Vaguely Urban

How I Became A (Vaguely) Urban Legend

My new law firm has a nicey tradition wherein all the chilluns of all the employees are invited to trick or treat on the afternoon of Halloween.  I was all fired up to participate, and ran out to the drugstore to stalk up on assorted sugar nuggets. 

While at the drugstore, I remembered that I needed something from the hygiene/grooming section, and so added one non-candy item to my purchase

Then, when I got home, I looked down at the bag and realized that I was every mama's worst Halloween nightmare:

Razor blades in the halloween candy!!!   RUN, KIDDIES, RUN!!!

p.s.  Observe how I bought the kind of non-chocolately candy that I am better able to resist, yet simultaneously included the premium Nickelodeom-branded stuff that is guaranteed to impress even the most jaded miniature Power Ranger.

Where Are You, Kitties?

The kitties are gone.  GONE.  They disappeared a few days ago.  I don't know where they went, and I'm hoping they weren't sent to kitty lake by the severely-practical-minded neighbors next door.  Dave saw the papa kitty sleeking around the yard, so maybe the mama just took the babies someplace more private.  I did have a bad habit of shining a maglight on the kitty family when I got home from work.  But I just wanted to see them!

What I can tell you is that they did not disappear due to blindness.  After Michelle's comment on my last post, I freaked right the fuck out and did some speedy wikiresearch and learned that Michelle is correctamundo.  Cats can indeed go blind or even die from eating dog food, due to a lack of taurine.  Fortunately, there is mucho taurine in Red Bull, so I just poured some in a little dish and left it on the fence. 

Kidding.  The cats disappeared before I had a chance to put any energy drink plans - or any plans at all - into effect.  And I gar-run-tee that the kibble I put out was a far cry more nutritious than whatever vermin they would have scavenged up in the sideyard.

Anyway, I miss them.  And I hope they're somewhere warm and cozy with their mama and papa and a steady, delicious supply of taurine.

Bob Barker, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Us?

Bob Barker retired from The Price Is Right a few days ago, and stopped giving his daily reminder to Control The Pet Population.  And what do I chance to see in my neighbor's sideyard the very morning after he retired?

This:

And this:

Recall the feral cats?  The ones who like nothing more than to drop a deuce in our backyard for Ginger to feast on?  They procreated.  It was Ginger who discovered them.  Our walkway looks down into the neighbor's yard (and I can't believe that I haven't done a million posts about the neighbors and their yard.  scads of fodder. and apparently, now, scats of fodder.)

Ginger, huntress that she is, heard the teeny mews from below and ran to investigate. They are so precious. 

I can't get to them where they are, behind my nighbors gate, and I don't know what to do for them.  We're now up to like 8 feral cats living in the breezeway between our neighbors' house and our townhouse.  AND NOW THEY'RE MULTIPLYING. 

At least the kitty daddy stayed around to protect the fruits of his cat lovin'.   

I put some food out (dog kibble - hey, it's highly nutritious and will help the mama make milk. don't tell Ginger), and I'm trying to figure out what to do for/about them.  Get them fixed?  Take them to Animal Control?  Let them run amuck in the breeze way like some kind of Feral Cat Manor?   

Anybody want some kitties?

Alternative Dispute Resolution

I distinctly remember my dad telling me when I was five years old that John Lennon died because he went swimming without a buddy. 

My dad (huge Beatles fan) disputes that he ever propagated this wicked lie.

I ask you: who is right?

You Come Here For Advice, Yeah?

Because I have a tip that is universal and life-altering.  The tip is this:  Eat a sandwich.  A peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  For dinner. Tonight. It will take only a very few seconds to make, and there will be virtually no clean up.  That will be wonderfully convenient and pleasant.  And also the sandwich will taste marvelously scrumptious.  You will be so happy.  So happy that you will eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner every night for many consecutive nights.

And, as long as you eat *only* a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, you will not get fat.  You will only get nutrition.  Delicious, delicious nutrition.

When All I Really Wanted Was To Be Still, Like Broccoli

A couple of nights ago, Dave and I each had ourselves a massage.  We go to this kind of no-frills place, clean, legitimate (no gentleman's release) and cheap.

I don't go often enough to have a regular masseuse, so I was randomly assigned to this one guy.  We'll call him Russell, because I think that was his name, and also he seemed Russell-ish to me.

Russel was a freaking wacko.  He talked throughout the entire thing, and didn't pick up on my cues that I prefer a quiet experience.  (Such cues include the audible statement "I prefer a quiet experience.")

He kept telling me to breathe, and to relax.  Annoying, but pretty standard.  Then he started giving me guiding images to visualize during my not-so-quiet experience.  These images got progessively... colorful, culminating in him whispering to me in dulcet tones, "now... you're a mollusk."  More specifically, "an abalone!"  (I would have preferred to be a bivalve, not a gastropod.)

Now, Russell probably didn't know this, but ask me to visualize a mollusk, and all I can see in my head is a completely waxed pudendum, thanks to a certain former roommate of mine who shall remain unlinked herein but she is linked over there on the left so you can probably figure it out.  Said former roommate experimented with a complete home wax and emerged to announce "I look like a MOLLUSK."   

According to Russell, as a mollusk, I was supposed to visualize myself adrift in the sea (and hello? don't abalones attached themselves to rocks?), letting "the water bring me what I need, everything nourishing, and take away the debris"  So thanks, Russell.  Now I'm picturing abalone poop drifting off with the ebbing tide.  How very relaxing.

In Russell's defense, he did give a particularly grand butt cheek pummel.  Nevertheless, I will probably ask for "anyone but Russel" next time I make an appointment.  He'll just have to visualize that I really enjoyed his chatter and came back for another go.

I Found My Special Purpose

Do you believe that everyone has one thing that amazingly good at?  Something they can do better than anyone else?

Because I think I've found mine!

That is the rehearsal dinner bouquet I made for Embee out of the ribbons from her shower gifts.  (Aaaaand I've just lost every male reader.)

So, ladies, take a look.  Is that not the finest exemplar of a ribbon bouquet upon which you have ever laid eyes?  The harmonious color palette, the voluptuous symmetry - it's perfection.

Too bad there's absolutely no market for my special purpose. 

But!  Speaking of perfection, that's the word for Embee's wedding. She looked perfect, the ceremony was perfect, the joy and love and celebration reached a peak of perfection. 

And I didn't fuck up the toast!