Author: Shelly

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Are We There Yet?

Shelly

Is it really Friday? Finally? This has been a spectacularly long and worrisome week, and I’m glad it’s pretty much wrapped up.

Saturday, I woke up to find that Rory had another blockage. One of the vets from the 24-hour emergency clinic has a practice about 30 minutes south of me, so I took him there. The plan was that the vet would clear the blockage, then take Rory home with him that night and take him to work at the emergency clinic with him the next day. He cleared the blockage and catheterized him, but he became blocked again. That blockage was cleared, and I was supposed to pick him up Thursday, but he became blocked yet again. Apparently, the crystals in his bladder are so compacted that they’re like concrete. There is also quite a bit of scar tissue in his bladder and urethra. Poor cat. That has to be hellishly painful.

Luckily, one of the vets who works at the emergency clinic also has a cat clinic–in Spencer! She’s got ultrasound equipment at her clinic and will, hopefully, be able to break up the mass of crystals so that they can be passed. Assuming that goes well, he’ll come home on Saturday or Monday to recover. Later, he’ll need to have his urethra widened, so that if more crystals form, they will be able to be passed.

I have no idea what a week’s stay at an emergency clinic is going to cost. I don’t want to know how much it’s going to cost. The mere thought makes me want to throw up.

So, since I’m in denial, I thought I’d engage in some retail therapy. Not a lot of retail therapy, mind you, but a little bit.

When I was in 4th grade, our class read a dramatic adaptation of Anne Frank’s diary. It was a bizarre experience, because the story covered only her time in hiding. There was very little explanation for why she was in hiding, or for what happened to her after her family was found. I expect that the powers that be decided that such details were beyond the comprehension of young children (heck, they’re beyond the comprehension of most adults) or that they might give kids nightmares (again, who wouldn’t get nightmares?). The thing that sticks out in my mind is that we were told that concentration camp victims were treated like dogs, and that Anne died a month before her camp was liberated. I remember visualizing people being kept in dog kennels and being fed dog food, and, while that would’ve sucked mightily, I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out why people had died from it. Let that be a lesson to those who deal with children to be careful what you tell them.

I read the Scholastic edition of Anne’s diary when I was in 6th grade. By that time, I better understood what had happened during the Holocaust and what it meant to be an inmate in one of the Nazi death camps. I also began to understand why I found Anne’s story so interesting. Obviously, it gave me a window on the Holocaust. The horrors that happened are like stars in the sky–too numerous to comprehend when taken all together. But, looking at those events through the lens of one person’s experience provides a framework to hang everything on. More importantly for me, though, I think my fascination with Anne’s story lay in the realization that one person’s voice can be important; that a single voice can resonate so clearly across time and space

The Nazis could kill millions of people, but they couldn’t stifle the voice of one small girl. That is power.

So, anyway, when I was in high school, my family moved across state. I lost almost all of my childhood books, including my well worn copy of Anne Frank’s diary. I haven’t read it since then, and I thought it was about time to visit my old friend.

Meta, Pets, Photography

The face of Jesus in my soup…

Shelly

Or, apparently, in a tree. Or here. He really is everywhere!

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Yahoo is now giving unlimited space for photo storage. I haven’t been actively using my storage space there, because it’s problematic for non-Yahoo users to access, and, they used to have a 20mb storage limit. Twenty megabytes? It is for to laugh!

When I started blogging, I used Hello (a Google-Picasa tie-in), then Flickr. Now, I use a combination of Flickr, my own web space, and Blogger’s photo storage. I’d totally forgotten about my Yahoo space until I got a courtesy reminder from them, telling me that if I did not access my photos at least once every six months, they would delete them. I took a quick look, just to make sure there wasn’t anything important stored there (nope), and saw this photo. The quality is crappy, and I have no idea when it was taken–at least a couple of years ago, I think–but it’s a typical “grazing cow dog” photo, so I thought I’d post it here. Harriet does like her fresh greens!

