This needs to belong to me.

I think it will feel the same sense of emptiness I'm feeling, until we are brought together.

Flamingos are easy to dye, right?

Because PumperNickel and I are getting crotchety and intolerant in our old age, we've decided not to go out to a bar and brave the perfect storm of St. Patrick's Day/drunk 19 year old coeds here from Phoenix on Spring Break, and instead do something different. No, not sit at home and throw beer cans at neighborhood dogs. We're not THAT old and crotchety.

I'm trying to decide between SeaWorld and the San Diego Zoo.

The zoo is actually cheaper, and has more exhibits by far.



SeaWorld has beer. And a seafood restaurant, which cracks me up. "Can I have this one, sauteed in wine, or is it endangered?"



Online research doesn't reveal any plans on either of their parts to dye their animals green.

Choices, choices.

What exactly are they MADE of?

I must confess I was a bit disturbed to see an add in my gmail for "Realistic Stuffed Cats."

The actual product is a bit scary, although not in the manner in which I was afraid they would be scary.



Also, I want one.

I'll know I've really made it when ...

Yesterday I was having a discussion with a visitor about all our new plants in the lobby. (It's really amazing the impact these plants have had. And by 'amazing' I mean, 'kinda sad when you think about it'.)

"Are they leased?"

"No, we bought them, but we have a maintenance contract with the company."

"I always thought that if someday, I had a plant service, you know, somebody to come and water all my plants and keep them healthy and put out fresh flowers, if I had that, that's when I'll know I've really made it in life."


And it got me thinking. How will I know I've "made it in life"? How will you? I've heard popstars say it was when they hear their own song on the radio, or businessmen say it's when they can afford the car of their dreams.

I think I'll know I'm a success when I can work from home. I'll know I'm rich beyond my wildest dreams when I can employ an old school butler and housekeeper.

The butler doesn't need to be British, but he must have an accent of some sort. An out of work actor will do fine. He must sniff on a regular basis, in particular at the way I drive my car into the driveway.

The housekeeper doesn't have to be Hispanic, but she must know how to cook REAL Mexican food, and do it from time to time. She doesn't have to pick up my dirty socks off the floor, but she must yell at me from time to time, when I'm bad. Think Rosario from Will and Grace.


So. Tell me yours. When will you know you've made it?

What's next? A moose? A polar bear?

Honestly, I would have been less surprised by a stampede of unicorns.

I can't help but suspect that My Nick is behind this somehow. I mean, he's a Whisker, and that's where these things are made, right? In Wisconsin?

This is califreakinfornia.

Ok, so yesterday I'm driving the, like, half, maybe a whole mile from my office to Nick's office. The quick little back way from one office park to another is through a back canyon, which has a driving range and a cemetary. And what do you think stumbles in front of my car?

An illegal immigrant returning to his camp in between gardening jobs?

A hippie liberal war protester with face paint and signs?

A six foot long rattlesnake?

No. All of those things I would have been prepared for. They've all jumped in front of my car before. (Except in the case of the rattlesnake, which didn't so much jump as just pick a really bad time and place to sun itself.)

A DEER.
I almost hit a DEER.

What the hell?
We don't have deer.
Well, ok, I've seen deer twice before in this state in my whole entire life. That includes my teenage years, riding my horse out on trails. So I suppose we technically have deer, but it's not like you SEE them. Certainly not while on paved roads.

At first, I thought it was a dog, and when I realized what had just narrowly missed my front bumper, I pulled over to take pictures, and also to chase it and hug it and squeeze it and beg it to come and live with me forever.

It (I think "it" was a "she" but I'm basing that only on the fact that it looked more like Bambi's mother than Bambi's father, because that's my only frame of reference when it comes to deer) stopped on the other side of the road, and calmly started grazing on the cemetary grass.

Since my camera batteries chose this moment to completely crap out on me, I shall have to recreate the surreal scene.

Add to wishlist

I've always desperately wanted an Afro.

Is that strange?

I wanna decorate it with seashells and flowers and sequins.

Alternative Medicine.

I think if someone bought me these boots, it would cure my cold.












Or this purse.
















Or this necklace.
















Or these sheets on the left.











Or this kimono.















Or this sweater.


















Or these shoes.



















You know what else I think will work?

Toast and Thai soup.
Nick kisses on my face.
Mau whisker-tickles.
My feather pillows.
The movie Roman Holiday.
Wearing my giant sombrero.
Comments? I know it's comment-whoring, and I try not to do that. But my body is all jacked up at the moment, and I'm just sick and tired of being sick.
Tell me I'm pretty?