You are my sunshine...

I realized today that you can substitute 'butthole' for 'sunshine' in the song, and you've got a whole new tune! Especially when I tell you that 'butthole' has been my new term of endearment for the cats lately.

Yeah, it's been that exciting around here.

Christmas went fine. We both went to my parents on Xmas Eve, then had Wayne's fam over for Xmas Day. Wayne has his bigass tv taking up 3/4 of the living room, and I have my robot litter box on the way!!

A robot litter box? Yep, Nettie, I'm getting me a fancy poo machine. It looks like something from the Death Star. The cats go in and and do their thang, then it waits a few minutes, and BANG. Vaporizes the poo!

Kidding. Actually, it rotates completely around and sifts out the business and deposits it in a drawer for 'easy removal'. We used Wayne's Xmas bonus for this marvel, mainly because he's the Head of Poo Removal at our house. I'm in charge of Quality Control, which means I nag him into cleaning the boxes when the smell gets to me.

And I got a new phone today. Mainly because I dropped the old one and it came completely apart. In a bad way, not a snap-the-battery-back-on way. Like wires dangling. And then I snapped the dangly wires trying to put it back together. So off we go to the Sprint store. I tell the nice lady I don't care what the phone does as long as it's free. So I have a shiny red phone. Squeeee!

So then Wayne decides he needs a new phone, and uses his other bonus to get himself a shiny red phone (copier!) that has a pullout QWERTY keyboard and all that jazz. Whatev. I was mostly excited that they were playing the "Mama Mia!" DVD behind the checkout so I got entertained during all the boring hookup stuff. Gold star to Sprint for giving me what I really want--Meryl Streep in a bell-bottomed jump suit!

So, yeah, I'm way more excited about a fancy litter box than I am about my new phone.

"Please don't take my butthole away....."

Fictional Characters You Would Have Sex With, If They Were Real

OOH, Nettie, I forgot to mention the latest water-cooler talk. Actually, there's no water cooler involved, just Statia and I in one of our marathon phone calls. Here's the rules--they can be in print or on screen, any time past or present (or future).

Me
1. Harry Potter
Obviously, the grownup 'Half-Blood Prince' Harry, not little tiny 'Sorcerer's Stone' Harry. Remember, 17 is legal in the wizarding world!! Hehhehheh.

2. Oliver Wood
As I explained to Wayne when he pooh-poohed my choice; he's seventeen, a wizard, quidditch team captain and has an Irish accent!! Not a bad-looking bloke, either.

3. Sirius Black
Can you tell we've been watching the HP movies lately? After all that teenage sex, a man would be a nice change. A man who's a wizard, handsome, and rich. And the fact that he's been in prison for over a decade means he's probably got some pent up....emotion.

4. Mr. Darcy
Not Colin Firth (although that swimming scene in the movie might put him on another list), but actually Mr. Darcy. You know once you loosen that cravat, anything could happen.

5. Jamie, from the Outlander series. Again with the accent, only this time with a kilt. And muscles. And a good bit of fight in him, too. Hey, he's gotta have somebody to do while Claire's in another century for all those years.

6. Charlie Weasley. Long red hair, earring, leather jacket, dragon expert. What's not to love?

Statia

1. Wanderer, from Lord of the Rings. Although there has been some disagreement about the real name of Viggo Mortenson's character, it's my blog. So we'll say Wanderer.

2. Legolas. 'Cause if you're gonna have an elf, make sure it's a warrior elf. (Elven sex, or elvish sex? You decide.)

3. Edward, from the Twilight series. Seventeen, but with the wisdom (and experience) of centuries, handsome, rich, and a vampire who can't have sex with you because he could possibly kill you with the force of his...emotions. Swoon!

4. Fred or George Weasley. (Not Fred and George Weasley, as I originally assumed. Don't they do everything together? .)

Honorable mentions:

Male boss: Cheetara. "And I would totally misuse that sword, too."
Male coworker: Mystique and Storm. "Mystique could be anybody you wanted her to be." Excellent point.
Female coworker: Matthew McConaghey's character in "A Time to Kill". McConaghey himself is a little too dirty and crunchy granola, but his intense lawyer character was very sexy. Didn't hurt that he was constantly shirtless and sweaty, remodeling his house.
Excellent grasp of the fine point of the discussion, I think.

Feel free to comment.

Hiya, old buddy!

Ok, so I haven't visited with you in a while. Ok, a loooong while. Sorry, Nettie! Let's just take up where we left off, and forget about those nasty recriminations. Mmkay?

So today started off with a bang. Actually a prolonged gagging, horking, and a splash. Not me, Nettie, I'm fine! Fat cat decided to hoover up her special treat of 'salmon filet in sauce' (What a delightful name. I'm guessing 'salmon organs 'n offal' didn't have the same delicious ring.) ,while I was enjoying my own delightful breakfast of Frosted Flakes (the real thing, Nettie, not a knockoff--love those coupons).

I'm just debating a second bowl when I hear it. The whistling of an immanent tornado, the squeal of a braking car, the wail of a siren--none of these things can make me cringe more than gagging. I promptly put my hands over my ears, but guilt made me glance over to check that she's not dying. Damn you, guilt, add my morning to a list of things you've ruined!

That nanosecond was the exact moment the half-digested salmon came spewing forth.

Linda Blair has nothing on my cat.

Let me remind you that I have a finely tuned gag reflex. The Stradivarius of gag reflexes. It takes the merest whisper of discomfort to give me my own matching discomfort.

**Amusing sidenote--well, it's amusing now, some twelve years later. My college roommate and I lived on the 11th floor of the dorm. She and another friend, both aware of my touchy stomach, trapped me on the elevator and made gagging noises for ELEVEN floors. In a Cold War-era elevator, which equates to probably three hours of downward travel. I was so incapacitated with nausea that upon the doors opening, I staggered outside and collapsed on a convenient shrubbery. I never recovered. Well, about dinnertime I did. Slightly. **

Back to the present. I must have bellowed something unsympathetic after the first rush, because fatty turned her back to me and continued to heave on another, heretofore unsullied, patch of carpet. Cream carpet. By this point, 'earmuffs' still firmly attached, I am whimpering like a toddler, intermittantly hollering NONONONONO. Deluge finished, she skitters off. I cautiously lower my hands. In an effort to collect myself before the inevitable cleanup, I focus on my bowl of milk-sodden cereal flakes. Remember, my tummy is full of sodden flakes, consumed prior to the fracas.

I realize that the remains in the bowl bear a disconcerting resemblance to the remains on the carpet.

Deep breath. Hold. Hold. Think happy thoughts. More vomit to clean up is NOT A HAPPY THOUGHT. It's ok. Rubber gloves. Paper towels. Carpet cleaner. You can fly you can fly you can fly.

Do you ever think, "This is NOT why I went to college"? I don't know what bearing that has on my cleaning chore, but it popped into my mind. As if a college degree bars you from unpleasant cleanup. "Sorry, honey, you're going to have to clean up Junior's diaper blowout. See that diploma?" That would be an awesome marketing campaign, if they could actually make it true. On second thought, a LOT of the things they say about college doesn't necessarily happen. Like "you'll get a good job immediately after graduation" and "student loan payments are small".

As soon as I tackle the salmon filets in sauce, I'll get right on that marketing campaign.