Pee and Mother's Day

So remember last week, the poop incident?

That's a preface.

At work, I wear a badge on a landyard around my neck.  That badge has a key card in it, so that I can get through locked doors.  Magic.

On Tuesday, we had Big Accounting here to work with us on a new process.  That's fine and dandy, I get it, and so forth.  While she was here, as our Big Accountant of the day was a lady, I had to go make a tinkle (shut up), so I did.  While sitting on the commode, my lanyard twisted around, and there was a plop...

when my key card slid into the toilet.

Nice.

I figured, okay, I can deal with this, but first, let me stand up and fix my britches and what-all.

Only we have self-flushing toilets.  So the minute I shifted my weight, the toilet flushed.

So I go, "nonononononono" and had no choice but to fully immerse my hand in pee to grab the card before it was sucked into the plumbing.

Immersion.  In.  Pee.

It's been a week of waste products, folks.

In other news, with the pending Mother's Day, it's been decided that the boys will get me a (free) kitten.  Which I think sounds like a good plan.  Although I dearly, tremendously adore my girl cat, she's a total bitch and this might mellow her out some.  Maybe.  Or else, she might eat a kitten.  One thing or the other.

In the process, I've been searching for a freebie that is a cutie.  Note, I am fine with paying a little adoption fee, especially if that means the new baby will be neutered and chipped and de-wormed and shot.

At first, I really wanted this baby:

Because, Ohhhh MAH GAH, right?  Right.

But he has already been taken to a new home.  Sad, frownie face.

So today, I started looking at the shelter (nothing, seriously, nothing, but they said they will have kittens tomorrow), and then I called our vet, who has a couple of babies.

Look:

Oh.  Mah.  GAHHHHH.

He's cute, but I would never pick a black and white cat.  I'm used to special kitties with fancy colors.  All black, say, or siamese-ish, like Rosie.

But still, look at his face!  And his smile (which was accompanied by constant MEW MEW MEW MEW MEW MEW MEW) (which I swear is precious since Rosie pretty much never cries, ever.)

Also, he looks like Edgar Allan Poe, thus making it easy to name him:

We will go look again tomorrow.  If I get one from the pound, it will be cheaper because the free babies at the vet come with nothing but one free set of shots.  So that's not totally awesome.  And he still has his little 'nads.

But one way or the other, it looks like we are getting another boy around the house.  Doodle will be happy, because he will no longer be gender-outnumbered.

I love kittens.

Happy Mother's Day!

Don't You Poop On Me...

I like dogs.  I really do.  Like 'em.  Loves 'em.

But I don't have one, which is why this is particularly disturbing.

Let's start like this.  For the last few days, I have occasionally caught a whiff of eau-de-poop in my bedroom, but I checked for cat poop in the bathtub (happens) and all was clear.  Couldn't spot any logical culprit, so I didn't worry too much about it.  Besides, last weekend, I drank a whole pot of Raspberry Coffee, and I'm allergic to raspberries, so it was a quick weight-loss (and water-loss) scheme for me.  But it was good.  So there.

Anyway, so this morning, I got dressed and came to work, where I sat at my computer for a little while, doing worky things, then I got up, and got myself some coffee.  Then I came back to my desk and sat down again for a little while, then I got up and decided to get more coffee.  I didn't even realize that there was an inch or so of coffee still in my cup, which I swung around like a drunk college kid with a party cup full of pink champagne (true story), resulting in a significant splash of coffee on the leg of my pants and on my foot.

Sigh.

So I got to the kitchen and I pulled some paper towels to mop up my foot area, when I noticed a bunch of mud on the side of my shoe, which is weird, since it hasn't been raining.

And even weirder, it wasn't mud.

After much yelling of "EW," and a good scrub of the shoe in question, in the bathroom, it looked like everything was going to be okay.

So I proceeded with my day, and then, maybe an hour or so later, I kind of realized my chair had something on it...

which was poop.

ON MY CHAIR.

(I tend to fold my leg under me while I sit.)

And this means, there was poop...

On my butt.

!!!

Let me repeat - I do not have a dog.  This is unfair, truly.

I still don't know what the source of the dog poop was.  It's been remedied, but I'm still smelling phantom poop, and I really cannot wait to change out of my pants.

I keep telling myself that, if this is the worst thing that happens today, then it's a good day, but still.  Poop.  On.  Me.  Argh.

