What We Learned Today...
Max likes catnip. A lot.
Max likes Cheetos. A lot.
Max likes Cheetos after catnip. A lot.
My cat is a hophead, sheesh...
Note To Self: Don't let a stray Cheeto just sit there on the table, lest the kitty cats walk away with orange paws and sticky teeth...
Tuesday
Monday
Sunday
I still miss this guy.He’s been gone 3 years now…I almost let the day go by without saying anything, but he was on my mind today. Earlier today I watched Buddah make a wide berth around a growling Max, and kept thinking that Buddah and Hank would have been best buddies. Buddah would have never been afraid of Hank, and Hank would have let Buddah literally walk all over him.
Then I realized I’d had almost the same thought a year ago, when Buddah was tearing around the apartment like his furry little butt was on fire. Those two would have teamed up and mad Max wish he wasn’t such a snarky old grouch.
It doesn’t seem like he’s been gone for 3 years, though. I miss him, but sometimes it’s like he should still be here, basking out in the sun in the back yard, quietly watching all the rude little kitties that tick Max off.
No, I don’t need another dog.
I’m still finding Hank's fur on stuff…I think there’s a law that says if you still have pet fur on your crap, you can’t get another of the same species.
Besides, Buddah plays fetch. And sometimes it’s like he’s Hank reincarnated. He has that same goofy, funny, sweet disposition…he should have been a dog, but that whole same-species-law thing is a good reason for him to be a cat.
Hey, I can rationalize anything.
Thursday
How Mean I Am, Part Deux...or Trois
Every night at 10 p.m. the kitties get a snack. Well, Buddah gets a meal, Max gets a snack. Buddah gets a full 3 ounce can, Max gets the half a can he didn't get at dinner time. No, this is not the mean part; Max is overweight and Buddah is still rail thin, so he gets more food.
Tonight, while placing the post-dinner half can of food on top of the fridge (where it is safe from stealthy kitties,) I discovered what should have been Max's snack for last night, still up there and sealed in its little plastic baggy.
This means neither of them got fed at 10 p.m. last night. I'm not sure why they didn't bug the crap out of me about it, but I did not feed my kitties.
This does explain why Max would not shut up at Way Too Early this morning, when he tried to get me up to feed him.
No, I did not get up until much later.
I am so mean...
Every night at 10 p.m. the kitties get a snack. Well, Buddah gets a meal, Max gets a snack. Buddah gets a full 3 ounce can, Max gets the half a can he didn't get at dinner time. No, this is not the mean part; Max is overweight and Buddah is still rail thin, so he gets more food.
Tonight, while placing the post-dinner half can of food on top of the fridge (where it is safe from stealthy kitties,) I discovered what should have been Max's snack for last night, still up there and sealed in its little plastic baggy.
This means neither of them got fed at 10 p.m. last night. I'm not sure why they didn't bug the crap out of me about it, but I did not feed my kitties.
This does explain why Max would not shut up at Way Too Early this morning, when he tried to get me up to feed him.
No, I did not get up until much later.
I am so mean...
Wednesday
Even Asleep, I’m Mean…
Max decided to reward me for yesterday’s vet trip by plopping all 15 of his furry black and white pounds onto my face at 5:30 this morning. I don’t think it was Good morning! but rather Die, stabby place traitor, die!
I should have been irritated, but he woke me up from a disturbing dream, and while I kind of wonder how it would have ended, I’m a little grateful.
All I remember is being in a theater-type place, on an upholstered bench, saving a spot for the Spouse Thingy. Some old guy plopped down next to me and wouldn’t get up…so I beat him up. Not just slapped around or one good punch—I beat the holy hell out of this guy.
For sitting next to me and not wanting to get up, I wailed on this really old guy, punch after punch after punch.
I don’t get it.
