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Wednesday, June 3, 2015

you will never stray for every day your Christmas dreams come true

Argh, Groceries is killing me, man!  He is the most expensive free cat I've ever had.  I took him to the vet last week because he was peeing blood--I know this because he has taken to peeing in the sink.  IN THE SINK.  On one hand, that is super gross, but on the other, the sink is not upholstery and is easily cleaned.  So it turned out he had a UTI and I paid the extra fifteen dollars to have them give him a shot rather than do the oral antibiotics, which brought the total to $106.  Money well spent, because it is worth fifteen dollars to me to not have to wrestle medicine into a cat.  But the problem is not solved, because as of this morning he is still peeing blood, and also he has tapeworms, as John discovered the other night, when he found a white, wriggling worm segment on Groceries's butt.  I am so thoroughly disgusted by this whole thing.  So back to the vet we went, where he cost us another $79, and this time I get to smash worm medicine into his food as well as give him an oral antibiotic.  He won't eat the food if there is medicine in it, by the way.  Plus he always rage-pees in the carrier when I take him to the vet, so now my clothes smell like cat pee.  Why do I have animals?

Friday, May 29, 2015

where the fun doesn't stop at only eighty bucks a pop in beautiful happy world land

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I am deep in the throes of prepping for Travis Sorenson Day, which is a holiday John and I have created, and which maybe I've mentioned before, I don't remember.  In short, we've declared a holiday in honor of one of John's childhood friends, because Travis has always remembered John's birthday ever since John moved to Utah, and John felt bad that he never reciprocated, so we decided that we would start celebrating Travis's birthday.  That was long ago, in the halcyon days of 2008.  We were so young then!  Also we didn't have air conditioning, which was hard on our guests, since there was no way to escape from the oppressive heat of late May in Utah.  How times have changed.  For this year's festivities we're having pork tacos, which is what I'm busy with right now.  We cleaned the patio off last weekend, and Grant spent six hours, literally, mowing the lawn.  It's been so rainy that we haven't been able to mow and it was like the pampas of Argentina out there.

I still haven't dared to open my beehive and get the honey.  All the other bee people are nagging me and prophesying dire events if I don't, but nuts to them.

I think maybe Sally and Minerva aren't actually pregnant?  Surely they would have kidded by now.  They aren't getting any fatter, and there are only two weeks left in the window of time to correspond with the buck being here.  Strange.  Maybe he was shooting blanks.  Or maybe they saw what happened to Hazel and were like NOPE, REABSORBING NOW.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

I was just doing what any hero would do

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Right off the bat I want to say that I like Jim Gaffigan's comedy.  Beyond the Pale is delightful and some of it was so funny it made me cry.  Mr. Universe, same.  So you know that when I say I expected better of his new show it comes from a place of love.  And I should watch it before I judge too harshly, but I saw a promo photo for it yesterday, and it looks like the main cast is four dudes and one lady?  Like, even his wife's best friend is a man?  And then he tweeted a picture of a cast list, and it was, like, the biggest sausagefest.  Five women and twenty-eight men--many of the men are cameos, so I don't know if that's one episode or multiple episodes or what, but still.  C'mon, Jim.  Let's get some women in there, unless that is in fact representative of your real life, in which case what a disappointing world this still is.

And since I spent yesterday avoiding work by watching Parks and Recreation, I am reminded that I love that show.  I love all the characters, I love how they've grown and blossomed over the years, and I want to hug them all, except Councilman Jamm, whom I hate so much.  

Okay!  I'm lying, I didn't really avoid work the whole day.  I was trying to write something and it was so, so terrible.  I keep getting about two pages into a story and then it's so bad I have to close it down and start a new one, which is just as bad, repeat to infinity.  

I will not miss David Letterman.  He's gross and creepy.  

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

no you cain't get a man with a gun

Someone told me the other night that they couldn't imagine me getting angry or yelling at my kids, which I guess means that I'm successfully passing as a nice person.  Good job, me!

I mean, I am generally nice, in that I don't believe in being rude for no reason, and I almost always accept food assignments for funerals and such, and yeah, I try to help children improve their literacy even though they act like jerks, but my gooey center is not a sweet one.  I think my gooey center probably tastes like tobacco spittle.

While slogging my way through the twitters I realized that when I scroll using the touchpad my computer makes a barely-audible clicking sound, sort of like ruffling pages in a book, and I am so annoyed by this now that if I were a baby I would be fussing SO MUCH, and my parents would probably have to buy a white noise machine to drown out the sound of the clicks so I could sleep.  Except, here's the part I've never figured out:  how can anyone sleep with the sound of white noise?  "Hey, you know that noise you hear when your radio station isn't coming in very clear?  That sound that's so irritating that you'd rather not listen to the radio at all?  Let's make a machine that makes that noise all the time, and it will sell like hotcakes!"  Babies are crazy is what I'm saying.