Cat Mom

Well.  So.  I have had a cat for pretty much my entire life, unless you don't count the times wherein I've had more than one cat.

Priscilla (Presley) moved into my home in the fall of 2004.  Before I got married, before the baby was even considered.  When she moved in, she was already several years old.  Pretty sure this year made 16, for her.

Pretty cat, a bit overweight, mostly a good attitude.  At times, she would completely lose her shit and bite me, but only me, never the boys.

Much of her life these last several years was spent sitting near enough to me to be within earshot.  She didn't necessarily want to be ON my lap, but she definitely knew where I was, all the time.

When she was a bit younger, she would bother to, you know, lift her head.  If ham was a possibility.  Cat digs ham.

About 2 years ago, she was diagnosed with Thyroid cancer.  Make no mistake, that big sucks, but if your cat has to get cancer, this is the way to go.  She had to have medicine every day, to calm her overactive thyroid down, which we smashed up and put into wet cat food.  Fatty did NOT mind.

It worked pretty well, for a long time.  But...  in the last few months, we have noticed a decline.  For one thing, her whole back half hurt and she would fuss you if you touched it.  For another, the goiter in her neck had gotten to be about the size of... what?  I don't know.  between grape and golf ball.  Use your imagination.

The vet was all, "hey, pay $4000 and get her surgery," or "hey, pay $4000 and get her irradiated."  I was all, "hey, that's crazy talk."

Lately, she started having pain when she pooped.  Know how I know?  It made her cry.

So there really was only one okay thing to do.

She went to sleep forever on Saturday.  I was talking to her, petting her at the time.  Beanie was there, too.

She crapped on my leg when the first sedative kicked in.  I like that she got to still make me her bitch.

It was sad.  She'll be missed.  I cried like a bitch.  She has long been one of my very best friends.

She washed my face every night (gross.), including Friday night.  I'll miss that. 

The baby was looking forward to making a list of instructions for God for her, but then he forgot, as he should.  He is five.  And besides, we gave him a distraction...

This is Rosie, Rosanna (Arquette).  She's pretty fucking cute.  She's no Sparklecat, but she has potential...

Juliette Gordon Low

Remember the other week (or so) when I said that me and my guys were going to go tent-camping for one night?

We did that.  It was AWESOME.  We loved it.

Well, I loved it.  My big kid loved it.  My husband liked it, and my baby hated it.  But, I loved it.  That's what matters.

My husband, who had been off that day, had been strongly encouraged by some smart, amazing girl to go early and set up our campsite.  You know, before dark.

Unfortunately, he did not follow that advice, so the first hour was spent in a somewhat frantic setting-up of tents and fire pits and picnic tables lather.

Once all that was complete, and we were able to turn our cars' headlights off, we settled into the enjoyment of nature.  nature.

We poked sticks through hot dogs and ate hot dogs, and then we poked those sticks through marshmallows and ate marshmallows, except the baby, who announced that he was going to eat chips, and then he ate chips.

We drank root beer and juice boxes.

And then, my Husband noticed a fatty arbunkle raccoon hanging around under our picnic table, you know, where our feet were.  tee hee.  How cute.

So later on, after the neighbor-campers freaked out because they thought there was a wild hog in the brush (true story) (also true, mating raccoons sound like wild hogs) (also true, it is impossible to tell if raccoons are mating or fighting), and my husband went over to their site to help them fix their tent* and to convince them they could sleep in that tent, in that it was very, very unlikely that the noises were wild hogs, we settled in for the night.

The kids and I went to "bed" in our tents, enjoying the generally crickety camping sounds, while my Husband wasted our fire wood.  (When I asked him why - WHY? - he burnt up all our firewood, he at first said to keep the raccoons at bay but finally admitted, he just likes fire.)

And then, hey, howdy, Mr. Raccoon returned, prompting me to sing every word of Rocky Raccoon.

And then we all finally went to seleep, my husband included, and then - and then - there was this big THUMP.

My husband had helped himself to another rootbeer, you know, from the cooler, and so perhaps had not shut said cooler tight, and hey, look!  Rocky helped himself to our hotdogs, the little (but oh so cute) bastard!

(note:  this is not a picture of my actual raccoon, because I did NOT get this close to the feral little bastard.)
So my husband reached out the tent flap, and securely shut the top of the cooler, and we went back to sleep.

