10/4/07

* * * When I read that the Supreme Court heard that they’re outlawing the sale of sex toys in Alabama, and they said “Um, yeah. Nah, we don’t think we’ll hear that case. In fact, we think it’s A-OK for the state to come right into the bedroom of any Alabaman and make sure that no sex is being performed in any position other than strict Missionary, and if no one feels any kind of pleasure while the sex is taking place, that’d be best, buh-bye.”, I was so very relieved. Because where I want my tax dollars to go is NOT to fight the horrifying meth problem eating alive the rural areas of this state, nor would I like to see some tax dollars maybe thrown toward, I don’t know, education. No, my number one concern is that a woman, somewhere in Alabama, might have purchased a device to ensure that she’s able to get off. A woman having an orgasm is an abomination in the eyes of The Lawd, you know. Well, The Lawd told me that he doesn’t actually give a shit what people do in the privacy of their own bedrooms – the exact quote would be “As long as it’s between two consenting adults of WHATEVER sex, I don’t give a shit what they do. Oral, anal, the braiding of each others’ pubic hair, go at it, just leave me the hell out of it, I’ve got better things to worry about. Floods, earthquakes, Phil Hellmuth acting like a big baby about the fact that he lost this hand. I have to go call Satan and make sure that Phil Hellmuth really isn’t his son, ’cause he certainly does a great big crybaby job of making me believe he IS, and I really kind of want to smite his ass.” – but some random men once wrote this book, claimed it was The Word straight from The Lawd*, and it says right there in Lemumblemumble verse sixty-six “Thou shalt not use any device to ensure the pleasure of any female in any sort of bedroom situation thou might encounter, especially if a male is not present, because the fact that a female could feel pleasure without a man’s direct involvement (and even WITH a man’s direct involvement, gigglegigglesnort) is an abomination in the eyes of The Lawd, go forth and buzz no more.” My issue with this law is this: Alabama’s anti-obscenity law, enacted in 1998, bans the distribution of “any device designed or marketed as useful primarily for the stimulation of human genital organs for anything of pecuniary value.” So, then, when they find out that women are, in droves, purchasing electric screwdrivers**, will they be adding to the law banning the sale of electric screwdrivers to women? And if they find, after that, that women have gone, shall we say, acoustic, will they then go around knocking on doors and amputating the fingers – nay, the entire hands – of all women, just in case? This is one of those times when I’m just so very pleased to be living in Alabama. *The Lawd said “Those guys? Please. I never could stand them, and now they’re all crowded around My house acting holier than ME, and I think I need to smite them, but I did too many shots the day they banded together and asked me to swear on the name of Me that I wouldn’t smite them, so I can’t because I’m not the King of Lies, that motherfucker Beelzebub is, and he can’t – WON’T – come up here and smite them for me, ’cause he’s a douchebag. Also, he plays a mean hand of poker, and that REALLY pisses Me off.” **As an extreme example, because ouch. I suspect that would hurt. Except for maybe one of the slow, cheap ones.

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I was on the phone with my mother yesterday when call waiting beeped. I looked to see who was calling, didn’t recognize the number, so continued talking to my mother. When we got off the phone twenty minutes later, I checked my voicemail to find that the volunteer who cleans at the pet store on Wednesday mornings wasn’t feeling well. Since I wasn’t doing anything that couldn’t wait, I happily took her place. Would you believe that none of my babies got adopted Tuesday night? DAMN IT. They all howled when they saw me, but they weren’t “Oh, woe is us! We have missed you horribly, please come give us love!” howls. No, they were “Let us out so we can go PLAY, lady we’ve never ever seen before!” howls. So I let them out to play, and I let another cage of kittens – three brown tabbies, one buff tabby; when I first saw them, I thought “Oh, they moved Susannah and the brown tabbies?”, until I saw that not a one of them has a full tail. A couple have short little stumps and a couple have longer stumps, but none of them are full-length tails – out to play, and it was like a circus in that cat room while I cleaned. Usually on Monday mornings when I go to clean, I feel rushed, because I have a thousand and ten errands to run and I want to get the cages cleaned before the pet store opens so people won’t walk by and stare at me, but yesterday I took my time, only got stared at once or twice, took plenty of time to love on the kitties, and left the store all relaxed, ran a few errands, and got home in time to watch some TV, clean the kitchen, and hang out with the new fosters before lunch time. I think I might start going in later on Mondays and just take all morning to get my cage-cleaning and errand-running done. I don’t know why I always feel so rushed on Mondays, but it’s ridiculous that I do, and it’s just a self-imposed rushed feeling. I could stay away from home for the entire day, it’s not like I need to be back by a particular time for anything!
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Mister “Douchebag” Boogers has ruined – RUINED, I say! – it for everyone. Yes, the batteries in the collar are working – that’s the first thing we checked – and although Fred ran the electric fence far enough inside the perimeter of the yard that the cats shouldn’t be able to get close enough to the fence to jump up onto it, Mister “Douchebag” Boogers is still managing to do it. He behaved himself all day yesterday, until early evening, and then he just HAD to be outside the fence, and I glanced up from my computer to see him land on top of the gate over by the garden, and I yelled to Fred, who went out and tracked him down (he gets over by the garden, then can’t seem to decide where to go) and brought his ass in, and now all the goddamn cats are going to be inside for the foreseeable future, all because of that DOUCHEBAG. Grrrr.
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I got a call from the shelter manager Tuesday morning asking if I could take some fosters, and of COURSE I was willing, since the Ka-Tet was going to Petsmart. I dropped them off, came home, cleaned the kitten room and got it ready for the new fosters, then after dinner I went back to Petsmart and got them. Their story is that they’re 5 sisters, about five months old, and they were, I believe, the kittens of a feral cat. They’re only staying with us for a little while, until there’s room at Petsmart. They’re a little timid, but they’re very, very sweet. They have short, silky fur, and they’re beautiful in an exotic way. I almost think they have a bit of some exotic breed – perhaps Abyssinian – in them. So, meet the five sisters: Felicia. I think she looks kind of like Felix the Cat, but obviously you can’t name a girl cat Felix (also, Felix had already been used), so I feminized it. Skittles. So named because she’s the scaredy-cat of the bunch, and ages ago when I was trying to come up with cat names for the fosters who ended up being Gilligan, Spanky, Maryann and Tina Louise, Kath suggested Skittles, and I think it’s a cute name, so Skittles it is! Punki. My sister has a dilute calico named Punki, and this one is dilute (but a torti rather than a calico), so I stole the name. Punki’s the most playful of the bunch – all you have to do is wave the feather-on-a-stick toy, and she’s across the room in a flash to smack at it. I was going to name her Reese, as in Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup (to follow the Skittles/ candy theme), but Reese made me think of Reese Witherspoon, which made me think of Elle, and I liked Elle better. So Elle she is. Dulcinea. My brother has a cat named Dulcinea, I like the name, so I stole it! Elle gives off the ‘tude. Dulcinea (left) and Skittles, hiding under the dresser. Punki keeps an eye on her sisters. Dulcinea shows off her coat. ******************************************** “Wh-what do you mean, we can’t go outside because Mister Boogers is a jerk who keeps outsmarting the electric fence around the back yard?!”
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Previously 2006: The stinkin’ kitten is not so cute! 2005: Annnnnnnnd that’s just a little glimpse into the dorkiness that is my life. 2004: ARRRGH. 2003: No entry. 2002: Wow. Apparently I’ve been doing the pet store thing for three years now. 2001: Day Zero. 2000: I’m back!]]>