In other animal news, Rory has yet another UTI. There was a tiny amount of blood in his urine this morning, so I made an appointment to have him seen first thing tomorrow. I know he can’t be comfortable, and he really ought to be seen today, but I can’t face taking another animal back to the old vet. I managed to find another vet who is taking new clients (not as easy as one might think!), but they can’t see him until tomorrow morning.

On the bright side, I got more information and assistance, just from one phone call, than I ever got from the old vet’s office. I’m optimistic, both about the quality of care and the possibility that we may be able to finally get Rory’s crystal problem under control. Another plus is that they don’t usually keep animals overnight. They’re not staffed at night (most regular vets are not), and they feel that animals will be better off at home, where they have supervision and will be more comfortable. I tend to agree.

Today’s cool website contains a collection of black and white photographs, taken from long lost film found in old cameras.

And now, let’s have some fun with searching. The following are search strings used to arrive at either my website or blog:

  • tacky religious art
  • christian sationery
  • dog with a blue tongue
  • marble catholic sculptures
  • sleeping in curlers
  • scintillating scotoma (this one pops up about once or twice a month)
  • puggles (almost a daily occurrence)
  • unbleached waxed bag
  • silly shelly blog (well, duh!)
  • cigarette burns on children (another that pops up once or twice a month)
  • paris hilton porn
  • acupuncture mannequin
Pets, Photography

Stealth Brindle

Shelly

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but I was sold a pig in a poke. Well, not exactly sold. And, not exactly a pig. Or, a poke, either, for that matter. But! For years, I thought Harriet was fawn. Then, one day, I noticed that her coat looked a bit like tiger maple. I looked more closely, and saw that she had faint brindle striping along her shoulders and black stripes on the backs of her hind legs.

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The funny thing is that I really prefer brindle to fawn. Some day, I’ll have a plain, dark brindle Boxer. Harriet has way too much flash for my tastes. Not that I don’t think she’s the prettiest dog EVAR, mind you. I’m just partial to less white. I also think that breeding for excess flash in Boxers is problematic, as it leads to more white (and potentially deaf) dogs being born. If flash weren’t so popular, and if it weren’t being actively bred for, there would likely be fewer deaf, white Boxers born. I just can’t get behind breeding practices that knowingly create dogs with potentially deadly health problems. (Deaf dogs are a challenge to train and are at higher risk of ending up being euthanized. It isn’t a trivial issue.)

Uncategorized

Holy Trolleration, Batman!

Shelly

In my blogreading, I’ve recently come across a couple of instances where bloggers have spent an inordinate amount of time responding to trolls. Why? Responding will only give the trolls what they are looking for: attention. And, while it may momentarily feel good to respond to them, doing so will eventually suck the life out of you. You don’t owe them a response. Responding will not change a troll’s mind. Doing so will only put you on the defensive in a war of words that you cannot win. Best not to even enter the fray, I think. It’s really not worth giving them the time of day; instead, quietly delete their comments and be done with it. They’ll move along quickly enough when they realize they do not have a captive audience.

Uncategorized

All your colours turn to pale

Shelly

After nearly a month of dry weather, it finally rained. It’s been unholy dry this summer, so any bit of rain is a relief. But, at this point, it’s too little, too late for some of the trees. Because of the drought, the leaves aren’t turning normally. There is some yellow and orange and red, but many trees–black walnuts seem to be the most affected–dropped their leaves months ago. They just didn’t do well with this season’s lack of water. Many other trees are still green, but the leaves look sickly and are, I think, unlikely to turn color.

The rain started Thursday night and lasted into the weekend overnights, leaving the days overcast, mostly dry, and very nice temperature-wise. It was that lovely, in between weather that is not too cold for short sleeves or too warm for a hoodie.

I was especially appreciative of the coolish weather on Saturday, as Ralph finally showed up to do some outdoor repairs. My deck has seriously deteriorated, and he had promised months ago to put a new deck up. I figured he’d show up one day, out of the blue, and that’s what he did. I suppose I could have just let him do all the work by himself, but that didn’t seem right, so I helped out. His new girlfriend was helping, too, so it gave me a chance to talk to them both and to get to know her. She seems very laid-back, which should be a nice change for Ralph. He certainly seems happy enough.

