” 2000: No entry.]]>