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Aargh!

OMGWTFBBQ! I just tried to type some HTML code into Movable Type too fast, and ended up hitting the keystrokes for [Back] and erasing my entire damn entry.

Too bad… it was pretty good. About how I’m too impatient to sit down and write real blog entries. I can’t complain about lack of potential content, cause I’ve got plenty. It’s just making myself sit down and blog about it.

That said, I’m done for the evening.

humor

An Open Letter To Our Pets

From yet another forward I received from a co-worker:

Dear Dogs and Cats,

The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn’t help because I fall faster than you can run.

I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.

For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years—canine or feline attendance is not mandatory.

The proper order is kiss me first, then go smell the other dog or cat’s butt. I cannot stress this enough!

randomness

Quiet Time

When I was little (up until I was about eight years old), my bedtime was 8:00pm. At 7:00, I had “Quiet Time,” which involved turning off the lights and watching the beginning of the evening’s prime-time television programming in the living room with the rest of the family. No playing or running around, and I believe I had to be in my nightgown by this point.

Even at eight years old, I thought 8:00 was a god-awful time to have to go to bed—especially when it was still light outside, and other kids were still playing. But rules were rules, especially when it was a schoolnight. I remember Mom told me once that maybe those kids’ mommies didn’t love them as much as she loved me, or something like that. But, anyway, having Quiet Time really helped settle me down for bed, even if I did try to read under the covers afterward.

Fast forward to twenty years later.

After this weekend of drumcorps shenanigans, I was (and still am) aching in places I’d forgotten about. My shoulders, back muscles, thighs, biceps and triceps all ache—and all we did was stand there and play our horns! (And get high on breathing exercises. Easy, legal and free. Oh, yeah…)

As I contemplated my aching muscles at work today, it occured to me that I hadn’t christened the actual bathtub in our new house since we’d moved in. Showers, sure, but no baths yet.

So, this evening, around 9:30pm, I put some 24 Gone in the CD player, went upstairs and drew myself a bath. (After giving the tub a good scrub, that is.) And, oh, how good it felt. I’d forgotten that I like baths. Oh, yeah.

Now here I sit, in my bathrobe, listening to the 24 Gone CD play itself out, blogging, wrapping up the day’s to-do list. So relaxed. So much less sore than I was.

I think I should make this into my new Quiet Time.