I also managed to fix my antenna, so as soon as I can get it properly rotated, I’ll have teevee. Wheee!

Crankypantsing

Freeman Farr Wants to Turbocharge My, Ahem, Portfolio

Shelly

Freeman Farr wants to turbocharge my portfolio. I’m pretty sure that’s not legal in Indiana. Clearly, I don’t have enough spam in my life. You would think that, having been born in the Spam epicenter of the world, that wouldn’t be the case, but You Would Be Wrong. Just ask Freeman Farr, if you don’t believe me.

The Eyes Have It
I went to the eye doctor last week. I figured that, after four years, it was probably time for new glasses. I also wanted to get a new prescription for contacts. I haven’t worn them in ages, and probably won’t wear them very often now, but it would be nice to have them as an option. My eyes are continuing to improve, for some weird reason. I also found out that my left and right contact prescription are the same. Yay! That means I can buy just one box at a time, instead of two, which will make playing around with colored lenses more economical. I was torn between hazel and grey, but this means I can get a box of each. I win!

Eroticon
Eroticon was last weekend. That is legal in Indiana. I worked the door, taking tickets/money, which was pretty entertaining. I like working the door because I get to see what everyone is wearing. The downside is that I have to touch either tickets or money from everyone who walks through the door, so if anyone is sick, I’m likely to catch it. It also lasts until well after my bedtime. I got to leave an hour early, at 2am, but by the time I drove by the bank*, then drove home, it was nearly 3am. For those playing along at home, that’s an hour before my usual wake-up time. Egad.

So, I got home at 3am, had a bedtime snack, because I hadn’t eaten since 4pm the previous day, and watched some food porn from a big box of taped teevee I borrowed from friends. Then, I went to bed and slept for nearly 36 hours. Partly, that was due to being exhausted. Mostly, though, I think I was fighting off some sort of plague. I woke up a few times and felt congested and feverish, so sleeping it off was probably a good idea. I also had a killer headache, which I think resulted from switching back and forth between my old, too-strong glasses and my new, just-right contacts.

I have to say that I appreciate having a dog who understands the importance of a good nap. Aside from meals and potty breaks, she was perfectly happy to curl up and sleep. And sleep. And sleep. Of course, that also meant that when I did wake up, she was bouncing off the walls–very cutely, I might add.

A Few Things I Have Recently Learned
1. Do not attempt humor when your audience has no sense of same.
2. Always carry protein bars, or some sort of non-perishable snack food, in the glove compartment of your car.
3. The fewer channels of teevee you receive, the higher the percentage of revolting sports programming.
4. Drunken frat boys are pretty much the same, through time and space.
5. Alan Alda keeps getting more and more amazing.
6. No matter how early I leave for work, I will get stuck behind some asswagon going 10mph under the speed limit.
7. No matter how fast I am driving, I will have some asswagon tailgating me.
8. Never try to make a bank deposit at 2:30am.*
9. I love love love having a CD player in my car. I am no longer a slave to Quality Rock (Real, um, Variety). Jeebus be praised! It’s nice to be able to listen to Southern Culture on the Skids or Nick Cave or Rasputina, instead of frat rock.
10. I think I’m enjoying having a single-dog household.

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* My bank has closed all but, I think, three of it’s local branches. It has also stopped allowing deposits at any but the branch ATMs. Bastards. So, I had to haul my ass all the way to the south side of town to make a deposit. Everything went well until I realized, as the machine was sucking in the envelope, that I hadn’t included a deposit slip. Oops!

Ladybusiness

How to Train Up a Child

Shelly

The Rude Pundit told a story about his experience with early attempts at religious indoctrination. It reminded me of a funny (to me, now) experience I had when I was 6 or 7 years old.

Although we were only nominally Catholic, my only church experience thus far had been going to midnight and Easter masses. For me, it was not a religious experience, as I hadn’t a clue what was going on. I just liked the smell of the incense and the cadence of the prayers. Because we didn’t regularly attend mass, it was exotic and exciting.

