Little Bits and Pieces

$1600 to fix the car, remember?
It has started stalling again.
This does not make me happy.

OTOH…I am really enjoying the Boy and his Significantly Better Half being here. I really missed him (don’t tell him I said that, though) and she is a total sweetheart. They’re cute together, though if you say that to the Boy he gets all flustered. Heh.

Today we got home from a movie (LOTR: Return of the King) and dinner (All You Can Stuff Into Your Face Buffet) and there was some surprise mail waiting for me: a book I’ve been wanting to read for a very long time, from a really sweet and thoughtful monkey. It totally made my day. I mean, it had been a good day already, and that was like the special dessert after an already awesome meal.

I woke up at around 6am spooning the cat again. I was on my side, and he was lounged on the body pillow I use for support, using my cheek as his pillow. I imagine it would have made a really cute picture; I didn’t move until he did, lest I upset the image of furry sweetness :)

No, I don’t spoil him.


And We Had Fun, Fun, Fun…

Ok, so I had fun. I can’t really speak for everyone else, but I had a terrific Christmas. We started the day with checking out our stocking stuffers and then had hot cinnamon rolls before opening our gifts to each other. The Spouse Thingy played Santa and handed them out—we tend to do the one-present-gets-opened-at-a-time thing, to kind of stretch it out (that’s easy with just 4 people; more difficult with 14, especially if there are little kids involved…)

PsychoKitty might have had more fun that the rest of us combined. I’m pretty sure he thought we were doing everything for his amusement. We decided to ball up the torn wrapping paper and just toss it between and behind the love seat and chair—the poor cat went nuts for a while trying to catch all that flying paper. And then there were the boxes…I kept trying to tell Max that he wouldn’t quite fit into the shirt-sized boxes, but he was determined.

That wound him up a little, and he was just cranked up a few notches as he started to smell the turkey cooking. I have to give the little Psycho credit—he was very good, even when the table was set and we were waving food in front of him. He stood on his perch and watched, and only jumped down to the floor to grab my arm a couple of times. I think he’s learned: if a kitty is good during special dinners, he will get more than just a tiny taste.

His day was just made better by the Boy playing with him with his new Christmas toys. Max got a new set of feathers on a string, and spent the better part of the afternoon chasing them through the air, and didn’t even seem too daunted when a particularly spectacular jump at them sent him crashing into the Christmas tree.

Later on we hauled out the 20th Anniversary Trivial Pursuit game and spent a couple of hours making ourselves feel very stupid. I mean very, very stupid. No, I don’t know the chemical equation for creating rubberized hydrogen on Jupiter’s fifth moon during a solar eclipse. I feel like I should know, especially when other people are looking.

In any case, I had a great time, got lots of warm fuzzies from having my family around.

Oh, and there are a few pictures right here!



Ok, my entire email system is hosed up--not just mine, but the Spouse Thingy's and the Boy's, too--so it might be a few days before we get any email people might have sent. And if we're not getting it, we obviously can't reply. I'm not sure what the problem is, but my webhost "upgraded" their email servers, and since last night email has been inaccessible. This thrills me not, especially since the "upgrade" is going to change the look of the whole freaking thing when it's done, and I was quite happy with the way it looked before.

It's kind of like buying a "new and improved" product. Why do they think that something that sells well need to be improved? People were buying it, so it obviously didn't suck, so why fis something that ain't broke?

Bleh. I'm just ticked because I can't check my email and see which Nigerian is going to give me 30 million dollars today.


Oh Holy...

Whilst reflecting upon this most joyous time of year, the Spouse Thingy seems to have discovered the first historial reference to PMS. Yes, he says, it's right there in the Bible: Mary rode Joseph's ass all the way to Bethlehem.


Lessons In Specificity

Ok. Let’s say your bathtub faucet has a steady leak. You live in military housing, so there’s maintenance people upon whom you can call to come fix it. On the hpone you’re told that because it is not an emergency (the drain works and you’re not about to flood the house) it could potentially take up to 15 days for someone to show up—but not to worry, they have a light work load so it should only be a day or so.

Yipee. The guy shows up the next day. He goes about his work, he’s been very courteous and seems professional. You stay downstairs and watch TV, and when he’s done you sign the paper and off he goes. He says he replaced some internal whatchamajiggy, and put a new faucet handle on.

Later, you go upstairs to take a shower. And the faucet leaks. And it’s the same old water spotted handle.

Hmmmm, you say to yourself. Thinking he got the wrong bathroom, you go check the other one. But it’s untouched.

Hmmmm, you say to yourself again.

And then it dawns on you—the paper you signed said Master bath faucet leaking. It did not specify the tub. So you go back, and sure enough, on your sink is a bright, shiny, brand new faucet handle. Tres chic, it is. But the tub still leaks.

So, you go ahead and shower, and when you’re done you palm heel the faucet handle a good one, driving it inward. It’s a good strike, and you’re proud of yourself for still being able to do it.

The leaking stops.

You should have tried that first…



The snow kinda makes those Christmas decorations a little prettier, don’tcha think?

We only got a couple of inches, and it’s going to melt today, but at least it made the trees in the lawn look kind of nice. We might get more snow late Tuesday, and that’s ok as long as it’s gone by Thursday, when the Boy and his Significantly Better Half get here.

The Boy has the flu, though…hopefully not too bad a case.

