OwOwOWowOw. Ow OW OW OW ow. OW. GodammitsitDOWN. Ow. ow! OW! Okay. OW. These are the sounds I make as my cat Stella turns around and around and around in my lap while simultaneously holding on with all her claws. Eventually she settles into a warm drooly lump and all is forgiven. Until she barfs strategically by the bed in the middle of the night so when I get up I get a bare foot-full. And you all wonder why I don't talk about my cats? Except you don't.

So, like Emiloo, I am currently a home-owner supa freak. We close in a WEEK. We move NEXT WEEKEND. You have to understand, we've lived in our current duplex apartment for years (7 for me, 9 for Kenny) and we're a little attached to it. Hell, I loved this place before I even met Kenny! I used to ride my bike past it every day on my way to work and think "Oh, look at that lovely house! I want to live there!" Then I met Kenny and found out where he lived and knew I had to ask him out. Luckily he said yes. Eight months later I moved in and damn, I'm still here seven years later and now for only nine more days. Our apartment is the upstairs of a turn-of-the-century farmhouse, smack in the middle of the city. It hasn't been renovated since the turn of the century, either. I swear, our house is the birthplace of the first dust mite and we've been breeding them strong ever since. Our apartment is unclean-able, cold in the winter, hot as fuck in the summer and always a mess. I'm going to miss it. Here's a picture:

So, because we've lived here so long and are complete packrats, we've had to get rid of an amazing amount of completely useless crap. The thrift store guy knows us by name and probably talks about us behind our back because of the total crap we drop on them. How many of you can say that you've been greeted with "Oh, wow, a cow skull!" when dropping off donations? Broken 1970's era tennis racket? dusty record album rack? Crock Pot Cookbook circa 1084? Score!

But slowly, the stuff is being sorted and boxed and labeled in a non-organized fashion. Kenny packs the boxes too heavy and I unpack and repack them. It's all amazingly boring.

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So, work is coming along okay, I guess. I've spent most of my time this week writing "a report" of the meetings from last weeks trip. Of course, by "report" I mean "I'm copying my notes into a Word document". Really, I'm getting no guidance on this AT ALL and I have no clue what my boss expects me to come up with.

Also, part of my job is calling people who've applied for our ad for a business-to-business caller person (ie. Cold Calls. A job that fills me full of dread, which is why I don't do it.) and people are SO WEIRD. I've been grilled about compensation (before the interview!), accused of being a fly-by-night commission-only sales company (which we aren't) and overall treated with the utmost suspicion. Hello, fools? YOU CALLED US! Do you want a job or are you just fulfilling your weekly unemployment requirements? For real. One girl called and left a message to let us know that she and her husband were both interested in the position. Dude, what? I weep, for real.

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So, I was reading Pamie's latest journal entry today, and just about fell out of my chair when I read this:

Driving home I almost got sideswiped by Jake Busey. Now that's terror.

Holy freaking hell, can you imagine anything more scary? (Okay, maybe it would be scarier if David Gest was in the passenger seat. And the car was covered in centipedes.) Gah! Horrible. Poor Pamie. I hope she had a stiff drink to get over the shock of almost being sideswiped by the scary spawn of one of the world's scariest celebrities.

The World's Scariest Celebrities (according to me): 1. Gary Busey
2. Any spawn of Busey
3. David Gest
4. Jocelyn Wildenstein (who's only a celebrity because she looks like a freak.)
5. Kirstie Ally
6. Gilbert Godfrey
7. Mariah Carey
8. David Blaine
9. Corey Haim
10. Billy Bob Thornton (Actually, he doesn�t scare me as much as he pisses me off. However, I loved him in Sling Blade.)

Honestly, there are about 30 celebrities who freak me out, but I'm too tired to think of more. I'll finish the list later.

PS. OhmyGOd. Jamie Oliver is cooking with Black Pudding. Ew fucking squared.

37 chatty monkeys