Did you ever see a TV show where the alarm goes off and the person shuts it off and immediately gets out of bed? Are there really people like that, or is it like TV gifts that are fully wrapped and you just take the top off ?
I used to think those Xs on the bottoms of Christmas trees were a fake TV thing, too, till I moved to LA and that’s how they give you a Christmas tree. Also, you haven’t experienced weird till the sun beats upon you while you’re getting a Christmas tree. With an X on the bottom.
Also, why do you guys let me do math? Why do you leave me alone with math problems?
Yesterday I said there were 108 lives in my house right now, and that I took forever to do that math. Today I woke up, by smacking the alarm and lying there forever like a normal not-in-LA person who has to cram her Christmas tree into an absurdly difficult Christmas tree stand, and figured out I did the math wrong.
Okay. Cats have nine lives.
I have three regularly scheduled cats.
Then I have a mom and seven kittens.
3 + 1 + 7 = 11.
9 lives x 11 cats is 99.
Right? But I said 108. And also, I kept thinking okay, there are 12 cats here (there aren’t) (I don’t think. Hell, if one slipped past the bouncer, who could blame me for not noticing at this point), so it’s 99 + 12.
But it wouldn’t be. It’s be 99 + 9.
Oh my god, hoooo care.
I have kittens.
Today at lunch I am going to scream down to the pet supply and get a bottle and mother’s milk. Like, from a cat, not from my own mother. I worry about this one, who is like a tenth of the size of her (his? her. Because tortoiseshell, right? They’re always girls?) siblings. Her name is Elizabeth–the youngest Walton. Look at her little mustache! It’s not so cute when I have one.
I tried to put all the other kittens in the carrier last night and give her alone with mom time, but she was so not into it. She wanted to wobble around and look at things teensily. Twirl her tiny mustache. And so on.
There’s a lot of competition for food. Not to be obsessed with LA today or anything, but it’s like trying to go to brunch in Santa Monica.
So that’s the update on foster kittens. The Foster Report®.
I wish I had some sort of…Foster Grant to cover the costs of this.
Really, you have sent tips, kitten tips, and that is magnificent of you. Thank you.
Lottie Blanco, m’coworker, brought me cans of kitten food, which I am feeding to the mom. They told me to feed kitten food to nursing cats. And it’ll be a matter of days before they all start eating that food.
I took down my tip jar ages ago, when I put UP that link to shop with Amazon. It seemed annoying to have both. Maybe my problem is I’m not ambitious.
Anyway, I still have a tip jar, it’s just not up. The link to send tips, just the tip, is still
But don’t leave a tip if you can’t afford it. I’m mentioning it now because a few times in the comments these past few days, people have wondered where the tip jar is, and that’s the answer. Maybe I should just put it the hell back up.
But we have other important details to discuss. Today we have:
Photos of my coworkers.
A rundown of the silent movie I saw last night.
And info on my high school boyfriend.
Oh, boy, June. Lemme get my coffee and we can get started. Even though you’ve already spoken for 626 words already.
You know my boss, fmr., whose clothes we vote on when she gets her StitchFix? She’s come into a little money as of late, a little pin money. Some hat money. Oh my god June shut up.
…I just want you to know I can NEVER FIND where to add a poll to this blog, and I will not say the struggle is real but oh my hod. (Hod. What is WRONG with me? Oh my Hoda Kobe.)
Photos of my coworkers.
I have recently taken two coworker photos I’ve enjoyed. Here they are.
This coworker came over to show me her cat mug, because she thought I would enjoy it, and what I enjoyed were her pink earrings, pink shirt, pink lipstick AND her pink mug, all at once. So a photo was born.
My coworker Molly was excited about her new t-shirt, and I was taking photos of said shirt for her, but I like this blurry one best. Which is the story of my life.
Slivent. What the hell is wrong with me? Have we discussed yet?
Last night, my old movie theater showed the silent film Sunrise, which I knew nothing about, but I did see the sequel, Sunset.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, June. Lemme get a tissue.
We have the original organ at my theater, from when it opened in 1927, and they have a guy come from Chapel Hill or somewhere to play it during the silent films. He’s really good. I mean, what do I know? But he adds to the suspense and so on with his playing.
Also, who knew this old movie would have me at the edge of my seat, barely able to concentrate on my peanut M&Ms?
There was one scene where some vamp-ish city folk, a word they kept capping in the subtitles, (“Come to the City.” “She was a fast City girl.” You know how lighthearted I am about things like this.) wanted to redo the hair of our country heroine, up there, and she had a fit and didn’t get her hair done. I was over there screaming, GET YOUR HAIR DONE, FOR GOD’S SAKE. I mean, silently. Because silent movie. Plus, peanut M&Ms in my mouth.
It really was a stupid hairdo. When she finally drowns at the end her hair looks way better.
Spoiler alert! You only had 91 years to see this movie, so I understand if your pressing schedule kept you from it.
I act like I didn’t just see it 12 hours ago.
High School Boyfriend
My high school swain, fmr., Cardinal, is in North Carolina, and we are getting together tonight. Naturally there’s something, like, dead in my house. There is this smell. I cannot figure it out. It’s not cat litter, although you’d think it was. The kittens don’t use a box yet, and I’m changing mom’s box twice a day and my OWN cats’ box twice a day.
I took out the trash and the recycling.
It’s driving me insane.
Anyway, this has become less about Cardinal and more about the dead thing that dwells under my house, but there it is.
I’ll talk to you tomorrow, when I hope to cover an equally dizzying array of the pressing topics of our time.
Shutting off the alarm and getting right out of bed. Also going to someone’s house to visit before work, like they do on TV shows and never anywhere else in life,