THUMP.

Rocky and FIVE OF HIS BROTHERS/BEST FRIENDS/RACCOON SLUT FRIENDS were hanging, enjoying my grapes (PURPLE GRAPES!).

Little bastards.

We didn't get much sleep that night.

The next day was about a long run, a nature hike, time to play on the playgrounds, etc.  The only critters that day were a couple of very cute rat snakes.

Camping is amazing.  Raccoons are shifty little five-fingered bastards.

*My husband never was a boy scout, but oh glory, he should have been, in that he is the King of Being Helpful to People Who Have Broken Things.  He gave away some strings that go to our tent, in this process, which vexed me.  Just saying.  If you go camping - tent camping - you are responsible for your own gd tent and my husband should NOT jeopardize our waterproofiness so you can rest comfortably.  Dammit.

Mary Tyler Moore (she cried a lot, too.)

It is entirely possible that, today, as I drove away from my baby boy's Kindergarten school, at which he is Now Fully Registered, and as I called my husband to alert him to the Full Registration, that I burst into big puppy tears of wet.

"He's so liiiiiiiiiiitttttttttle," I sobbed.

My husband, usually so pragmatic, "He IS so little."

"He can't even say his "L's" right," I wept.

"He can't.  It's awful.  I have to go."

So I called my Janie, who made me laugh and all that and also slid in there that she would let me babysit her kids except, you know, I live so far away.

which is to say, i'm totally psycho.  i know how she rolls.

Anyway, the baby is completely, 100% ready for the BIG K, even though I am not.  And it doesn't help that my only OTHER child will start his senior year of high school in like 48 hours or something.  Maybe a little longer than that but NOT MUCH.

This is a tough year for me.  I'm a sap.  I get it from my Aunt Sally, the one who will still cry (this minute, even) about a cat that died 40 years ago.  I understand that.  Cats are awesome. 

-----

Next.  It's effing absurdly hot, jungle hot, soupy air hot, and I've been trying to get my run on, but even I am not stupid enough to try to run when it is 96 degrees and the "feels like" is 118. 

118.

Just needed to re-say that, because, you know, I'm NOT EXAGGERATING THAT NUMBER AT ALL.

Anyway, so I can't run in that mess, so I've been working on identifying "cross training" fitness activities, and I've settled on Step Aerobics.

Back in the day, I was a kick-ass step aerobics person.  I could out step-aerobics everybody I knew.

Now I can't even make it through the GD "beginner" workout on the video.

WHAT IS THAT.

When did Step Aerobics get so freaking HARD?

All this being said, I have a race tomorrow! WORD.

-----
You know what we need around here?

More giraffes.

Yawny

I'm a yawn-y girl today.  I didn't get enough sleep.  I'm in a good mood, though. 

Also, owls are like kittens with feathers:

Me.  Owl.

Beach Bunny

God, how I love the beach.

No, that's not strong enough.

Adore.

No, too hokey.

EXIST BECAUSE OF.

Yeah, that'll do.

I can't live without a regular dose of salt air and sand.  I love the beach.  Love, love, love it.

Fortunately, I live about 35 minutes from a beach that looks um... like a beach.  I'd post a freakin' picture, but I can't get it to upload, so phooey.  Kung fu phooey.

Anyway, so I went there, did I, with the littlest one, on Saturday.  I sprayed him with SPF 50 and then rushed to rinse my hands so even my palms could potentially develop deadly skin cancer at some point in the future. 

And I failed to remember that I am currently taking an antibiotic, and one of the side effects is may cause sensitivity to sunlight.  Well.  Poop. 

So, yeah, I happen to have a bit of pinkishness, but let it be known that this is entirely the fault of that stupid medicine, and I still maintain that I NEVER GET A SUNBURN.

Anyway, we went back to the beach yesterday, making two beachy days of fantastic this long weekend and I wouldn't change a THING.

I love the beach.

On another note, for the second time in the last year, I've united my brother with a missing pet due to facebook.  Technically, this time, the pet wasn't missing, he just liked to go visiting.  Regardless, I cannot express how much fun it is to put my brother in contact with someone who claims to have found an animal that we all know belongs to my brother.  Especially since I live 80 miles away from my brother.  I am a miracle worker.

Have a happy Tuesday, all you little beach bunnies.