Like lemon in your water or tea when you go out to eat? You might want to rethink that. GROSS.
(Thanks to reader Debbie for the forward!)
Monday evening, we were watching Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles and Fred suddenly realized that when he’d stopped at his mother’s house on the way home from work to help them with their new computer, they’d given him a bag of sausage and he’d left the bag in the car.
(They like to repay him for computer help with food. This is how we end up with venison sitting in the freezer for months and months every year.)
He went off to find it and put it in the freezer, and then I couldn’t tell what the hell he was doing, but I suspected he’d walked by his computer and felt the sudden, urgent need to check the forum he hangs out on.
“COME ON!” I bellowed. “I WANT TO WATCH THE SHOW!” I’m usually okay with him wandering off for five or ten minutes when we’re watching a show, because I usually have a magazine to read while I’m waiting, but due to my recent cancellation of People and US, I had nothing to read.
There was silence from the other end of the house.
“HEY!” I yelled at the top of my lungs with the sharp tone that he can hear from as far away as the very back of the back forty.
“What?”
“I WANT TO WATCH THE SHOW, COME ON!” (I like to yell “Come on!” because it reminds me simultaneously of GOB, Brother Love, and the Dancing Machine guy)
He walked into the living room looking down at something he held in his hand. “I’m trying to figure out what this is,” he said. “It was laying on the kitchen floor.”
“What does it look like?” I asked.
“I think it’s a dead maggot,” he said, and held it out to me. “It has these weird little nubbins on it, like the beginning of legs or something. Where do you think it came from?”
“Maybe there’s a portal to Hell in the kitchen and it opened long enough to drop a dead maggot onto the kitchen floor,” I offered, then looked at what was in his hand.
“This concerns me,” he said, looking concerned. “I don’t want maggots to start showing up in our kitchen, that’s just gross.”
“Indeed,” I said. “We wouldn’t want to detract from the beauty of the muddy cat footprints on the counters. But you don’t need to worry. That’s not a maggot.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s an eye from a potato. It fell off this afternoon when I was peeling potatoes and fell onto the floor. Skittles started playing with it, and I forgot to pick it up when she was done.”
“Oh.”
I really like Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, not least because any show where the women kick that much ass (and teeny little Summer Glau gets to toss around grown men twice her size) on a regular basis is aces with me.
When Brian Austin Green showed up last night, I was halfway through a hypothesis where he was the man who fathered John Connor when I realized that since John Connor was 16, that wasn’t a very feasible hypothesis. Duh.
Is it just me, or does Sonya Walger show up in every show ever made? I thought she was gorgeous the first time I saw her in The Mind of the Married Man, but now I find her kind of funny looking.
And while I’m talking about TV (since there is NOTHING ELSE going on in my life at the moment), I like Breaking Bad. It’s such a weird, dark show, and I cannot for the life of me figure out how they’re going to keep it going past one season, given that the main character has incurable lung cancer, but it’s interesting enough to keep me watching.
Joe Bob is a Very Bad Bastard who escaped the yard twice yesterday, and after the second time (when I stomped out to see if he was maybe hanging out in the old chicken coop, and turned around to see him staring at me all casual-like from the top of the well house outside the fence like “Hey lady, what up?”), I made him come inside and left the door shut all afternoon until Tommy politely pointed out that HE was not a bad boy, and HE always stayed in the yard when he was supposed to (well, mostly), so why couldn’t HE go out into the back yard, so I flung the back door open and figured if Joe Bob ran away THERE ARE ALWAYS OTHER CATS. And then Joe Bob wasn’t even interested in going outside.
Bastard.
Bad Boy.
One very, very Good Boy, flanked by two very, very Bad Boys.
Previously
2007: I need a nap.
2006: Mystery solved. Just call me Nancy Drew.
2005: No entry.
2004: Molasses runs in her veins, I swear to god.
2003: No entry.
2002: My life? Complete again.
2001: Do I want to go sit through an eternal PTA meeting, listen to endless amounts of people babble endlessly? Um, no.
2000: No entry.