Aside: Finding Father Rabbit has finally made it to Though if you want an autographed copy, I have a few here...



I came home after running some errands to this wonderful postal note attached to my mailbox: Sorry we missed you, you had a package, but now you have to go to the Big scary Building on the other side of the base to pick it up. Loser.

Ok, so it wasn’t worded exactly like, that, but that was the gist of it.

I wasn’t pissed off, but a little torqued—after all, the mail usually doesn’t get here until after 2 pm, and this was at noon. And I really don’t like going over to that building. It’s huge, there are guards with guns, and finding a place to park is like finding a virgin in Southern California.

But, whatever…I knew I’d have to go, and there was no point in getting worked up about it. So I dragged the pieces of the Christmas tree out, and started to assemble it (figuring if I did that, then the Spouse Thingy could string lights, something at which I totally suck.) I listened to CNN Headlines on TV while I worked, and forgot about it.

At one o’clock there was a loud knocking on the door (loud because, perhaps, I have a note on the door stating Knock Loud, Doorbell Not Working.)

It was the mailman. He came back to see if someone was home yet, so that I wouldn’t have to make the trip to the Big Scary Building tomorrow.


And this was after having stood in line at the post office with a bunch of other people, all of whom were initially perturbed at the short perky blonde who just waltzed in and went directly to the head of the line—it was my turn at the counter, dammit! Why couldn’t she freaking wait???

She showed a receipt to the clerk and said “I was here about ten minutes ago. I didn’t get charged for the box I put my stuff in and I’d like to pay for it.”

Last year a woman held the line up with a temper tantrum over the price of an envelope she’d already written on. This year someone went out of the way to come back and pay the $3.75 the clerk missed the first time around.


‘Tis the season after all, I guess.


Stick It To Me

I caved. I went in and got a flu shot this morning. The immunization clinic had been running these booths outside the commissary for a couple of weeks, and I kept walking past them, avoiding the mere thought of getting a flu shot.

It’s not as if I’m afraid of needles—I inject myself every day. I’m not sure why I didn’t want to get a shot this year, but I kept putting it off. I decided this weekend that if the base clinic had any flu immunizations left, I’d get one…Spouse Thingy checked this morning, called me, yep, they have it and there’s no wait. So off I went, and it took like 3 seconds. Well, 5 minutes to walk from the far back of the parking lot (why don’t base hospitals ever have enough parking???), 5 minutes to walk through the hospital and sign in, 3 seconds for the shot, then back to the car. Less than 20 minutes of my time.

So, if you still haven’t gotten a flu shot and have access to military health care, you may still be in luck.

By request: Thumper’s Greedy Wishlist. But only for the few who requested it. I’m greedy but not that greedy…


It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like…

We finally finished decorating the outside of the house—there’s a few pictures here. Sometime this week we’ll put the tree up…thus beginning the annual Keep The Cat Off The Tree marathon.

I should admit, the little psycho has my sympathy. After being locked in the bathroom for at least 2 hours a day last week, Saturday I somehow locked him in the closet. I didn’t see him zip in when I reached in for a sweatshirt, and he wound up in there until the Spouse Thingy heard him hollering—two hours later.

Can you say “guilt-laden Mommy?” I knew you could.

Poor kitty. Santa better bring him something good.



Ok, so even though I really have no where to go (other than shopping, I need to go shopping) I hate being stuck at home. But! The last worker is here and installing the garage door opener (yay! I wanted that most of all!) so as soon as he’s done, I can go out.

It’s raining and that will turn to snow, but I’ll probably still go out. I have a gift to buy!

Poor Max has been totally inconvenienced by all this work, moreso than me. With strangers traipsing in and out the front door, carrying ladders and drills and other extremely loud equipment, we decided he probably would be better off hidden away in the bathroom. So I placed his bed in there, as well as his dry food, and (I really am sorry, Max) locked him in there for the two hour a day scary people (to him) were here.

He made sure we knew he was not happy.
He howled the entire time he was in there.

But, did that make him afraid of the bathroom? Hell no. Every time I go in there he comes in with me, as if I need help, and if I get in and close the door before he can get in, he shoves his paws under the door and talks to me.

So we probably haven’t traumatized him, and the ceiling fans are giving him something to ponder: can he make the leap from the top of the dresser to that strange new thing spinning on the ceiling?

I hope not! :)


Cabin Fever

Know what I hate? Having to stay home. There doesn’t have to be any place in particular that I need to go, but I don’t like knowing that I can’t go anywhere.

This week we’re being “renovated.” In military housing terms that means we’re getting some nifty little additions to the house—ceiling fans, a garage door opener, new deadbolts and porch lights, plus every room in the house wired for cable and phones. What I most want are the ceiling fans and the garage door opener … the rest is just stuff.

The thing is, they’re doing these renovations over a 5 day period, and they really can’t say who will be here at what time, just that it won’t be before 8:30 or after 5:30. Now, no one has to be here, but neither of us is comfortable leaving the house empty with total strangers traipsing around.

Not to mention the cat would go freaking nuts.

Not to mention that he already went freaking nuts the day the first guy knocked on the door—shot straight up out of my lap, sailed over an end table, knocked over a soda can and a telephone. Big brave kitty.

For the sake of his ego, we won’t mention that.

It’ll be sweet when they’re done (and I’ll be sooooo glad to have the garage door opener this winter), it’s just the staying home and waiting I hate.