I usually have something on my mind each day as I sit down to write. But I’ll admit that today my mind was a blank. Zeb came to the rescue when he announced that it was time to give Frank a shower. Frank is our cat.
He loves showering his cat. Afterwards he waits for people to walk by the house and thrusts Frank under their noses and urges them to smell his “superfresh” fur. If that weren’t strange enough, he insists through the whole process that, “He likes it!” even though Frank is cowering in a corner and making that scary cornered cat sound.
So it’s a slow news day around here. Every day can’t be exciting.
In other news, I was checking out my Google search terms. Once again they are inexplicable.
Cut off my hair: Maybe my hair anxiety dream?
Cocksucking lips: That one had to be about the Angelina Jolie/John Voight connection, but I never put that fine a point on it.
Dirty jokes about milkshakes: Huh?
Puddle and pug mix: That had to be a misspelling of poodle and pug mix which referred to the reign of terror that befell the house when I dog sat Tabby’s Pugoodle, AKA Vicki’s grand-dog.
I would I have this kind of naked feeling: This makes sense.
Squishy lizard: I think I likened them to cold turds.
I am not like this: a contemplative post, don’t get used to it.
None of this reaffirms my faith in the power of Google search engines. I can’t imagine that whoever searched these phrases went to my blog and were like, “That’s exactly what I was looking for.” I’m not complaining, though. Maybe some people decided to stay.
Time to cut the crap.
I tackled another corner cupboard of doom in the kitchen today. Not because I don’t have enough to do and just love having my day and kitchen dominated by a huge fucking disaster, but because the crappity little plastic clips that held the shelf up sheared off and the only thing holding the shelf up were some tall bottles. Which happened to be the same height. And also happened to be of the tequila variety which I wanted at but couldn’t get to unless I actually dealt with this damn mess.
Have you ever heard the saying, “It will get worse before it gets better?” Welcome to my world.
Actually, when Zeb broke his foot in what will be known as The Worst Month Of Our Lives (March 2003, to be specific) he had to see a orthopedic surgeon named Dr. Wurtz. We took to saying, “Until you get Wurtz, you won’t get better.”
This is what I get when I ask Zeb for help. I needed a few of those little clip things to shore up the shelf. He busted into my tool kit (vintage train case, aren’t I clever?), emptied everything out onto the counter, presented me with the clips (one too few, natch) and walked away. Thanks for nothing.
After picture. Okay, it looks the same but it is better. For one, I can get the tequila out (huge sigh of relief) and I got rid of a bunch of crap.
Here’s all the crap I’m getting rid of.
Chipped platters. TRASH.
I got rid of the pasta maker (don’t worry, I know FOR A FACT that I have at least two more rollers and at least one more extruder) and ravioli maker I bought in my early 20s and haven’t used since. I got rid of them on my mom’s group!
Cat and fish tea pots. Does anyone want them?
I posted these vases on my mom’s group and a woman took them who is related to a guy I cooked with at the Walnut Brewery twenty years ago. Small world.
Hello Kitty thermos (eBay) milk shake cups (giving them to The Cup) and assorted mismatched lids. TRASH.
Sake that has been open since Momofuku night over a year ago and a random lid. TRASH.
Featured image courtesy of thekittycitygazette.blogspot.com
Here’s a little PS for Cindy, because she wanted a close-up of the train-case closure. See? I loves my readers and would do (almost) anything for them.