:::shrug:::
Max will remain on the antibiotics, 2 weeks on then 2 weeks off, for the foreseeable future. We’ve taken the sting out by not shoving the pills down his throat; instead, we smash it up and mix it with a teaspoon or so of his food. He can taste it and still hates it, but he knows we have more food waiting for him and he has to finish what he has before he can have it.
Yep, we’re mean. At least he seems to think so.
Max decided to reward me for yesterday’s vet trip by plopping all 15 of his furry black and white pounds onto my face at 5:30 this morning. I don’t think it was Good morning! but rather Die, stabby place traitor, die!
I should have been irritated, but he woke me up from a disturbing dream, and while I kind of wonder how it would have ended, I’m a little grateful.
All I remember is being in a theater-type place, on an upholstered bench, saving a spot for the Spouse Thingy. Some old guy plopped down next to me and wouldn’t get up…so I beat him up. Not just slapped around or one good punch—I beat the holy hell out of this guy.
For sitting next to me and not wanting to get up, I wailed on this really old guy, punch after punch after punch.
I don’t get it.
:::shrug:::
Max will remain on the antibiotics, 2 weeks on then 2 weeks off, for the foreseeable future. We’ve taken the sting out by not shoving the pills down his throat; instead, we smash it up and mix it with a teaspoon or so of his food. He can taste it and still hates it, but he knows we have more food waiting for him and he has to finish what he has before he can have it.
Yep, we’re mean. At least he seems to think so.
Tuesday
Stoned Kitty
A trip to the vet, a sedated and drunk kitty, and $250 later, and Max has been proclaimed healthy. His blood work came back fine, including the test for his pancreas, which means the pulsing antibiotics have worked.
We picked him up over 4 hours ago and he’s still stumbling around like a frat boy after a kegger.
Whatever they gave him, I think I want some…
Monday
I'll trade 300 tabs of expired Vicodin for 2 unexpired Flexeril.
Ok, not really.
But it's tempting.
Stupid back spasm...
If the EVIL people were HERE then SOMEONE could make me lots of VODKA SLUSH and I wouldn't care about my back.
Fine, I could make it myself, but it always tastes better when made by Evil People.
=sobs=
I wouldn't even mind, but I didn't get to ride my bike today.
=sobs more=
Yes, yes, I hear that teeny tiny violin playing for me.
=sigh=
I get no respect.
Ok, not really.
But it's tempting.
Stupid back spasm...
If the EVIL people were HERE then SOMEONE could make me lots of VODKA SLUSH and I wouldn't care about my back.
Fine, I could make it myself, but it always tastes better when made by Evil People.
=sobs=
I wouldn't even mind, but I didn't get to ride my bike today.
=sobs more=
Yes, yes, I hear that teeny tiny violin playing for me.
=sigh=
I get no respect.
Friday
Things I Learned On My Motorcycle This Week
- Sneezing in a helmet with the face shield down is kinda gross.
- Traffic light sensors don't always recognize it when a motorcycle is there, waiting.
- I can wait 4 cycles without the light changing for me.
- Motorcyclists wave at each other.
- This should only be done with the left hand, lest one lets go of the throttle.
- A stereotypical biker guy--long beard, leathers, and all--on a great big Harley will wave at someone on a little putt-putt scooter.
- Ok, the above was learned while on the scooter...
- My helmet gives me chipmunk cheeks and makes me look 30 pounds heavier than I really am.
- Buddah is less than thrilled to see me in it.
- Still, I like my helmet.
- I like my spiffy red jacket with all the armor in it, though I should have gotten white for those really hot days.
- The thing I was most worried about--shifting--is the easiest thing to deal with.
- Sneezing in a helmet with the face shield down is kinda gross.
- 40 mpg is not fatal, it's fun.
- Some people are very considerate of the bikers around them.
- Some people are not and will tailgate much closer than they would dare tail another car.
- I have no problem with slowing down when there's a car on my butt.
- Sneezing...
Tuesday
[ scene ]
SuperCuts. Thumper walks in; there are two women working there, and one customer in the middle of getting his hair cut. The unoccupied woman is Korean and approximately 50 years old. She nods and smiles. She has a very good command of English, but has a noticeable accent.
