I think I have pink eye again. Wash your hands well after reading this diary.
As I was working the four ten-hour shift thing this week, I’ve got tomorrow off. Sweet! I’m so very excited to do absolutely nothing. Oh, wait, not true. I must do the singing lesson thing. Wooohoo! Not singing actual words yet, but hopefully tomorrow will be the day. We’ll see.
Esteban has declared that we must clean the house tomorrow. He’s having his league’s fantasy football draft here on Sunday afternoon and it would be best if it didn’t reek of lingering cat urine and be littered with newspapers. Well, we think that Chelsea has stopped the peeing, but we’ll have to see. I’m thinking about getting some of that “Natural Solution” enzyme stuff to get rid of the smell.
Why is it that you have to spend extra dough to get a plug-in air freshener that will last a month, yet cat pee smell will last generations???? Three days after getting Tilly, she peed in my car. We had that car detailed three times with a special process. It went through countless hot 100+ summers and -50 winters. I spilled countless ounces of Diet Coke on the seat. And yet, four years later, we traded it in when we bought the truck, despite that it was better than our other car, for the simple reason that it always smelled like a Cat Lady’s house.
Then at one point, I was bringing home groceries in the other car and spilled a gallon of white vinegar in the trunk. We actually picked the Dill Pickle car over the Cat Pee car.
If they could figure out what it is in Cat Pee which makes it last so long or maybe made Cat Pee smell like Cinnamon Apples, they’d make a fortune. But then, maybe they’ve already figured that out and then realized that if they marketed the Cinnamon Apple Cat Pee (TM), everyone would buy exactly ONE package and then be set for life. Not good business sense. It’s a conspiracy.
I think the Abby Hoffman voice inside my head is bored and coming up with new theories.
Anyway, I really can’t be upset about the Fantasy Football league meeting at my house, because Esteban has determined that if I’m getting bunches of Fantasy Football projects when I’m NOT playing, think of how much better I’d be if I were actually participating in the game? One of the guys dropped out of his league and now I have the great honor of being the first female team owner in the history of their league.
Yep. Me and Gloria Steinem. Or maybe Marge Schott.
Me and Marge Schott. Yep. That’s closer.
No, wait. Me and that drunk guy who used to sing during the seventh inning stretch at the Cubs games. No, that metaphor really doesn’t work. I guess Marge Schott is the girl to make the metaphor work, except I can’t see myself being such a bitch.
Ok, I know. Me and that character that Goldie Hawn played in “Wildcats”… you know, the female football coach? Me and her. Yeah.
When I was fourteen, I had this strange fantasy going for awhile. I would fantasize that my dad was Mike Ditka, coach at the time of the Chicago Bears, and he had to take a leave of absence or some crap, so he declared that the only person that he trusted with his team was his beloved daughter (me). And everyone at the Bears didn’t argue with him, because he’s Ditka and you can’t really argue with Ditka, because he’ll spit a wad of ABC gum in your hair or something. So, hence, I was the Adhoc coach of the Chicago Bears and I was fighting a lot of harassment from some of the players, getting a lot of sexist comments and whatnot. But then, they started realizing that I knew my football and Jim McMahon started courting me, but I was torn between staying neutral to my players and dating the hot studly quarterback. And Jim was also nervous because I was Ditka’s daughter and well, he was pretty afraid of being spit at.
And then we won the Superbowl.
Yup. I don’t think I had your normal fourteen-year-old day dreams. It could be argued that I was watching too many Movies of the Week on ABC. Or maybe those are the kind of fantasies you have when you live in a football town and have an emotionally and physically distant father.
I still think Ditka would be a cool dad. One of those tough but loving dads. The kind who would make sure that you got home from your dates on time or he’d make you run laps.
Yup. Sweet.
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Virginia Mom, you have completely redeemed those minivans in my eyes. You never leave your email so I couldn’t send you an email the last time you left a message in the guestbook, but I just wanted to let you know that. Also, remember I’m a child of a hippy, so it’s pretty hard for me to refrain from taking up causes, but I will keep that in mind! I’ll probably still tell readers to go and tell other people “Happy Birthday” and stuff like that, though, but that’s free.
I bought a bunch more banner ads, so you all should be seeing my little banner again soon.
Also, whoever nominated me for Quoted: what a big honor! Thank you!
And since I’m tying up some loose ends here, if you are reading this from Quaker Oats or Ameritech in Appleton, send me an email. I’ve been seing those servers on my stats and I’d love to hear from you. Thanks!
My neighbors have a little garden hose thing (I think it’s officially a Garden Hose Cozy or something) in the shape of a big turtle. It hides their hose.
This morning, the hose was strewn about the lawn and it looked as though the turtle had lost its intestines everywhere.
Why don’t people think before they buy such things? Why?
Don’t forget to wash your hands with anti-bacterial soap.
