Hey, Rocky - watch me pull a rabbit out of this hat!

Hi there! Yes, I do still exist, and the ugly rumors that I was run over by a UPS truck are just that - ugly. And rumors.

Again, so much to say, but my hands are sooooo full right now (because I am grabbing my own ass with mucho gusto). I'm teaching two sections of a class that's new for me, and just chock full o' homework to grade. My junk is strewn about the house, half in and half out of boxes. I'm trying to assemble several large pieces of furniture (the desk has moved to #1 priority, because damn! I'm tired of havng my computer this close to the floor). Also, Thirteen spends most of his time watching the cursor movement on the screen with utter fascination, thus blocking the screen with his puffy fuzziness. It's adorable, but doesn't do much for my already-lousy typing.

The main thing I want to say here is that I have close to a billion thank-you emails that I need to write for all the fantastical gifts y'all have sent me. I told the girl in Home Depot (did I mention my refrigerator died?) about it today, and she wondered if she could borrow my friends for a while. Of course, selfish cunt that I am, I told her NO! I will endeavor to get all those sent this weekend, so if you sent me something and have not heard back from me, I intend to remedy that over the next few days.

Pizza Hut delivers out here. This may turn out to be a bad thing, unless you like really big butts. Maybe my pizza-enhanced butt could spin off into its own website. Butty4eyes.com or some such.


What can I say? It's the closest to buttcrack I can give you tonight.

Oh, by the way - I started to do my taxes the other day, and I think I might have to change to title of that old Blue Oyster Cult song to Don't Fear the Reamer. If you need me, I'll be grabbing my ankles.

I'm here, I'm queer, at least I'm not Britney Spears

So many stories to tell, so little inclination to do anything but snooze in the wreckage that is my unpacking effort.

The short version: I made my final trek to the new house yesterday with Eeyore, Friday, and Thirteen in the car. They were all SO good, especially Eeyore, who I expected to be mightily stressed. He wasn't, though - at least, he never gave me any indication that he was.

Friday and Thirteen immediately started tearing around the house when we got here, which is exactly as I expected. They're kittens, which means they're made out of rubber, so resiliency is not a problem. I was worried about Eeyore in a new setting, though, as he's such a skittish boy. But amazingly, miraculously, I needn't have worried, because Eeyore seemed to know immediately that he is the king of this castle, and though he has spent a little time hiding behind my Tom Waits poster, he's spent even more time strutting through the house, finding random spots for naps, as if he's trying each place out for maximum kitty comfort. He comes into the computer room and sprawls out where I can pet him as I work, and he's delighted to have me back on my couch again where he can stomp in my hair and head butt me in the face.

Today, Tardist was over with a couple of our friends. Thirteen, of course, was a total whore and was all over everyone the whole time they were here. Friday is a sissy momma's boy, and would only go through the room running, his body low to the ground. I don't know what he thinks anyone is going to do to him - it's not like he's ever suffered a moment's abuse in his spoiled little life. But as we sat and talked, I heard Tardist say "Eeyore!" and I turned to see my little king walking - not running, but walking - into the room with all these new people in it. He walked right up to Tardist for petting, and was right by the other folks, and he didn't even flinch.

So I think I can safely say that Eeyore is adjusting better than I ever could've hoped. That makes my cold black heart burst with a rainbow confetti of joy.

I have a number of other tales to recount, including my harrowing lunch with an internet predator last Friday. But I am tired, and my typing is even worse than usual, so let me leave you with one last blip:

Squirl and I went to Target last night - because when is it ever not a good idea to go to Target? - and when we were ready to check out, we got in line behind a family with a very young daughter sitting in their cart. As we loaded our houseware thingy stuffs on the conveyor, I heard the little girl exclaim "Buttcrack!" Squirl froze and looked at me, and whispered, "Did she just say 'buttcrack'?"

I nodded and we chuckled a little, then the little girl started riffing, just so as to leave no doubt in anyone's mind: "Buttcrack! Buttcrack! Buttcrack!" She was playing a solo on the one note she knew would please everyone. Squirl muttered to me, "You need to blog this."

So, folks - if I can't be coherent, at least I can bring you a family-sized serving of buttcrack.

Hold the "s" because I am an ain't

Let me start with a heartfelt expression of what's first and foremost in my mind: Saint Valentine can go fuck himself in the ass with Cupid's arrow.

There, now don't we all feel bitter, I mean, better? Good, then let's move on.

Moving on. That was my plan for Thursday. I was going to throw my TV and the last of my clothes in the back of the car, gather up the kitties, and make my final push to Grand Haven. That was the plan, anyway.

But, inevitably, the best-laid plans of mice and men don't get laid at all. I was basing this timetable on a weather forecast that dates from sometime last week, and if you take a gander at a weather map of the midwest, you'll see that my optimistic estimates have been shot to hell. If it were just me, I'd brave it and drive at 15 MPH in the snow to get there, if only for the fact that my telephone service is scheduled to be installed on Friday, and I kind of have to be there when that happens. Those damned demanding installers, always wanting to be paid on time and petty shit like that.

However, there's no fucking way I'm going to chance a drive like that with the cats in the car. I'm sure this will be unpleasant enough for them if I can make it there in the usual five hours. Risking a trip with them where it might take twice that long, or where I might slide off the road or into another car because of the snow? That is completely out of the question. So I will have to reschedule my phone installation, and will camp out here for a few more days. Hopefully, Motherfucker Nature (that bitch) complies with my new plans.