Woman: I cut your hair in 2 minutes. You can wait?
Thumper: (nods) Sure.
The Woman takes several sips of a drink, then motions Thumper over.
Thumper: It’s been less than a minute.
Woman: Yeah, but the longer we wait the longer your hair gets.
Thumper sits in the chair.
Woman: So what we doin’ here today?
Thumper: Layered, over the ears, and tapered in the back. I’d like it kind of short.
Woman: I can do short. But if I cut too short, there’s no crying, ok?
Thumper: (smiles) It’ll be fine.
Woman: Ok. I give you white walls.
Thumper: Ahhhh…maybe not that short.
Woman: (running fingers through Thumper’s hair) Not too short. You got lotsa gray. It’s gonna be white walls…
[ end scene ]
Heh.
Oh yeah, she got a good tip… I got one of the best cuts I’ve had in a long time, and she got a really good tip.
And dammit. I have white walls.
SuperCuts. Thumper walks in; there are two women working there, and one customer in the middle of getting his hair cut. The unoccupied woman is Korean and approximately 50 years old. She nods and smiles. She has a very good command of English, but has a noticeable accent.
Woman: I cut your hair in 2 minutes. You can wait?
Thumper: (nods) Sure.
The Woman takes several sips of a drink, then motions Thumper over.
Thumper: It’s been less than a minute.
Woman: Yeah, but the longer we wait the longer your hair gets.
Thumper sits in the chair.
Woman: So what we doin’ here today?
Thumper: Layered, over the ears, and tapered in the back. I’d like it kind of short.
Woman: I can do short. But if I cut too short, there’s no crying, ok?
Thumper: (smiles) It’ll be fine.
Woman: Ok. I give you white walls.
Thumper: Ahhhh…maybe not that short.
Woman: (running fingers through Thumper’s hair) Not too short. You got lotsa gray. It’s gonna be white walls…
[ end scene ]
Heh.
Oh yeah, she got a good tip… I got one of the best cuts I’ve had in a long time, and she got a really good tip.
And dammit. I have white walls.
Monday
Wherein A Parent Follows Through…
In my quest to find more suitable boots for riding, I wound up at...well, you can guess…and I heard the fountain soda machine calling my name. Between having forgotten to take my DDAVP before leaving the house and the 90 degree heat, I was looking for an endless supply of icy cold liquid, and for a buck I can fill up 362 times if I want.
Three refills was good enough this time.
I sat there in the corner, not too far from the soda machine lest I be very conspicuous in my beverage consumption, and watched people come and go. And for it being lunch time, there weren’t a whole lot of people to watch. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so few people hanging around WalMart’s McD’s. It was almost disappointing.
But I heard one coming. I heard her before she came through the sliding doors. I watched Bill the Greeter, the World’s Friendliest Guy ™, turn away from the shrill sound of this kid shrieking, and I just knew her mother was bringing her into McD’s.
And I was right.
Mom hand the little girl by the hand, and was reciting a litany of “stop it…stop it…stop it…” as her spawn continued to shriek at ear-splitting decibels. This wasn’t a kid who was ticked off or annoyed or tired or in the throes of the temper tantrum from hell. This was a little girl who must have recently discovered the sheer Joy Of Being Loud.
In line Mom sighed a tired “I mean it.”
After she ordered she said, “Be quiet, or else.”
When the food came and the little girl shrieked yet again, Mom had had it. She looked down at her demon child and stated quite clearly, “If you scream one more time, we’re leaving. And I mean it.”
The little girl, twinkle in her eye, glanced at the food tray Mom was holding, and I could see the split second thought that rushed through her little mind: you just bought a bunch of food and there’s no way we’re not staying here to eat it.
So with a sly grin, she shrieked.