So, when Jodi Sabinske asked me to go to Sunday school with her, I figured, what the hell? It sounded like fun. My mom was reluctant to let me go, as we weren’t religious and she didn’t want my head filled up with a bunch of nonsense. I remember promising her that I wouldn’t let that happen, though at that age, I’m sure I hadn’t a clue what she meant. I picked up on the fact that she felt there was something slightly unsavory and dangerous about it, but I wasn’t old enough to figure out why. I think that probably made me even more curious, and more determined to embark on what was sure to be a grand aventure*.

So one Sunday, I got on the white and blue church bus with Jodi. We must have been toward the beginning of the route, because we seemed to spend half the morning driving around and picking up kids. Then, we drove out of town and into the nearby countryside, finally coming to the First Barn of Jeebus. I’d never seen anything like it before. To me, church was an old stone building with stained glass, not a shiny-new, cavernous, aluminum-sided barn.

After my shock at the hangar-like ginormity of the FBoJ, the second thing that surprised me was that inside, it was set up like a school, not a church. The interior of the building was a warren of passageways and classrooms, with a large auditorium at one end. Everyone met in the auditorium for a short welcome service, then broke up into age-appropriate groups and went to their classrooms for Bible study.

Oh my, the Bible Study… Some of the stories were acted out by groups of high school aged kids, in a manner not entirely unlike that of the Legz Akimbo Theatre Company. Others were told with the aid of a large felt board. I had only a passing acquaintance with the Bible then, so the stories–like the Tower of Babel and Lot and His Daughters–were all new and fascinating to me. And, a little scary, but that was, I’m sure, intentional. I remember that there was a lot of emphasis placed on the Old Testament, and on God’s wrath. The God of the FBoJ was, I thought, a big, giant bully. I thought he sounded like an abusive, psychopathic parent–someone to walk on egg shells around, lest you get your ears boxed for some arbitrary reason.

But, still, I continued to go to Sunday school. See, the folks at that church knew how to sucker kids into attending. Every Sunday, we got some sort of treat. Sometimes, it would be a 2L bottle of soda or a whole watermelon. Other times it would be a trip to an amusement park or to a stable to go horseback riding. One time, they brought in a bunch of camels and elephants for us to ride after Sunday school. Every week, it was something different, so I’m sure lots of kids showed up just to see what the Treat of the Week would be.

I probably would have attended indefinitely–and may have been assimilated–except the FBoJ finally tripped my bullshit meter. One Sunday, one of the ministers came to our room to direct our Bible study class, instead of the Legz Akimbo for Jeebus Players. The minister told all the girls wearing pants to stand up. Most of the girls wore dresses, but it was the ’70s, so there were a few of us in jeans or slacks. I never wore dresses, so I was one of the girls who were singled out. We had to stand while being regaled with all manner of nightmare-inducing descriptions of Hell. We were told that we would be going there if we didn’t start wearing dresses. The preacher went down the line, from girl to girl, making us promise to never wear pants again. I refused. I told him that God didn’t care what people wore, and that I was going to continue wearing jeans. All the other girls were allowed to sit down, but I was told that I would have to stand for the rest of the class. I would have done it, because it was worth it to make it clear that I refused to A) lie or B) give in to what I figured was no better than blackmail. But, I didn’t end up standing the rest of the day. I told the minister that I didn’t believe in his Hell, and that I surely wouldn’t be going there, but that he was welcome to it. Then, I went and sat in the hallway for the rest of the day.

I never went back to Sunday school.

Teh Enb.

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* And, I do mean adventure. It may not have seemed to be a so very big deal at the time, but the experience had a profound effect on me. It gave me–at an early age–the understanding that other people’s realities can be vastly different from mine. It also was the first time I’d had an Important Experience of my own. I’d been allowed to go off to God knows where, with God knows who, and study God knows what, and I was responsible for all of it. Third, I learned that I was Allowed to stand up to patriarchy-spewing asswagons. That’s an awful lot of power for a 6-7 year-old girlchild to wield.

