Andare, Partire, Tornare


It may be un-PC, but there's something really funny about watching a midget tote meat

I’ve been really lax about updating, partly due to the chaos that is my organization’s annual meeting, and partly out of sheer lassitude. Things around here have indeed been busy, as my sister, who innocently stopped by my workplace on Tuesday, now knows to her horror. We’re up to our eyeballs in little old ladies, who clank as they walk because they wear sashes dripping with pins. They also like to stop you to talk, and sometimes they grab your wrist firmly to prevent you from leaving. Our preparator says it’s giving him flashbacks to living in Florida, where he was routinely run down in the grocery store by tiny, wrinkled women who drive their shopping carts with reckless abandon.

Miles and Dexter returned from their surgery yesterday. When I went to pick them up from the rescue lady, she introduced me to all the kittens she’s currently fostering, many of them related to my two. Some of them, interestingly enough, are Himalyans and Snowshoes – there’s apparently a big poppa Himi out there who’s spreading his genetic blessings all over the place. I fell in love with two velcro kittens who wanted me to pick them up now, please, and wanted nothing more than to just stay in my arms while I chatted with the rescue lady.

Dex apparently hid the entire time under his little bed inside the carrier, poor dove. The doctor’s office is always a scary place, whether you’re a cat or a person. I’m worried about getting him adopted, though, because it’ll take somebody who understands that he’s not going to sit on your lap and purr the minute you take him home. In his secure environment, he’s a loverboy, but he doesn’t do well with noise and clamour. And while the urge to keep him is still there, Bemo and I both want a bolder cat, more in the manner of Bogie, who would hang out with us and wasn’t shy about sitting in the middle of the floor and greeting guests when they came over. It’s possible that when Miles goes for his trial run, Dexter will blossom a little bit. They were actually pretty cuddly last night, hopping up on the sofa voluntarily while I was on it (a first!), and slept while I rewatched my tape of The Amazing Race premier.

Speaking of TAR (woo, smooth segueway!), this season’s crop of racers don’t seem all that promising, race skills-wise, but the show is still hella-fun to watch. And maybe cluelesness will be good tv – it was great watching Team Sweet Valley High run past the clue box not once, but several times, all the while mumbling “it’s gotta be here, it’s gotta be right in front of us!” And, may I say, Phil is looking extra-delicious in dark blue. Mmm, Phil. So far, my favorite teams are the Bowling Moms and Chip and his wife (blanking on her name). I’m also interested in watching Charla and Mirna, who are entertaining in a sort of weird way. Watching Mirna earnestly ask if they could maybe play a hand of blackjack and double their money before moving on to the next clue was hysterical. But the “help me God” stuff has got to stop – not because He’s in the tub (although he is), but because she repeats it about fifteen times in a row, before going, “We carried the meat! An extra four blocks! And now we’re here!” She’s very narrative, that one, and it’s not necessary! We can see you doing it! You don’t have to tell us what we just saw you doing! Aigh!

9:42 a.m. - 2004-07-08


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