Mom, clenching the tray in one hand, grabbed her little girl’s hand with the other, and as they abruptly exited Mom deposited the entire tray of just-purchased food into the trash, and dragged Little Miss Lungs-Run-Down-Into-Her-Legs out the door, past Bill the Greeter, where she shook her head apologetically.
Mom made a major impression upon her child today, I think.
I was impressed.
I hope she has some major headache medication at home, because surely that child screamed the entire drive home…
In my quest to find more suitable boots for riding, I wound up at...well, you can guess…and I heard the fountain soda machine calling my name. Between having forgotten to take my DDAVP before leaving the house and the 90 degree heat, I was looking for an endless supply of icy cold liquid, and for a buck I can fill up 362 times if I want.
Three refills was good enough this time.
I sat there in the corner, not too far from the soda machine lest I be very conspicuous in my beverage consumption, and watched people come and go. And for it being lunch time, there weren’t a whole lot of people to watch. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so few people hanging around WalMart’s McD’s. It was almost disappointing.
But I heard one coming. I heard her before she came through the sliding doors. I watched Bill the Greeter, the World’s Friendliest Guy ™, turn away from the shrill sound of this kid shrieking, and I just knew her mother was bringing her into McD’s.
And I was right.
Mom hand the little girl by the hand, and was reciting a litany of “stop it…stop it…stop it…” as her spawn continued to shriek at ear-splitting decibels. This wasn’t a kid who was ticked off or annoyed or tired or in the throes of the temper tantrum from hell. This was a little girl who must have recently discovered the sheer Joy Of Being Loud.
In line Mom sighed a tired “I mean it.”
After she ordered she said, “Be quiet, or else.”
When the food came and the little girl shrieked yet again, Mom had had it. She looked down at her demon child and stated quite clearly, “If you scream one more time, we’re leaving. And I mean it.”
The little girl, twinkle in her eye, glanced at the food tray Mom was holding, and I could see the split second thought that rushed through her little mind: you just bought a bunch of food and there’s no way we’re not staying here to eat it.
So with a sly grin, she shrieked.
Mom, clenching the tray in one hand, grabbed her little girl’s hand with the other, and as they abruptly exited Mom deposited the entire tray of just-purchased food into the trash, and dragged Little Miss Lungs-Run-Down-Into-Her-Legs out the door, past Bill the Greeter, where she shook her head apologetically.
Mom made a major impression upon her child today, I think.
I was impressed.
I hope she has some major headache medication at home, because surely that child screamed the entire drive home…
Sunday
Saturday
All right...proof that I wind up at the WalMart McD’s way too often...I headed out for the library, where I intended to sit and pretend I was working while I was actually just typing nonsensical crap (aka blogging), and found myself turning at the street which would divert me from heading to the library and would deliver me to the parking lot of the local WalMart.
I drove there on autopilot.
But no, I did not go in and eat at McDonald’s. I did not go in and get a soft drink to refill 52 times. I did, however, park long enough to drop a quarter into the soda vending machine, because evidently the mere sight of WalMart makes me thirsty. One can of Sam’s Choice Diet Cola, and I was back in the car, pointed in the right direction.
And I am now at the library, fully engaged not working. Instead I am sitting here, typing away about how I went and bought myself a cheap assed can of knock-off Coke, because I frankly cannot get my brain to engage and write anything work-worthy.
I have not written anything work-worthy in over a month, I think. I have been so focused on reading the DMV motorcycle handbook and reading books about motorcycles, and studying safety tips, and looking at bikes online and surfing through forums about biking online that I simply did not even think about work.
At least now I’m thinking about it. I’m not doing it, but I’m thinking about it. I’m also thinking about trolling the book shelves here for stuff on motorcycling that I may have overlooked before. I’m eyeing a magazine on the rack to my immediate right. Cycle World. I’m pondering how long it will be before I’m comfortable enough to venture off of the neighborhood side streets and into real traffic, and then how long it will be before I’m ready to ride the bike over here instead of my spiffy topless car.