Crankypantsing, Pets, Photography

Autumn Musings

Shelly

It’s been nice to be back on my own schedule this week, though reacclimating myself to waking up at 4am has been unpleasant. I’m also having to get used to having Wednesdays off instead of Fridays. It means giving up my three-day weekends, which isn’t ideal, but I can rearrange it if I end up hating it. Flex-time is a godsend.

I spent this morning doing a whole lot of nothing, and it felt wonderful. I did manage to make a crockpot full of green beans and potatoes. I’ve been craving them for days. They turned out beautifully. I don’t use ham or anything meaty in them, but a lots of garlic and onion, and few drops of liquid smoke, some tamari, and some liquid aminos makes a nice, rich broth.

The new car is just as delightful as I thought it would be. It handles beautifully. I’ve never been very interested in cars, but I’m finding that there are zillions of little things the new car has that make me very, very happy (like the CD player restarting at the same place in the song, instead at the beginning of the CD, or headlights that go on and off automagically). But, the biggest thing I’ve noticed is that I don’t hold my breath every time I stop at a light. I hadn’t realized just how habitually on edge I’d gotten, because the MPoD had been dying whenever I came to a stop. I also don’t have half my mind on searching for new noises and problems. I almost enjoy driving, now.

I can’t quite wrap my mind around the fact that I’m now one of those eeevil SUV owners. But! It’s not a huge-assed SUV, it’s more of a smidgeon SUV-ette. It’s nowhere near as big as some of the monsters on the road. If it were, I wouldn’t be comfortable driving it. It is lots bigger than the MPoD, though. The little gravel patch that I park on, which was more than wide enough for the MPoD, isn’t quite wide enough for the new car. Hopefully, Ralph will dump some more gravel in my parking area the next time he re-gravels the driveway.

And now for gratuitous cute animal photos.

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Harriet and I were lounging on the couch, watching teevee. I was trying to get a picture of her with her eyes closed, but every time she heard the camera focusing, she opened them. Still, it’s a pretty cute picture. I love the way she curls up her feet. Her back end is raised up because her far hind leg is tucked underneath her. She sleeps in the strangest positions.

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Pandora, Queen of Bones. Or so she’d like everyone to believe. She occasionally curls up on the dog’s mat, with the her bones. They aren’t meaty or yummy, and even if they were, Pan hasn’t got any teeth to chew them with, so I don’t know what the attraction is. (Please ignore the layer of dust on the stereo cabinet. I certainly do! I figure that if I don’t pay attention to it, it might go away. Or, at least, it won’t bother me.)

As I was leaving home one morning last week, there was a beautiful layer of fog between the far stand of trees and the southeastern ridge. A week later, at about the same time of day, the sun was out and sparkling dazzingly on the fallow field behind my house. Despite the warm temperatures (highs in the mid-80s), you can tell that autumn is here. The back roads have brown leaves scuttling across them, which crunch satisfyingly when you drive over them. The walnut trees started losing their leaves weeks ago (I suspect the summer’s drought is to blame) and the leaves on the sassafras trees are turning scarlet.

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You can really tell, in the bottom two photos, that the leaves are turning color. The first was taken on September 15, the second, on October 5. The closer, framing trees have dropped a lot of their leaves, the far, center tree has turned brown, and the mustard is no longer in flower.

It’s supposed to cool off quite a bit on Thursday. I’m a little torn. On the one hand, I love the cooler weather and turning leaves of fall, but I’m also not ready for truly cold weather to set in. Not that I don’t enjoy cold weather–I do!–but that I don’t want to have to invest in propane just yet. I don’t even want to think what a tankful will cost. I’m still planning on moving, but now I’m weighing the pros and cons of waiting a bit. On the bright side, I now have a car that will fit most everything I own!

It’s crankypantsing time!

1. Blogger. For the past few days, it’s been really unreliable, and seems to have just crashed again. This is the third time I’ve tried to upload this post, and the third time I’ve gotten a “Cannot find server” message. It looks like I’ll have to save this as a text file and upload it before work on Thursday. But hey, it’s free, right?