I don't think I ever missed the bus when I was in junior high or high school, but I drive Grant and/or Emmett to school at least once a week.  This is how you know I'm not doing a very good job on them.  At least they're not on drugs, that we know about, but if they could add "can catch the school bus" and "is considerate of others" to their resumes it would be really neat.

Thursday, April 30, 2015

you remind me of the babe

The neighbors I'm goatsitting for live over by a huge swampy area called the Black Slough, so every spring they have terrible problems with gnats, tiny little no-see-um gnats that bite you everywhere.  So since I have been playing midwife I have gnat bites all over in my hair and around my ears, and if I lived in a place with no-see-ums?  Would move.  This is no way to live.  And yet half of the people in our ward deal with the gnats every year.  You can't even go outside!  Poop on that is what I say.  A few years ago my uncle Kenny, whose house is also near the Black Slough, was talking about how much he hates going to the doctor--he was going through chemo at the time--and he said, "I would rather thin beets with a short-handled hoe in the gnats than go to the doctor."  For people who understand sugar beets and hoes and gnats, that is a powerfully vivid image.

A girl I know is getting a roller skate tattoo for her birthday, and it caused me to wonder--what is a relationship with a tattoo artist like?  Do you always use the same person, or do you bebop around?  It seems like going to a new artist would be even more awkward than changing hairdressers, but maybe tattoo artists aren't actually very territorial.  Maybe they understand that certain artists are right for certain designs, and they have no problem with you using the best artist for the job.  It's a tricky world to navigate, man.  So many feelings to consider.  

I wish it were always fall, so I could wear boots and cook ham and it would rain instead of snow.  Which is the autumnest of states?  Vermont, maybe, or New Hampshire?  I should move there I guess, except for I'm pretty sure those places get snow, yuck.  Washington seems pretty autumnal, and maybe Montana, but I refuse to move to Montana unless forced by global climate change.  And I'm sure they get snow.  Snow is horrid.  Why is there not a machine to create a portable climate, so everyone could be where they're the happiest?  This is probably not even the fakest thing that we could invent.  This is just money waiting to be made, guys.  

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

new new york's hottest club is whimsy

Well, friends and neighbors, I have good news and bad today.  Bad news first, so we get it over with.  I went out to check on the goats this morning and discovered that Hazel had died kidding last night.  No babies survived, because it looks like she died pushing the first kid--there were just some hooves poking out and that's it.  This is really sad for me, because Hazel was my good little buddy.  She loved me from the get-go and followed me around like a dog.  She was the calming influence on Sally and Minerva, and if they are manageable at all it is thanks to her good example.  She was a great mother, the best of all our goats.  Little Hazelnut, you will be missed.

The good news is that I'm watching our neighbors' goats for them while they are on vacation, and Sage, who is Hazel's sister, kidded triplets last night, two girls and a boy.  They were all dry and happy when I found them, so I moved them into a separate pen where they'll be away from the trampling of the other goats, and doctored their navels.  They're pretty cute.

That browny-bluey roan in the foreground is a female, which is super cool, because she'll add some great color to the goat consortium's herd.  And Sage has a great udder with nice big teats, so those are good genes to perpetuate.

I bought a Purple Prince crabapple to replace our Shogetsu flowering cherry that died like the weak sauce it is.  Fellow Northern Utahns:  do not be tempted by the flowering cherry.  They are so gorgeous, but they are not built for our climate.
This is a cute little fellow, and I love that bronzy foliage.

I'm cooking some dinner for a friend who has stage 2 non-alcoholic cirrhosis, and I'm a little freaked out that I might accidentally kill him?  I'm going to try French toast with yogurt and fruit and hope for the best.

Friday, April 24, 2015

I've got a better idea--how about we don't?

Last night I was bringing Grant home from his basketball games at a high school that was basically like a palace or maybe an understated casino, and we stopped at Nielsen's Frozen Custard so that he could build some nice garbage muscles.  We talked about how you can't outrun a bad diet, and that someday he will pay for the way he eats, as I am paying now, but honestly he doesn't eat garbage that often, so burgers ahoy I guess.  Anyway, we ordered a quart of lemon custard (can't outrun a bad diet what?) to take home, which is about an hour away, and without even being asked those lovely people packed it all in ice in a plastic container so it would stay as hard as possible.  We usually look to Nielsen's for aloof, sluggish service which we put up with for the custard, but they were really great last night.

We heard pieces of that horrid "Dear Future Husband" song a few times on the radio and I ranted to Grant a little bit about how gross and retrograde it is.  When "All About That Bass" first came out everybody was like yay, here is a feminist, body-positive message for the young girls of today, and it took people a minute to even HEAR the misogynist "tell those skinny bitches that" lyric, or how the whole song was STILL about pleasing the male gaze, and now as more of Meghan Trainor's catalog is released we start to get a clearer picture of her platform, which seems to be that she just wants fat girls to be treated like sexy, infantile pets in the same way that skinny girls are.  A giant leap for mankind.

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I am making over a gallon of yogurt today, because I forgot to cancel our milk order this week.  So yes, I have our menu for next week planned, thank you for asking.