Three Things

1.  To the person searching for “can you love a man like a poem,” the answer is no.  Okay, maybe.  Sigh.  It depends on the man.  It depends on the poem.

2.  I’m glad to see this, but does it really take physically forcing people to talk to ordinary people for them to get that blowing the top off a mountain might be problematic?

3.  There are only three less healthy states to live in than Tennessee.  I eagerly await word from the new State government about what they’re going to do to combat this.  Clearly, by looking at the chart, you can see that all our problems are caused by gays and abortions.

So, I ask you today, Tennessee, to stop eating gay people and smoking aborted fetuses.  I pledge to stop smoking aborted fetuses, but I’m not sure i have the will-power to stop putting gay people in my mouth.

OA gets NEA Grant

Okay, so does that mean we’re going to the annual music issue this annus?

Oh, Come On!

What seven weird things do you people not already know about me?!  Do you not read me?  But if both Beth and Jim are telling me to come up with some, dang it, I’ll come up with some.

1.  I have a jar full of fingernail and toenail clippings.  It’s gross, but I can’t bring myself to get rid of it because… well, I’m not sure why.  I don’t add to it or anything, but I have it and I can’t throw it out.

2.  I refuse to watch movies that might make me cry.  Life is sad enough already.  Why would I pay someone to upset me?  I can turn on my television and be upset for free.

3. It irritates me that my name is not Elizabeth.  Betsy is a fine name for a little girl and a fine name for your free-spirited grandma, but these intervening years?  I wish I had something less cutesy to fall back on professionally.

4.  My parents always thought I would go by Teckla so it wouldn’t matter if I had a cutesy first name, but I’ve developed a kind of feeling about that name, that it’s mine and I don’t want you to call me it.  I don’t want to just hear it out-loud used by normal people.

5.  I have an unnaturally deep worry that I’m crazy–I mean, full on crazy, like where my interpretation of the world is completely different than what other people interpret is happening.  And it’s always a relief to me when I say to someone “Do you remember…?” and they say “Yes,” because I worry I might be making shit up, just to entertain myself, and not realize it.

6.  I don’t understand why people eat Doritos.  I have never had a flavor of Dorito that tasted good to me and they have that weird powder that gets all over.

7.  I am left-handed!  But, I do do some stuff with my right hand–throw a ball, cut with scissors, etc.  However!  The Butcher is right handed except for the things I do with my right hand, he does with his left.

The Orange Cat Learns a Trade

I’ll admit that I’ve always thought that the orange cat was our most boring pet.  The dog is… well, the dog.  And unlike the tiny cat, the orange cat cannot vanish like some kind of phantom, he hasn’t taken up residence under the house, he can’t make himself mysteriously have feet of lead which crush you when they step on you, and he doesn’t catch things.  He does occasionally professional wrestle and he threw up on my bed yesterday after scarfing down all his food like it his last meal.

But, in general, he doesn’t do anything except sleep and walk around looking at things with a slight air of disdain.  “Oh, you again.  Oh, the dining room again.  Oh, this mail on the kitchen counter again.  Whatever.  I only care so that I can locate the most valuable thing in the room and scratch it.  And even that bores me.”

So, imagine my surprise to discover that the orange cat seems to have taken up plumbing.

(Not to get distracted from my story, but did I tell you that the Butcher has offered to adopt his friends’ cat?  Why can’t his friends keep their cat?  Because for reasons two vets haven’t been able to figure out, poop slowly leaks out of her butt!  This would, apparently, not be a problem at our house because she could just live in the garage and outside.  I still think poop slowly leaking out of your butt is a problem, regardless of where you live, but what do I know?  Anyway, I have put my foot down in the semi-firm ‘no’ column.  At least, I hope that’s the ‘no’ column.  I’d hate to think what else might be semi-firm where a poop-leaking cat is up for discussion.  They need to continue to try to address the problem.  If it comes down to them having to put the cat down, fine, let it come live here instead.  But we need to be the home of last resort.  I say this only (and you can bet I’ll eat these words later and Rachel, don’t look) because I think that, if the cat were outside more (or at all), she’d be able to get some exercise and some grass down her and that could straighten things out.  Meanwhile, continue to pay vets, friends!)

Where were we?  Oh, yes, the plumbing.

It started when the recalcitrant brother and my dad were poking around in my walls trying to fix my leaking faucet and the orange cat got into the wall.  We assumed it was just to explore (since we all knew it wasn’t to catch anything–slacker) and eventually, he came out.

Since then, though, every morning, he gets up and pulls the stopper out of the bathtub and contemplates it.  Stares at it, sniffs at it, places his paw on it.  And not in a playful manner, but like he’s really trying to get some information about how this thing feels.

And getting it out in the first place cannot be easy.  It’s heavy.  It’s hooked in down there someplace, and he’s got no real fingers.  And I keep putting it back.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m appreciative that someone is working on my tub, but I’m a little worried about what the bill is going to look like in the end.  He’s clocking a lot of hours on that job, let me tell you.