2. Models who have their own TeeVee shows. Has anyone seen the Tyra Banks show? I’ve watched a couple of episodes (I’m masochistic, that way), and was gobsmacked. She had on a couple who had requested a “free pass,” so that they could go out and see other people for 24 hours. WTF?! First, why do they need Tyra’s permission to see other people? Second, why on earth do people think that’s a good idea? The rationale seems to be that testing themselves with other people will show them whether or not their relationship is strong enough to take to the next level (presumably, marriage). I’m sorry, but if you’re even considering such a dumassed thing, then it seems pretty obvious to me that the relationship is in trouble.

3. My dryer, which died last week. I’m hesitant to replace it, because it may soon be redundant. Many of the houses and apartments I’ve looked at have washers, dryers, and dishwashers provided. But, air drying doesn’t remove lint and cat/dog hair. In the interim, I guess I could go to the laundromat, but that’s a time consuming pain in the ass.

4. My television antenna, which decided to stop working a couple of months ago. So now I can now only get two channels instead of three and a half. Hrmph! I can get FOX and PBS just fine, with the addition of a UHF booster, but I can’t get CBS and NBC, which means I’m missing Survivor and The Amazing Race. (This also explains why I was watching the Tyra Banks show.) I think I’ll put this in the pro Moving ASAP column.

Funnily enough, the antenna stopped working the same day Elliott died. I’d been out mowing and weed whacking earlier that day, so at first, I assumed I’d accidentally cut the antenna line. I don’t know what’s wrong with it–I’m scared to death of heights, so I’m not about to climb up there to investigate. Ralph said he’d come take a look at it, but I’m not holding my breath.

5. The phrase “scan in.” There is no in, out, up, or down–it’s just scanning. Period. Also, I can’t stand it when people add an extraneous “the” in front of words that do not need it.

6. E-mail forwards. You may think it’s the funniest damned thing since the invention of humor, but please, for the love of all that’s good in this world, don’t send it to me. I love Teh Funni, but I’m afraid that e-mail forwards do not make the cut. Also, do not cross-post it to all your mail lists. It’s sure to be off-topic and sharing it with everyone will not make you popular. Worse, if the recipients have multiple lists in common with you, they will receive it multiple times, thus multiplying your unpopularity. yOu hAv3 b33n wArn3d.

Photography

The Car Saga

Shelly

I’ve had no luck finding the Subaru Forester of my dreams. People hang onto them like grim death. I pretty much gave up on getting a car I really liked. My next choice was a 5-door Focus, which would’ve been fine, but they, alas, are also currently non-existent in my area. Drat. I was ready to settle for just about anything with wheels, a hatchback, and an engine that didn’t hemorrhage oil, so last Monday, I went and looked at a 2001 Ford Taurus wagon that was not not not what I wanted. It had plenty of room for dog crates and was in good shape. But, o ick. I decided to sleep on it, and was resigned to go picking it up on Wednesday, but on my way there, I saw the car I had originally wanted but talked myself out of: a Chevy Tracker. Squee!

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I’d decided a Tracker was not really reasonable, because I really didn’t need a V6. A 4-cylinder engine is plenty for what I need, but everything else I’ve looked at has been a V6 (Forrester and Taurus were picks 1 and 2). The Tracker’s part-time 4wd would’ve been nice, but wasn’t absolutely necessary. But, since I couldn’t find a Forester, and the next-best thing I could find was a Taurus wagon (a V6, FWD), going back to my original Plan A now seems reasonable. If I’m going to drive a V6, it may as well be the one I really, really, really like, right? [Addendum: The Tracker is actually a four-cylinder, so I’m well pleased.]

