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We've just experienced a milestone: For the first time ever, Squish--not Kaga, who is a ninja and does this all the time--got himself accidentally trapped in the laundry room. He apparently ran in there without me noticing while I was getting something, and since I never expect him to do that, I closed the door when I left without even looking. Fortunately he had the sense--or the sense of panic--to start crying almost immediately to let me know he was in there. This is again unlike Kaga, who has been known to sit in a closed room for hours without making a peep, apparently because he is a ninja. At any rate, I have a weird sense of pride that Squish has become confident enough to do something that gets him into trouble.
In news of why Kaga is a pain in the ass (not that this is really news), yesterday afternoon I attempted to take a short nap so that I would be a little more refreshed before dance class. Kaga joined me and laid on my chest, as he often does when I'm napping, and usually this is quite nice. But this time, for whatever reason, he decided that my face needed to be licked every five minutes. So I would drift into sleep for a few minutes, only to be jolted awake by feline papillae on my jaw or cheek. This went on for half an hour, and the attempts to remove him from my chest only resulted in him returning and continuing this behavior; shifting positions so he couldn't lie on me wasn't viable due to my back being sore. As might be needless to say, the nap was not refreshing.
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Last night, I had my first full-on personal experience with a Seattle species I've always known about but never truly encountered in the wild before: The whispery-voiced starchild hippie. Please note that this is not a condemnation of hippies at large; many people I am quite fond of have hippie qualities. I am taking here about a very specific type with a radical disconnect from generally-agreed-upon reality who was so completely and utterly the negative stereotype of this sort of person that I couldn't entirely believe she was real. I've attempted a couple of times to write up the experience and I am apparently not a good enough writer to capture how truly mind-boggling it all was with the humor it all had for me and without coming across totally mean-spirited; I think this really needs to be described in person so that I can accurately convey the voice and inflections and the level of my astonishment. So I'll just mention one of the interactions with this person, which was when she interrupted me while I was answering a question about my zoo activities by thrusting her bag, filled with several small plush animals, in the face of the person who asked the question, and then enthused about how much she loves giraffes (note: giraffes were not part of either the question or the answer) and demanded we all admire her plush giraffe--all of it done in a tiny, floaty, whispery little-girl voice.
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I made a stop at the Greenwood Fred Meyer after class as it sometimes turns up some remarkable deals in the clearance sections. And I bought a shirt that has brown stripes. This is not a shirt for wearing during zoo duties. It is a fashion shirt, meant for fashionable outfits, and it has brown stripes. And I liked it and could see myself wearing it and I bought it. What the hell are you steampunk people doing to me?
The punchline: Said shirt does not fit me (I didn't try it on because I hate trying things on and 98% of the time an XL will fit me; this turned out to be a 2% circumstance) and so I will be returning it. But only because it doesn't fit me. Not because it has brown stripes.
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We have not yet decided what we will be doing to avoid the worst of the kabooming on the Fourth this year. Last year's plan of drinking our way through Transformers 2 turned out to be both effective and wildly entertaining (in a terrible, hilarious way), but there isn't a film of similarly epic and mockable badness this year. I suppose we could try Eclipse, but I suspect we would both end up more exasperated than entertained, even with alcohol; any of the other candidates that are really bad have extenuating circumstances that keep me from wanting to give them my money. If anyone has any suggestions for what we might do for the bulk of the evening that would keep us away from fireworks noise (sitting in our own house watching DVDs doesn't cut it), I welcome them.
In news of why Kaga is a pain in the ass (not that this is really news), yesterday afternoon I attempted to take a short nap so that I would be a little more refreshed before dance class. Kaga joined me and laid on my chest, as he often does when I'm napping, and usually this is quite nice. But this time, for whatever reason, he decided that my face needed to be licked every five minutes. So I would drift into sleep for a few minutes, only to be jolted awake by feline papillae on my jaw or cheek. This went on for half an hour, and the attempts to remove him from my chest only resulted in him returning and continuing this behavior; shifting positions so he couldn't lie on me wasn't viable due to my back being sore. As might be needless to say, the nap was not refreshing.
===============================
Last night, I had my first full-on personal experience with a Seattle species I've always known about but never truly encountered in the wild before: The whispery-voiced starchild hippie. Please note that this is not a condemnation of hippies at large; many people I am quite fond of have hippie qualities. I am taking here about a very specific type with a radical disconnect from generally-agreed-upon reality who was so completely and utterly the negative stereotype of this sort of person that I couldn't entirely believe she was real. I've attempted a couple of times to write up the experience and I am apparently not a good enough writer to capture how truly mind-boggling it all was with the humor it all had for me and without coming across totally mean-spirited; I think this really needs to be described in person so that I can accurately convey the voice and inflections and the level of my astonishment. So I'll just mention one of the interactions with this person, which was when she interrupted me while I was answering a question about my zoo activities by thrusting her bag, filled with several small plush animals, in the face of the person who asked the question, and then enthused about how much she loves giraffes (note: giraffes were not part of either the question or the answer) and demanded we all admire her plush giraffe--all of it done in a tiny, floaty, whispery little-girl voice.
===============================
I made a stop at the Greenwood Fred Meyer after class as it sometimes turns up some remarkable deals in the clearance sections. And I bought a shirt that has brown stripes. This is not a shirt for wearing during zoo duties. It is a fashion shirt, meant for fashionable outfits, and it has brown stripes. And I liked it and could see myself wearing it and I bought it. What the hell are you steampunk people doing to me?
The punchline: Said shirt does not fit me (I didn't try it on because I hate trying things on and 98% of the time an XL will fit me; this turned out to be a 2% circumstance) and so I will be returning it. But only because it doesn't fit me. Not because it has brown stripes.
===============================
We have not yet decided what we will be doing to avoid the worst of the kabooming on the Fourth this year. Last year's plan of drinking our way through Transformers 2 turned out to be both effective and wildly entertaining (in a terrible, hilarious way), but there isn't a film of similarly epic and mockable badness this year. I suppose we could try Eclipse, but I suspect we would both end up more exasperated than entertained, even with alcohol; any of the other candidates that are really bad have extenuating circumstances that keep me from wanting to give them my money. If anyone has any suggestions for what we might do for the bulk of the evening that would keep us away from fireworks noise (sitting in our own house watching DVDs doesn't cut it), I welcome them.