That’s it. I’m moving to a country where aging women are considered beautiful and they don’t have daylight savings.
That alarm went off today and I was all, Oh this is bullshit. Iris thought so too. I felt her flinch in shock when that alarm blanged at us at what was REALLY 5:20. Jesus. Why can’t we just let daylight get here naturally, asks Botox head.
My grandmother always did that. When daylight savings hit, she’d always say what time it REALLY was. And look! Look who I’ve turned into. I just figured out the other day that I am the same age she was when she got cataracts, and while I put the cat in cataracts, I’ve yet to be diagnosed, but I’m just over here waiting.
Speaking of cats, while I’m trying not to mention anyone I used to go out with on this not-blog (Why can’t she just say “blog” naturally? asks Botox head), someone I used to go out with has one of my foster cats, a cat named Nancy, whom we all loved, and that someone I went out with, fmr., texted me this photo over the weekend and it was so cute I had to show it to all y’all all.
Nancy. I’m so glad she’s good.
I’m trying to think of what I did all weekend.
I made this, and who even am I, even? I’ve been on this mysterious diet all week, that’s supposed to hore your moans or moan your horehound or do something or other with your hormones, and mostly it’s just eating a lot of protein and not having a starch till dinner, and it’s manageable but does anyone like their protein powder? Because have you ever seen that cute video where the pretty dog eats all the things and rates them out of 10 points? It’s my favorite for petspeak.
I feel like maybe only people with Facebook will be able to watch that, and what’s with making things Facebook exclusive? You wanna irk me? Have a business that ONLY has a Facebook website.
Anyway, that dog at one point eats a fish and they have him saying, “Lil fishy,” and every morning when I drink that damn smoothie with that damn protein powder, I think, “Lil fishy.”
There’s no FISH in it, but I taste fish. No one wants to drink fish.
Anyway, that chicken I made was okay, but too onion-y. Why do I need a whole onion for four unassuming pieces of chicken? Seems a … lil fishy.
Another thing I did this weekend was observe Mr. Swirl, here, abstaining from the 49 soft cushiony places to sleep in this house and opting for the wood floor. Also, I see carpet fibers near him, which leads me to believe first he clawed my new rug. I had my chance right there to take Mr. Swirl to the pound while he slept and did I do it? I did not.
Also, someone posted a whole thing on how you should adopt grownup cats and not kittens, and this was part of it and I sat here like an idiot and laughed at this for maybe 10 hours. Why can’t she look at Facebook naturally? asks Botox head.
I feel like I didn’t go out much this weekend and I guess I didn’t. It was rainy and shitty. But then Sunday was nice so I headed downtown.
If I get more cats, I’ll turn into this boob-cat-woman. This was like a warning.
If you want to see people be humorless, go ahead and call that statue Mr. Greensboro. “It wasn’t Mr. Greensboro. That was Nathanael Greene, who…”
zzzzzzzzz. Whatever. It’s Mr. Greensboro.
Okay, I gotta go. I gotta head to work in this FOG of this government-imposed time change.