Speaking of the cats, I don't think I've mentioned my third amigo here yet. Of course, Friday and Thirteen are my babies and are coming with me. I've been loving up the other animals here, all of whom I will miss as though fifteen holes have been cut out of my soul. Of all the really tough parts, though, the one that was tearing me to shreds worse than any others was the thought of leaving Eeyore behind. The poor shy, skittish boy has stomped his way into my heart just a little deeper than everyone else has, and I clutched him to me every single chance I had, trying to make each moment last as close to an eternity as possible. He is my little boyfriend.

When I was gone a couple of trips ago, a week-long excursion to get my house business finalized, I came back to tales of how Eeyore wouldn't leave my room, and how he seemed disheartened that I was away. I could scarcely believe what I was hearing, and had to pinch myself to check for dreamingness, when Jess said that she and Nick had been talking about having Eeyore move with me. It's not that he's not loved here, and wouldn't be missed terribly, but they thought his quality of life would be better with me - not only are he and I bonded pretty deeply, but I don't have any dogs at my new house, and Eeyore has never been fond of the dogs. We figure this sweet boy has got to be about 18 years old, and we all agree that whatever is best for Eeyore's well-being and happiness is what should happen. Of course, I was delighted to acquiesce. Nothing would make me happier than to crown Eeyore the king of my new castle, and to spoil him rotten for the rest of his years, of which I hope there will be many.

I made sure Jess discussed it with Steve and Derek, and with her ex, since Eeyore used to be his buddy, too. No sense in having anybody upset or hurt that I eloped with my little boyfriend.

Side note: When I refer to Eeyore as "my little boyfriend," I mean it in a totally platonic, he-stomps-in-my-hair and he-sleeps-on-my-head-and-purrs way. I did not have sex with that cat, Mr. Eeyore Bubbies. Thank you.

So, everyone involved has been informed of the plan, and it seems that we all agree that it's the best thing for the ancient yet majestic Eeyore. And, selfishly, I have to admit that it makes the whole thing just a little less heartbreaking for me.

In the meantime, as I wait for a break in the weather, I will be chasing the other animals around the house, ready to pet whiskers with one hand and snap pictures with the other, doing my best to bend each moment into a small eternity.

Poking my head over your cubicle

Thought I'd run out and abandoned the place, huh? I just realized I haven't posted since Tuesday. Sorry!

I've had my hands full, literally, the last week or so. Burly girlie work. Moving heavy boxes of tchotchkes (and you know I'm not kidding about that) and shoveling snow. Or, falling off the steps into the snow, which I did most gracelessly whilst moving my couch bed out to the van. It didn't hurt, but sonofabitch was it cold!

I've finally got cable and internet here, but I must cut this short and get my pasty old ass on the road in short order here. I'd be tempted to stay on another day to organize and putter, but I have to return the van tomorrow morning.

Oh! Oh! The housewarming gifts have begun arriving. I have a list of folks whose packages I've already received (ahem), and I will email you later tonight/tomorrow morning. There are more packages that couldn't be delivered, so I'm going to pick those up when I get back here next weekend. Oh, and to the person who sent the cat cubes and the rice cooker - I'm not sure from the paperwork who I'm thanking, so please drop me an email!

Speaking of cat cubes, what do you think is the first use they got here?




I actually stole the idea from Tardist, who was the first to model the cat cube, and who spent the better part of an evening with his hand up the mandrill's ass. Sorry, I just can't multitask like that.

Talk to y'all soon.

Youse guys are the BEE'S KNEES!

UPDATE: I have had to make a change to my blog, at least temporarily, in light of the ridiculous amount of comment spam that I am removing hourly here. I have still resisted the verification letters, but I have cut off anonymous commenting, since all the spam in this recent onslaught seems to be from that fuckface "Anonymous." I hope to be able to change back to anyone commenting soon, but for the time being...it's either this, or I rip out chunks of my hair while I swear vengeance against the spamwipes. And it's too cold to be missing any hair right now.


I just wanted to express my extreme gratitude for the kindness everyone online has shown me, not only recently, but during other very dark times in my life. It's hard for me to even find words to tell you how much I appreciate all your support, especially considering you're being so nice to a girl who can't seem to stop talking about tampons and buttplugs.

Mucho mucho thanks go to Susie, Eclectic, and Squirl for arranging an online housewarming - sorry, houseHOTTING - party for me over at Susie's place. I sure hope Susie's daughter didn't see us all passed out in puddles of our own bodily fluids this morning on her way to school.

Their generosity, and YOUR generosity, astound and overwhelm me. Never in my life would I have thought I could have such good friends in people I technically haven't met. Your gifts, and your good wishes, are more appreciated than you can ever know. Of course, I suppose now this means I have to cook and clean, but what the hell. I had to start sooner or later, didn't I? I dare say, I might even be inspired to bathe once in a while.

To show you just how much y'all make my heart swell, I thought maybe now would be a good time to give you a peek at my monkey.



THANK YOU!

This one is for the spammers

I have deleted so much comment spam in the last week that I'm starting to hallucinate. Not just any hallucinations, mind you - I'm seeing Robert Loggia as a geisha. And now you are, too.

Why did I feel the need to share? Because it's helping me to resist the urge to put the verification letters on my comments. Must...not...use...swirly...letters...

Take that, you motherfucking cocksucking rooster-reaming spammer jizzwipes! From now on, anyone who spams my site will be obliged to take a money shot in the face from Mr. Loggia.