Re-launched, but still slightly under construction. :-)

Thursday, September 30, 2004

The House Mouse

Thursday, September 30, 2004 By , No comments

There’s a mouse in our house
And I don’t mean to grouse
But he munches the dog food for Scrabble.
He scratches and steals
All the poor doggie’s meals
And runs off to feed all the rabble.
The mouse in our house
Well, he’s cute when he’s roused
And he skittles across the floor, addled.
Though he hardens like steel
When he hears the mouse squeal
He’s frightened, our poor little Scrabble.
There’s a mouse in our house
- thinks he lives here, the louse -
And it may sound like crazed psychobabble,
But he has an appeal
Though he stays mostly concealed
And the thought of him leaves me quite rattled.
Against the mouse in our house
I must espouse
I haven’t put up a real battle.
He has an appeal
This thief of dog meals
And I can’t call the landlord to tattle

Monday, September 27, 2004

Trapped

So, we got this new cafe table/chair set to go in the kitchen, because the washer/dryer take up too much space for the big wooden bench and table. I’m sitting in one of the chairs, doing the crossword, when Scrabble bolts out the back door. I start to get up.

“I’ll get him!” Scott calls as he dashes out after him - and suddenly I find myself struggling to keep my balance.

I let out a yelp as I almost fall down. I try to get up again, only to realize that my belt loop had somehow gotten entangled in the scrollwork on the metal chairback. I tried to free myself, but I couldn’t see or feel how it was tangled. I was trapped in the chair, and it was too heavy to stand up.

I sat there, alone and feeling pretty goddamn retarded, until Scott came trotting back in with Scrabble.
“Here we are! Bad dog!” he said, and put the dog down on the linoleum floor. He smiled at me. I struggled to get up.

“Um, honey... I’m stuck,” I said. He burst into laughter, and untangled the belt loop as we both laughed.

“That’s going in my journal!” He crowed. “That’s too hysterical.”

“I was afraid you were going to hop in the car and go to the store,” I said. That made him laugh harder.

“I heard you yelp, but I thought you were just saying ‘thank you,’” he said.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

Sunday, September 19, 2004

Showing my ass

I’m getting ready to go to work, running around quasi late. The dog, seeing me putting on my shoes and grabbing my purse and keys, endeavors to stop me from leaving. Daddy’s asleep, so he knows it will be hours before anyone plays with him. I step over him, around him, and try to lose him several times. He is undeterred.

Suddenly, I am on my face on the hardwood floor, stunned. I feel a breeze from the ceiling fans and realize my ass is exposed. I sit up, cautiously. The dog runs a quick figure-8 around me, into the nursery, and back. He takes hold of my skirt, and I get it. He pulled my skirt down with his teeth and tripped me. It happened so fast, I didn’t have time to react. But here I am: on the floor, half naked, with a throbbing cheekbone. Incredible. I suppress the urge to use him as a football and partially shut him in the living room with Scott. It will take him just long enough to escape that I can make MY escape. I leave, rubbing my face and checking the position of my skirt.

It’s probably going to be a long day

Thursday, September 16, 2004

Shit

Thursday, September 16, 2004 By , No comments

I’m sitting at the computer, replying to emails, when Scrabble waddles up to me, propelled by his rapidly wagging tail. He’s carrying something in his mouth he’s very excited about. I’m sure it’s yet another random piece of plastic he’s found on the floor.
“Hey, boy!”
He wags harder.
“Whatcha doin’ sweetie pie?”
He yelps a little, and waddles closer. I reach down and scratch behind his ears.
“What a good boy! Whatcha got there. Scrabble?”
He nudges my hand with his nose, and drops his prize into my hand.
“Oh, thank you!”
I scratch him again, and look at the object. It is a dark, hard, cylindrical-shaped object.
“What’s this, sweetie?”
And then I realize. Oh, crap. It’s crap. It’s a nasty, dried-out piece of dog poo. Aw. How loved I feel.

Tuesday, September 14, 2004

Now We're Married. 'Bout Time

Patsy and Jim DID NOT send in our marriage license. Instead, they marched themselves down to the Augusta-Richmond County Courthouse and hand delivered it - but not before they demanded that the probate officer change (in the computer records; the document itself is already set) the city of origin for Scott's father. Does the phrase "None of your business" ever enter her mind?

Nevermind. I know it doesn't.

Friday, September 10, 2004

Politics. Yay. Fun.

