Yesterday morning I realized at some point that I had no internet. Since our internet provider is also the provider of our home phone service, I picked up the phone. No signal. I picked up my cell phone to call Fred, which is when I found that I’d received a text message the night before from a local number I didn’t recognize.
The message: I love u dearly.
Immediately I decided that it had come from an older gentleman – mid-50s at least, I named him Jasper in my mind – because kids these days don’t use the word “dearly.” They don’t love dearly. They love WTF-ly, OMG-ly, and ROFL-ly, but dearly? No. I imagined a white-haired old man painstakingly picking out the letters, taking 15 minutes to type out his message, sending it and then… nothing. No reply from his dear love. Was he texting his wife, his daughter, a new love?
I immediately typed out That’s very sweet, but you have the wrong number.
No reply. And then, half an hour later, another text from Jasper, asking only Who is this?
I didn’t answer – I was busy with something – and when I hadn’t answered after ten minutes, I got another identical text.
Robyn And3rson, I texted. And decided that, in a novel, this would be the excellent beginning to either a romance or a murder mystery. I hoped Jasper wasn’t too terribly embarrassed that he’d professed his dear love to complete stranger. Maybe he was worried that he’d texted his doctor’s office or an acquaintance. Maybe a poker buddy – MAN they’d be mocking him at the next game, those bastards.
Five minutes later, another text: i guess i do have da wrong nunber. im shawn.
There went my sweet older man theory. Sweet older men do NOT do “da” instead of “the”. At least Jasper doesn’t.
I was taking pictures of the kittens yesterday when I realized I could see myself in the mirror on the closet door. So I snapped a picture to see how my hair REALLY looks. I mean, I can see it in the mirror, but many times I’ve thought I looked okay in the mirror and found out later via picture that I was incorrect.
Eh. Looks okay, I suppose.
I was actually scheduled for a cut and color on the day I ended up having surgery, so I had to cancel the appointment. Which means I’m almost 4 weeks overdue for a cut and color. I bought a couple of boxes of semi-permanent hair color with the idea of using it a few times, letting my hair grow out a little, and then deciding what I wanted to do. Maybe waiting ’til the Fall to go back for a cut and color, you know?
Eh. Looks okay from this angle, I guess. This picture, by the way, looks the most like me to me than almost any picture I’ve ever taken.
And then of course, I had to take a picture with Zoe, who I always call “My Peanut” because she’s so tiny. And from this angle… the hair is messy, but DAMN. What’s up with the lines on that forehead? Did I say I was anti-Botox? Because I’m thinking I might need me some. Also, I am very shiny. Oh well – my Peanut doesn’t care. She just wants me to get that damn camera the hell away from her.
My viewing of the Sex and the City movie makes me ask this: Who the hell uses white bed sheets, and why the hell would you use white sheets instead of colored or patterned? White sheets seem like a pain in the ass (especially considering my cats and their grimy little feet) to wash, they seem like they’d get kind of dingy pretty quickly, and like they’d require a lot of bleach.
Do you use white sheets? And why, for the love of god, when colored sheets will hide stains and grimy cat footprints?
Also regarding Sex and the City, I SO don’t need one of those house-shaped key covers I mentioned in yesterday’s entry – I have a car key, a house key, and a post office box key. They’re all easily distinguishable from each other, so it’s a good thing I wasn’t able to find the key cover when I was looking, because I don’t NEED it. Damn me and my impulse shopping tendencies.
Kitten movie! This one is just of them hanging out. At the end, Zoe sniffs the plate of food Kara is eating, then scratches at the floor to cover it. CUTE. You get to hear someone covering and covering and covering something in the litter box. And the reason I say “Did you come over here to wipe your butt on me?” is because earlier in the day, Kaylee had used the litter box then run over to climb on my leg, thereby wiping her butt on my leg in the process and leaving a streak behind. GROSS.
See it here in MPG format.
I left Kara and the babies out of the foster kitten room all day yesterday – even left for half an hour to take a trip to the recycling center – and no one died. I do need to get another baby gate to make sure the entire doorway at the bottom of the stairs is covered and no one can climb over. I wouldn’t want to see THAT carnage.
Their favorite place to hang out seems to be in my bedroom, whether playing under the bed, chasing each other up the back of the recliner, or napping on my bed. They seem a little more willing to be cuddled these days, as long as I don’t try to do it for too long. They kill me with the cute, these kittens.
Inara and the camera lens cover.
Sleeping Kara.
“Okay, seriously? They’re almost nine weeks old! When does my body become MINE again?!”
Actually, I think Zoe’s 9/10s of the way to being weaned. She didn’t get much nursing in before Kara stood up and went along her way. Also, after eating baby food for the last several days, Zoe has now moved on to eating a mix of baby food and canned food. I think she also may have eaten a few pieces of hard cat food. She’s definitely hungry in the morning and at night when I give them their canned food/ baby food combo, so hopefully she’s ready to get moving on to the crunchy stuff.
More kitten pics over at Flickr.
“Did someone say… KITTENS?”
Hey, look – it’s her majesty a year ago:
I can say that a year after we got her and I believed she was completely feral, I still wouldn’t dare to try to pick her up, but every morning when I go around the house and open the blinds, she’s either sitting on the top of the cat tree in the front room, or on the guest bedroom bed, and she lets me pet her, writhes around and purrs, and grabs my hand when I pull it away. It took us a year to get to this point. Maybe in another year I’ll try picking her up and see how that goes. Then again, maybe I’ll wait more like five years before I try that particular maneuver.
Previously
2007: What can I say, they’re cats. This sort of thing doesn’t occur to them.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: All I heard on the other end was laughter.
2003: “Motherfucker. He never told People how he was soooooo in love with me when WE were together!”
2002: A world where smiley faces and “fuckity fuck-fuck-fuck!”s will abound. I can hardly wait!
2001: Why, just this morning I was thinking to myself Why is Ben Affleck stalking and following me dressed like a Frenchman?
2000: No entry.