So I wasn't satisfied to take on nature with just my foray into foliage maintenance last week. Which reminds me - you'll be pleased to know that since the three days I spent raking, blowing and plucking every last dry brown leaf off the property and into the brush in the way beyond, we've had a couple of big, windy, rainy storms pass through and now most of the Klingon oak leaves are on the lawn and it doesn't look like anyone has raked around here in ages.
Nature and control freaks do not mix well.
If last week was Lisa versus the Leaves, this week is like a rerun of Marlin Perkin's and his
Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom.
Funny, it hasn't been the bees in my bonnet either. Okay, not so funny. I don't find bees so funny. But bees and wasps and other stinging creatures aren't the issue. It appears that they like the gloom and cool weather as much as I do. I wonder if they're holed up in their little bee houses eating copious amounts of sweets and considering naps after a 2p.m. cocktail?
Anyway, this week, it's me versus the Animal Kingdom, Domestique. Dogs, cats, sugar ants. I still can't figure out how the sugar ants got onto the Igloo water cooler we use for our filtered H20, but finding them crawling on the surface made damn sure that I'd be launched into some exhausting project to cure the situation. A half hour later, the place where the cooler sat empty and wiped down (with vinegar, of course) and the refrigerator had been rearranged and washed out so that I could move the shelves to accommodate the eighteen inch chubby red plastic monstrosity.
Truth is, I really hated how the cooler looked sitting on the counter, so thank you, ants. You gave me a reason to fix the situation.
Other domestic disturbances include two - no three cats - a fourth if you consider the new feral kitty I've been feeding because I'm a sap for poofs who ask nicely and a dog. Sorry about that sentence structure.
So the first cat at issue is Morris, aka The Butterscotch Lion aka The Fluffball of Love. He's not so fluffball anymore because he discovered what happens when he drags his dirty ass across my carpet. If he's not groomed often, clumps of poo get matted and ick!
I spent Saturday evening locked in battle with him, my only weapons a pair of scissors and a bad attitude. That was not how I intended to spend Saturday evening and I made sure everyone knew it. At one point I shouted to MathMan through the bathroom door that I need one of those wooden thingies sheep farmers use when they shear their sheep. It could double for some kinky sex, too. MathMan was appropriately amused, thank goodness, and you know he's going to hold me to the kinky sex part, right? Anyway, I've created a search on eBay for a small shearing platform. Will keep you posted.
The second cat at issue is Tiger. All the sudden, he's Mama's Boy. This cat is on top of me, breathing my air, killing me softly with his purring. In all our married years, MathMan and I let only one animal sleep with us (if you don't count the children) - a cat named Phoebe. That was before Chloe was born nearly twenty years ago (I'm trying to get used to saying that.). Phoebe loved me, too, and liked to show me by snogging and drooling on my neck. It was beyond gross, but just like now, I was ridiculously accommodating. One night while I was pregnant with Chloe, I dreamed that instead of a precious baby, I gave birth to a litter of kittens. I woke up panicked and panting to find Phoebe asleep on my swollen belly. It was then that animals not of my own making were banished from the bedroom.
Tiger rattles the doorknob and fusses until I relent and let him in. After a few minutes kneading, I'm ready in his opinion and we can settle in to sleep. I turn over on my side and spoon with MathMan and Tiger spoons me. It's much more wholesome than it sounds.
The third cat causing difficulties is whichever one high stepped it across my laptop keyboard yesterday after I dashed out of the house without shutting my computer, as is my custom. She (I'm looking at you, Fiona) hit just the right combination of keys to make something print and the printer jammed and although MathMan was able to get the offending sliver of paper out of the printer (who knew it opened up on the back?), I have yet to work the magic to make the printer go back online. Why in the devil, in the year 2011, does anyone need to print anyway, you ask? Coupons, of course!
Finally, there's a little dog wandering the neighborhood with his toadie, a black lab mix. I went out to finish shoving a log that had been jutting into the yard into the underbrush because I'm sick of mowing around the damn log, when the Chihuahua apparated behind me and barked, startling me so that I lost my grip on the log and fell on my ass. The Chihuahua and his friend the lab had a good laugh. I invited them to come closer so that I could get a look at their tags and perhaps escort them home. They stood pointing and laughing. I tried speaking in Spanish to no avail. Maybe vamanos was not the word I was looking for. Oh well, when they were finished mocking me, they set out across the dry creek to irritate the neighbors dogs by running along the fence going
neener, neener and
nyah, nyah, we're loose and you're not.
I gave up on the log and came back into the house to pound on the printer with a hammer. As long as that little yellow triangle with the exclamation point is over the printer icon on the bottom of this laptop's screen, I've got a reason to rage. Without rage, I am nothing.
Okay, now that I have that off my chest, here's what else I'm doing....READING! Reading and reading some more. I'm beta reading for a friend and having fun with it. (She's gooooood.) I'm editing something (almost done if you're reading this) and having fun with it, too, because it's a funny piece, I'm reading Stephen Elliott's
The Adderall Diaries and estalking him like a goon. He's so nice, he emailed me back and didn't even mention a restraining order.
And I'm getting ready to read
this after I check to make sure my vibrator is in good working condition. Yes, you read that right. Don't act so shocked. Get that book and check your battery inventory, yo. I've read Averil's other work. You'll be glad you were prepared.
And I'm finally joining some of you in a near cult like love of the TV show Big Bang Theory. I know, I'm late to the party, as usual. Can I just tell you that the biggest achievement in my writing life would be to create a set of characters like
Sheldon,
Leonard, Raj, Wolowitz and
Penny? Some have likened MathMan to Leonard. I'll admit they look alike. And my darling husband has a bad habit of trying to explain things to me that I am neither interested in knowing nor capable of grasping. But Leonard is a physicist while MathMan is, well, pretty simple, huh?
Mind you, I'm no Penny. She's cute and young and can wear revealing clothing without upsetting the Time/Space Continuum. Plus she still has her future ahead of her while I'm on the downward slope and gaining speed. But there are some similarities. I have the annoying habit of calling people terms of endearment when I'm about to deliver a verbal blow. I also can't keep the Star Trek movies and derivatives straight. Was the one where Spock dressed like Olivia Newton John number four or five? I think Wrath of Khan was number three, but don't quote me.
But really, I cannot tell you how much I would love to create a character like
Sheldon Cooper. Doctor Sheldon Cooper, PhD. In the past I would think how cool it would be to create a character like Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, Sherlock Holmes, Scarlett O'Hara, Spock, Harry Potter, Mary Poppins, the Fonz. A character so iconic that when you say their catchphrase or say that someone is like a Richie Cunningham, a lot of people will know what you mean. Now I must add this character - Dr. Cooper - to my list of icons.
Oh, Dr. Sheldon Cooper, live long and prosper.