Oh no, I will not forget about my spiffy topless car. I love my spiffy topless car.
And yes, the jacket is multicolored gaudy, but He-Who-Stopped-Blogging-Because-He’s-Paranoid (Murf) is right, I am a gaudy kind of person. I love bright colors and I own at least 10 tie-dyed t-shirts. I would paint my car a vivid metallic purple if I thought it would look marginally good and it it wouldn’t cost a small fortune. And yeah, I really did want to dress a fledgling rock band in purple and gold satin shirts. When I was 12. I still love purple and gold, and if I found the right thing, I’d still wear it.
Oddly enough, I’d drive the bright shiny car and I’d wear all the bright shiny things and then think “Stop looking at me! Why are you people looking at me?!?”
I think I am going to hang onto that gaudy motorcycle jacket—last night I was going to stick it back on eBay and try to get back what I paid for it (which, thankfully, wasn’t much)--but now I think I’m going to keep it. If I lose the amount of weight I want to, it might fit. It might not, to be honest, because even at my fittest I’m not a twig, but it might. And I loves it, I do.
That jacket just might get me back on track diet-wise, and might get me to the gym more often than I’ve been lately (-sigh- excuses: between a very sore back and my pre-occupied mind, I have not been lately. Yes, those are excuses and not valid reasons.) And oh! Once I’m brave enough, I can ride my bike to the gym!
Yep. One track, one track, one track...
I drove there on autopilot.
But no, I did not go in and eat at McDonald’s. I did not go in and get a soft drink to refill 52 times. I did, however, park long enough to drop a quarter into the soda vending machine, because evidently the mere sight of WalMart makes me thirsty. One can of Sam’s Choice Diet Cola, and I was back in the car, pointed in the right direction.
And I am now at the library, fully engaged not working. Instead I am sitting here, typing away about how I went and bought myself a cheap assed can of knock-off Coke, because I frankly cannot get my brain to engage and write anything work-worthy.
I have not written anything work-worthy in over a month, I think. I have been so focused on reading the DMV motorcycle handbook and reading books about motorcycles, and studying safety tips, and looking at bikes online and surfing through forums about biking online that I simply did not even think about work.
At least now I’m thinking about it. I’m not doing it, but I’m thinking about it. I’m also thinking about trolling the book shelves here for stuff on motorcycling that I may have overlooked before. I’m eyeing a magazine on the rack to my immediate right. Cycle World. I’m pondering how long it will be before I’m comfortable enough to venture off of the neighborhood side streets and into real traffic, and then how long it will be before I’m ready to ride the bike over here instead of my spiffy topless car.
Oh no, I will not forget about my spiffy topless car. I love my spiffy topless car.
And yes, the jacket is multicolored gaudy, but He-Who-Stopped-Blogging-Because-He’s-Paranoid (Murf) is right, I am a gaudy kind of person. I love bright colors and I own at least 10 tie-dyed t-shirts. I would paint my car a vivid metallic purple if I thought it would look marginally good and it it wouldn’t cost a small fortune. And yeah, I really did want to dress a fledgling rock band in purple and gold satin shirts. When I was 12. I still love purple and gold, and if I found the right thing, I’d still wear it.
Oddly enough, I’d drive the bright shiny car and I’d wear all the bright shiny things and then think “Stop looking at me! Why are you people looking at me?!?”
I think I am going to hang onto that gaudy motorcycle jacket—last night I was going to stick it back on eBay and try to get back what I paid for it (which, thankfully, wasn’t much)--but now I think I’m going to keep it. If I lose the amount of weight I want to, it might fit. It might not, to be honest, because even at my fittest I’m not a twig, but it might. And I loves it, I do.
That jacket just might get me back on track diet-wise, and might get me to the gym more often than I’ve been lately (-sigh- excuses: between a very sore back and my pre-occupied mind, I have not been lately. Yes, those are excuses and not valid reasons.) And oh! Once I’m brave enough, I can ride my bike to the gym!
