Blowing it up!

The neighbors started blowing shit up Saturday night because nothing says happy holiday weekend like explosions and things that sound like gun fire. From what I can see, they’re not even getting fireworks that make colors. They’re literally just making noise.

Olivia Wigglebothum does not approve. Even Miles has his limits (it takes a lot to piss this boy off) and gave the window a good hissing.


Olivia Wigglebothum and friends would like to remind you that fur kids are not really in to all things associated with the 4th of July: crowds, intense heat, strange human foods (even though they will ask for it), and above all loud, startling, frightening noises that lead to irrational, fear-based behavior.

Even some humans aren’t that into it-this girl! It probably doesn’t help that Gpa said that fireworks makes him remember phosphorous bombs from WWII.

Olivia’s  irrational, fear-based behavior will be to inconsolably low-belly around the house, stopping to cower in various spots such as behind the toilet probably through the leftover explosives that someone will drag out Wednesday night. So…yea…Happy 4th.


Need a laugh?

Need a laugh? ( Mmmm hmmmm

Has the universe left a giant bag of flaming bullshit on your doorstep recently? (Yup!)

We were paper tigers: maybe more creepy than funny, but essentially harmless. 

These were paper facial masks from the beauty section of Target. Buy 3, get one free, but my nephew wanted nothing to do with his mask or with the three of us. 

My biggest regret was that I did not take a video of us making “tiger noises” because we totally were. 

Also MomBert looks like Leatherface from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Another missed video opportunity. 

I call this one: “Big Butt Dramatically Exits Chair.”

Dear Fortune Cookie…

Someone was asleep at the wheel when I ordered Chinese food the other night. Instead of the obligatory two fortune cookies, (I assume that they assume that I carry my order back to an additional human. I don’t. I get 3-4 meals out of my delightful carryout.) I got THREE fortune cookies! Oh, the great fortune, I thought, until I started opening them.

Fortune cookie 1: “Always be kind and loving to people older than you. You’ll soon be their age.”

img_8864Ughhh. It’s like the fortune cookie sweat shop (Yes, I mean sweat shop. Hundreds of tiny fingers stuffing fortunes into fragile cookies.) has tapped into my life right now. I’ve been helping my neighbor Sick Margaret mother to the vampiric Baby because she fell…AGAIN. One simple helpful task quickly escalated into more helpful tasks as I put on my smiley helpful face to hide my daily dread of being sucked further into her world.

I want to be  a good person and kind to others, but at the same time I don’t want to interact with my neighbors beyond the friendly wave or head nod.  I’m happy in my bubble of cats and gardening. Conversations about how nice it must be for me to have friends (hers are dead) and “don’t you ever get lonely” intrude heavily into my safe bubble.

Fortune cookie 2: “You are realistic, and others relate to you.”

Oh, fortune cookie! What. The. Hell? I try to be realistic, but most people seem to find my realism horrifying. It might be my delivery which does not always self-edit and is heavy on the sarcasm. Students have gasped from the back of the room: “She’s so real.” This happens primarily when I’m calling out someone on whatever bullshit they’re indulging in at the moment. Surely other teachers have a limit to their tolerance and ability to sugar-coat life.

Maybe I just know too many glass half-full people who react in horror to my assessment of situations. “Let’s not pretend. Let’s be for realz on how this will pan out.” Being realistic labels me as negative and a quitter. Two combine two already odd turns of phrase: The sun does not shine out of my asshole, don’t blow smoke up it.

Fortune cookie 3: “Cheerful company and a  merry time.”

Yes! I’ll take it! Let’s get drinks and tacos….but mostly tacos!

Morning Routine

Before breakfast, I scoop up The Bird and we check out the world from the kitchen window. Of all the cats, she’s the one who melts into me and purrs as we lean against the window frame making note of all the goings on in the front yard. Sometimes she reverts back to her younger behavior and tips her head back to nuzzle my neck. Pre-coffee, it’s a good way to start an unhurried morning.

A Means to an End

Olivia Wigglebothum has two obsessions: mousie and houseplants.

She is the reason my giant aloe plant lives outside during the summer and then in my classroom during the school year. After two days of vomiting following the aloe plant episode, I eliminated all toxic houseplants and now check the ASPCA plant list before even considering a new houseplant.

Olivia clings to me and cries piteously any time I scoop her up near the back doors where the plants hang. I wish I could say that this is out of a deep love for her mum’s cuddles, but I have enough claw marks in my shoulders to know better.

I’m just a handy ladder to her end goal. Olivia Wigglebothum life goals: sample all the houseplants. 

Burning the Garden to the Ground: Match in Hand!

This is NOT the offspring of last year’s giant garden spider that had me trapped in my house gathering flammable substances. However it is hanging out in the same location, and I have watched it grow this week and really structure its web.DSCF1883

It’s either a Basilica Orb Weaver or a Venusta Orchard Spider.

You figure it out.

Frankly, I can’t decide and looking at page after page of close up spider pictures is making me queasy. Seriously, if I see another close up of a hairy spider’s eyes, I’ll probably just faint and roll under my desk. The cats will never figure out how to dial 911, we’re doomed!

The spider is not yet at horror movie size, but I know where my lighters and matches are. Just. In. Case.