<>Joe: I still think the war was the right thing to do.
Me: I don’t think you should use the words “war” and “right” in the same sentence.
Joe: No, seriously, we have to take these guys out. We had to go to war. But I still love you guys, no matter who you vote for.
Scott: Well, my vote for Kerry is going to cancel your vote for Bush out, and Stacey’s voting for Kerry, so we win.
Me: Wait a minute, now, I haven’t decided who I’m voting for.
Scott: Really?!
Joe: She’s gonna vote for Nadar! Alllright! Then we really will win!
Me: No, I’m not voting for Nadar. But I haven’t decided who I’m voting for.
Joe: Well, since I’m here, let me convince you -
Me: I’m not voting for Bush. But I haven’t decided to vote for Kerry, either.
Joe: What other viable candidate is there?
Me: Well, the Libertarian Party’s candidate is viable. Their -
Joe: They want to legalize crack, heroin, and cocaine!
Me: They want to decriminalize marijuana.
Scott: That was a very astute political observation.
Me: What?
Scott: They want to decriminalize marijuana.
Me: Well, the problem with political discussion is that everyone depends on hyperbole. And it doesn’t accomplish anything. Anyway, I might vote for Kerry. I just haven’t decided.
Joe: Kerry got a scratch on the knee and three purple hearts! The bullet ricocheted off like three different things and scratched his knee and he got sent home!
Me: I don’t know anything about that, but what’s your point? I mean, he still has more experience in battle than Bush.
Joe: He can’t win this war.
Me: We’re not at war.
Joe: What? How can you say that?
Me: Oh, we went to war. We marched in, triumphant, and there was much rejoicing, and the statues came tumbling down. And then we sat back and waited. We fortify our positions while they find ways through ‘em. I don’t know much about tactics, but I do know that wars aren’t won from defensive positions.
Joe: But we got Saddam!
Me: So? Saddam isn’t Hitler. Baghdad isn’t Berlin. We’re still fighting as though this is World War II, and it’s not.
Joe (shaking his head): But we had to get Saddam! We have to take these guys out!
Me: Saddam was a dictator. Hitler was a charismatic leader. There’s a difference in how the effects the troops and government. There’s no centralized, top-down kind of structure in Baghdad. It’s a grassroots movement.
Joe: Still, we had to get these guys.
Me: Why did we have to do it?
Joe: Because - I mean, okay, like, the French were totally in bed with the Iraqis.
Me: No argument there.
Joe: So that’s why they didn’t support us. That’s why we didn’t go in with French troops.
Me: Yeah? We didn’t go in with a squadron of kazoo players, either. The French didn’t matter.
Joe: That’s true. That’s true. But Kerry still can’t win this war.

Lord. I’ll just drop it. I was hoping for a more two-way discussion on the war, but Joe was just too drunk already. Besides, he’s a die-hard Republican, and I don’t like any of the political parties. I don’t know if the war was justified. I just know that we didn’t go about it the right way.

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

Despite the wedding, we're still not married

Patsy and Jim have not yet mailed our marriage license (which means that we are not yet legally married). They did, however, OPEN THE ENVELOPE, read the contents,
and decide not to send it, based on the grounds that Scott gave the wrong city of birth for his father.

Hell, I probably gave the wrong city of birth for dad. I didn't know they were going to ask, and I blanked out, and the lady at the Probate Court said, "It's not important. Just guess." So I said "Well, it's either San Antonio or Tulsa. Maybe. I guess just put San Antonio, since he's a Texan at heart," at which she laughed.

Scott's father was adopted, and he didn't know where he was born, so he guessed Portland, where he had been raised. Apparently, he was born in Troy, Alabama. Well, who wants to be from Troy, Alabama, anyway?

So Patsy called yesterday and said she was going to photocopy the document, white out the incorrect information, write in the correct information, and then send it in. I was incredulous. It's a legal document, notorized and stamped. What is she thinking? Besides, it's none of her business what our legal documents say. But apparently Scott defiled the memory of his dead father, or something.

After about 15 minutes of Scott saying, "Mother, it doesn't matter. They just told us to guess. I didn't know where he was born, and I didn't know they were going to ask that... No, I couldn't call you, we were at the Probate Court... No, mother, we don't need a cell phone..." and so on. I finally said, "Tell Patsy that I'd like to be legally married before the end of the week, and if she can't put the damn thing in the mail, I'll be there in 15 minutes to get it." And Scott said, "Stacey said to tell you to stop being a butthead and send it in." Gee, thanks, Scott. That helped. Scott finally got Jim on the phone and made him promise to send it in today.