Yep. One track, one track, one track...
Friday
Happiness is finding the perfect new leather motorcycle jacket on eBay for about $300 less than it would cost in a store.
Happiness Undone is when it gets here and it turns out to be way too small, even though it's technically the "right" size.
:::cries:::
I either need to lose a whole lot of inches, or stick it back on eBay.
Incentive, perhaps...?
It is a winter weight kinda thing...
Hmmmm...
Happiness Undone is when it gets here and it turns out to be way too small, even though it's technically the "right" size.
:::cries:::
I either need to lose a whole lot of inches, or stick it back on eBay.
Incentive, perhaps...?
It is a winter weight kinda thing...
Hmmmm...
Thursday
Tuesday
The Honda dealership’s definition of a “thing” = their delivery truck. I suppose it might be a little difficult to deliver a 300+ bike without the truck. Sure, someone could have ridden it over for me, but truthfully, I want to be the one to rack up the first 20 miles. Even if it is in a parking lot.
:::waiting impatiently until Thursday:::
:::waiting impatiently until Thursday:::
Monday
Little girl, in a sing-song voice, as she skipped into the Walmart’s McD’s today: I get to eee-eeat, I get to eeee-eeeeat!
This begs the question, is eating not an every day occurrence for this child? She didn’t look like she was starving, but she was on the thin side. A little boy trailing behind her didn’t seem as happy. Perhaps it was not his turn to have lunch?
Or maybe it was like what runs through my mind on a day when my DDAVP runs out extra early and I’m bolting for the nearest restroom. I get to peeeeee, I get to peeee-eeeee!
Oh, and in other news, people in CA need to doubly watch out. The Boy got his M1 endorsement to his license today. I might even let him ride my bike. If it ever gets delivered.
This begs the question, is eating not an every day occurrence for this child? She didn’t look like she was starving, but she was on the thin side. A little boy trailing behind her didn’t seem as happy. Perhaps it was not his turn to have lunch?
Or maybe it was like what runs through my mind on a day when my DDAVP runs out extra early and I’m bolting for the nearest restroom. I get to peeeeee, I get to peeee-eeeee!
Oh, and in other news, people in CA need to doubly watch out. The Boy got his M1 endorsement to his license today. I might even let him ride my bike. If it ever gets delivered.
Sunday
Trifecta
I packed the car with the final load of Stuff From The Garage To Donate this afternoon and headed out to Goodwill, early enough that surely I would beat the We Had To Close Early Because The Trailer Is Full cutoff.
Ha. I should have known better. I pulled up just as they were closing the gate; the guy recognized me and offered to let me leave stuff there, but he had the look of “please don’t, I’m just being nice,” plus there was a huge pile sitting there, waiting to be sorted. So I said I’d wait…
Yeah, I was trying to be nice, but deep down I was saying not nice words, mostly at myself for not getting off my butt earlier and going over there.
I stood in the express lane at the grocery store, behind a young woman—16ish—and an 8 or 9 year old boy whom I assumed to be her brother. They stood facing away from me, but I couldn’t help but overhear the hisses of their conversation.
Sadly, the diet soda addict in me understood where she was coming from (minus the attitude and calling him a moron.) $1.20 for a bottle of water or $1.20 for a bottle of whatever soft drink his little heart might desire. Given the choice, I know I wouldn’t be getting the healthier choice.
Yay for a clean kitchen! Double yay that someone else cleaned it for me while I was out! If I had the stuff to make them, I’d make the Boy some brownies in appreciation.
Of course, that would mess the kitchen up again.
But dammit, now I want brownies.
I packed the car with the final load of Stuff From The Garage To Donate this afternoon and headed out to Goodwill, early enough that surely I would beat the We Had To Close Early Because The Trailer Is Full cutoff.