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The late, lamented MoonPie of Delight

So, anyway… I saw my Tracker at a tiny place in Spencer that usually only has pick-em-up trucks. The Tracker hadn’t been there the day before (I’ve been obsessively watching every car place between home and work). I stopped to look at it and talked to to Eric the Car Lot Guy. It was a little newer and spendier than I had planned on, but he came down $2k plus gave me $2k in trade-in for the MPoD (boggle), so it ended up being the same price as the Taurus. My financing went through, and I can go sign the paperwork and, hopefully, pick it up tomorrow morning. Sweet! It’s a 2002 hardtop, 4-door, part-time 4WD, low mileage, one-owner, cloth interior (I hate leather seats) and, get this, it’s indigo blue. Color is at the bottom of my Wish List, of course, but indigo is my first color choice. And, it’s got a CD player. No more listening to the dreaded Quality Rock (Real Variety).

I cannot believe this has worked out this beautifully. It makes me very thankful that I was able to wait until I could find exactly what I wanted. Thank you Mr. B and Ms. Lea. You both rock!

So, goodbye, faithful MoonPie of Delight. A better toy car I couldn’t have asked for. You served me well and will be fondly remembered.

Crankypantsing, Pets, Photography

Happy Monday

Shelly

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I’ve been trying to remember to take photos of the sun shining on the dewy fence. It’s all grown up and, ahem, “rustic” looking right now, which is kind of picturesque. I’m not a big fan of yardwork, at the best of times, and with the uncertainty of my living situation, I’m feeling even less motivated than I normally do. My other excuse is that we’ve been getting an unholy amount of rain recently. It finally cleared up today, after 24 solid hours of rain, but it’s hot and humid and there’s no way the grass is going to dry any time this century.

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The previous day had started with pea soup fog–dangerous, but beautiful in a spooky sort of way.

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And now for the gratuitous dogblogging. That’s the lovely and talented Miss Brown, doing a canine headstand. She props herself against me, then inverts herself until she’s standing on her head. She started to slide out of position when I got up to get the camera, because her support was gone. I had to act quickly, in order to get this picture, so it’s a little blurry. But I think you can get the general idea–top of head on couch, butt in air, much funny to be had by all.

Oh, and note the glowy, non-photo blue eyes. They’re proof positive that she is eeevil.

In other news, I stayed home from work today to do some more car shopping. It looks like I may end up with a Ford Taurus wagon. It’s bigger than I want, but at this point, I’ll take anything with wheels and an engine that doesn’t hemorrhage oil. Oh, and a hatchback. I found plenty of smaller cars, but none were a closer fit than the Taurus. I went ahead and got my financing sorted out, so that I can pretty much just go in and pick it up on Wednesday after co-op delivery.

I’ve also been checking out rentals in Bloomington, and am pleasantly surprised at how many ads there are for pet-friendly housing, most all well within my price range. Whew! And it’s a good thing, too, because my landfolks are really starting to make me uncomfortable.

Ralph came over on Saturday (he showed up while the SBC guy was fixing my phone line), and told me that when Katrina left, she’d broken all the windows and toilets in their old place, and had burned all his clothes. Sweet fancy Jeebus! I can’t even imagine doing something like that, no matter how pissed off I was. That’s just seriously uncool. And, according to him, the property is his. He’s supposedly coming over this weekend to fix things. I’ll believe it when I see it.

Then, this afternoon, Katrina called. She says the property is hers, and that she still wants me to sign a lease. Ostensibly, it’s to protect me. Hell, NO. I have no intention of getting in the middle of their little shitfit! I told her I didn’t think it would protect me, as leases aren’t transferable. She disagreed. I told her I didn’t want to sign anything right now, but thanks anyway. She seems to think Ralph will kick me out. So what? I don’t think he will. I like Ralph, we’ve always gotten along just fine, and I don’t think it would be in his best interests to kick me out–if he does, no biggie, I’ll just move. Then Katrina told me that she’d called Ralph and told him I didn’t want him bothering me. As in, he’s not supposed to talk to me about anything related to the property or my living here. Not only did I say nothing of the sort, but what the hell business is it of hers?! The only thing I told Ralph is that I don’t want to be in the middle of their drama. I told him I was perfectly happy to deal with him instead of her, in fact, I’d prefer it. At no time did I tell him or Katrina that I didn’t want Ralph to “bother me.”