Ha. I should have known better. I pulled up just as they were closing the gate; the guy recognized me and offered to let me leave stuff there, but he had the look of “please don’t, I’m just being nice,” plus there was a huge pile sitting there, waiting to be sorted. So I said I’d wait…
Yeah, I was trying to be nice, but deep down I was saying not nice words, mostly at myself for not getting off my butt earlier and going over there.
I stood in the express lane at the grocery store, behind a young woman—16ish—and an 8 or 9 year old boy whom I assumed to be her brother. They stood facing away from me, but I couldn’t help but overhear the hisses of their conversation.
| Her: I can’t believe you’re wasting your money on that. Him: It’s my money. Her: You can get something better. Him: But I’m thirsty. Her: So? Him: [snottily] So? He turns just enough that I can see what he’s holding. She does not want him to buy a bottle of water. Yes. A bottle of water… Her: So…for the same money you could buy a bottle of Coke, you moron. |
Sadly, the diet soda addict in me understood where she was coming from (minus the attitude and calling him a moron.) $1.20 for a bottle of water or $1.20 for a bottle of whatever soft drink his little heart might desire. Given the choice, I know I wouldn’t be getting the healthier choice.
Yay for a clean kitchen! Double yay that someone else cleaned it for me while I was out! If I had the stuff to make them, I’d make the Boy some brownies in appreciation.
Of course, that would mess the kitchen up again.
But dammit, now I want brownies.
Saturday
After much hauling of boxes, emptying of boxes, 4 trips to Goodwill, the purchasing of a ton of plastic containers, filling said plastic containers, and rearranging everything that was not thrown out or donated, the garage now has room for my car, the Spouse Thingy’s bike, my little scooter, and my forthcoming motorcycle.
I busted my a$$ to get it done this weekend, because Tuesday my new toy was to be delivered.
Yes. Was to be delivered.
The dealership called while I was out there lifting box #8624—a heavy box, containing books we may or may not read again, but were unwilling to part with—onto the top of box #8623; they won’t have a thing they need to deliver until Thursday.
No, I don’t know what "thing." They aren’t open again until Tuesday, but rest assured the Spouse Thingy will call and find out what the deal is.
Ideally I’d slap a hitch on my car, rent a motorcycle trailer, and go pick it up myself. But the ideal is tainted by the fact that a hitch would likely run over $150, not to mention the cost of renting the trailer. Delivery on it is less than that, a lot less.
I’m annoyed. Very annoyed.
On the flip side…I’ve gotten several really good workouts hauling all that stuff around. I feel like I should be buff.
Feel being the operative word.
:::jiggles arm flab:::
=sigh=
I want my bike.
I busted my a$$ to get it done this weekend, because Tuesday my new toy was to be delivered.
Yes. Was to be delivered.
The dealership called while I was out there lifting box #8624—a heavy box, containing books we may or may not read again, but were unwilling to part with—onto the top of box #8623; they won’t have a thing they need to deliver until Thursday.
No, I don’t know what "thing." They aren’t open again until Tuesday, but rest assured the Spouse Thingy will call and find out what the deal is.
Ideally I’d slap a hitch on my car, rent a motorcycle trailer, and go pick it up myself. But the ideal is tainted by the fact that a hitch would likely run over $150, not to mention the cost of renting the trailer. Delivery on it is less than that, a lot less.
I’m annoyed. Very annoyed.
On the flip side…I’ve gotten several really good workouts hauling all that stuff around. I feel like I should be buff.
Feel being the operative word.
:::jiggles arm flab:::
=sigh=
I want my bike.
Thursday
Isn't it pretty???
I take delivery on Tuesday; could have had it today but I am not road-worthy yet. I'm still just parking lot fodder. This also gives me time to finish cleaning the garage out, which is taking me a lot longer than I thought it would.
I swear, our crap breeds. I've done this a couple of times before, yet the sheer amount of things we obviously don't need because they've been stored for years seems to increase exponentially each time.
Thinking about it, my sweatshirts do the same thing. I get rid of 20, and suddenly find 20 more. Hmmm...
Um, yeah, click on the picture...
Wednesday
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