St. Patrick's Day

Happy St. Patrick's Day! I just looked it up; I had absolutely no idea that it was a Christian holiday, though I suppose the St. part might have been kind of a giveaway. At least St. Patrick doesn't sound like too much of an asshole, unlike some of those other jerks. In any case, I'm a fan of any saint that properly appreciates beer and drunken nakedness. I've never understood why we need a special day for that; usually I just call it 'Thursday'.

We are having a pretty standard weekend here, bizarre holiday or no. The boys are out cutting up sticks in the back yard after having collected a plastic container full of innocent unsuspecting spiders, constructed some sort of robot out of a flashlight, broken toys, nails and fishing line, and dug a hole to China in the lawn. There is also a small pile of charred debris on the back porch; I'm not even going to ASK about that, as I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. Additionally, I am deeply regretting the day in December when I optimistically purchased a thrift store set of approximately nine billion poker chips in a spinning holder for a Christmas present for them. I was thinking of how nicely it would supplement their math education, of course.

I'm sure you know where this is going. Those cursed plastic tokens are all over the house, and Shane will be asking for Jack and Coke and plotting a road trip to Vegas any day now. On the other hand, Weston's most recent math lesson consisted of some algebra problems that are probably not addressed in most first grade curricula. Most likely the poker chips were instrumental, and now he can develop some brilliant casino scam for Shane to execute. Then I'm taking my cut right off the top and going to the spa. With wine. At least that's what I tell myself every time I get another one of those damn things jammed into my foot.

Hmmmm, what else? Oh, yes. There is a woolly bear caterpillar loose in the house. Apparently, it was released from the container it lives in for a little exercise, and Shane was supposed to be 'babysitting' it to keep it from getting lost but fell down on the job. Also, there are traps set around the living room. The traps consist of balls wrapped in blankets. See, you step on the blanket, not realizing there is a ball in there and you slip and fall. It's surprisingly effective. Geez, forget the spa and just bring on the wine, baby! And make it snappy, because now Shane is planning to acquire four baby cheetahs. He's a resourceful little thing, too, I wouldn't rule it out.

Have a good weekend, my friends! I was planning to lounge on the couch with wine but now I'm scared of accidentally falling asleep and getting cheetah-mauled. I'm definitely in the market for a good plan B. I can't cross the living room so I might be stuck here at the computer. I'll see you on Facebook as soon as I finish my wine delivery order.

Cat Wigs

Oh, you guys. I swear, I NEVER know what I'm going to hear or see next around here. Last night the boys decided they needed wigs for Jake and Henry so they would look like girls. Or, 'goowuls', as Shane says. They wanted to know where one could buy such a thing, so I googled it for them, while telling them that there are probably not any cat wigs. You can imagine my surprise, then, when I realized there are totally cat wigs. Naturally, the boys wanted one right away, the pink one, and were quite dismayed when I informed them that there was no way we were going to spend sixty bucks on a wig for a cat. I mean, seriously, who would do that? Do you know how much wine I can buy with sixty smackeroos?

While they were pitching their fits, I posted the cat wigs on facebook, because what else would I do? As always, the best part of my facebook posts are the hilarious comments from my fantastic friends. Here are a few:

If any of my friends were going to discover cat wigs, I would bet it would be you.- S.

I'm totally buying one. My cat will look dashing in the Bashful Blonde.- S.

Oh and Thanks now my daughter wants a cat and a wig for it...Thank God the baby is allergic.- H.

Oh. My. Goodness. I have no words except "0h. My. Goodness. I have no words." -L.

How do you get a cat to keep a wig on??? -M.

And I'm the hard core one? -G.

After the boys recovered from the disappointment associated with my frugal approach to cat accessories, I told them they could MAKE cat wigs if they wanted, for a fraction of the price. We decided doll hair would make good wigs, but they didn't want to cut the hair on the dolls they already had, so obviously a thrift store trip was in order.

THEN, when I told my sister that I was taking the boys to Goodwill to buy dolls to cut their hair to make cat wigs with, she said, "You're going to make cat wigs out of doll hair? What a ridiculous idea. Why don't you just come over here? I have some cat wigs you can have." Every word of this is true. Can you believe I didn't even have a category for her until just now?

So, sure enough, I went over there and she gave me a bag of wigs. Two cat wigs and two little boy wigs. Let me just finish by saying there were mixed feelings about wig-wearing around here today. You may notice Jake is not in any wig pictures at all, and in fact is in hiding and hasn't been seen for several hours. Henry, however, cheerfully donned two different wigs and posed for a lengthy photo shoot. Enjoy!

Wet

Say, do you guys remember when I got my new phone? There were zombies and everything, and it wasn't so long ago. I was terrified of it, as you might remember, but it's pretty easy to use and I have gotten sort of fond of it. I like taking pictures and sending them on the spot, texting all my friends, and reading my email at the grocery store. I have even grown to like the purple and white bird cover, and not just because it repels the zombies. I have resisted facebooking at stop lights, though, unlike some people I could mention.

Have I mentioned that we have the boys back in swimming lessons? I rooted around for a while on here and SFK looking for posts I may have written about swimming lessons before, but I couldn't find any, so I may have been too traumatized. We have tried multiple times before with less than stellar results. First at Osan, where the instructor tried to get Weston, who is timid in the water, to get his head wet by mockingly comparing him unfavorably to a girl. Then at a place around here, where the instructor let the un-buoyed and untrustworthy two year old Shane propel himself around the edge of the pool with her back turned until he went under and Lloyd had to fish him out by his hair.

This time didn't start out too promisingly, either, because the teacher forced Weston's head underwater when he wasn't expecting it. Who thinks that's a good idea? I would be so furious if someone did that to me but because he's just a kid it's okay to terrorize him? Anyway, he was willing to go back if he didn't have to have his head underwater unless he wanted to, so we talked to the teacher and she agreed. Actually, Lloyd had to threaten her, I think. He still won't tell me what he said to her, but whatever it was worked, and the lessons have been going fine for several weeks now.

So, tonight, we were at the pool. I was minding my own business, daydreaming about the tropics in the moist warm air, when the teacher told Shane for about the sixteenth time to hang on to the edge of the pool while she wasn't looking instead of paddling around. Sensible, because he can't swim, of course. I walked over to the edge and bent over to remind him that at swimming lessons we listen to Miss Denice and do what she says or else we can't come back to the pool. When I did, my new phone slipped out of my shirt pocket, bounced on the concrete and slipped through my grasping hands straight into the pool. Right now it is resting peacefully in a bowl of rice, and I am sucking down the wine to soothe the withdrawal pains. And, I had to bust the rice out of the emergency kit. But, dude, if that's not an emergency, I don't know what is.

Geez, I hate swimming lessons.

Suckers

Haha, suckers! I am totally only writing today so I don't bust up my awesome consecutive string of posts. I might have cobbled together this many in a row before, maybe, in about 2009, back before I hit forty, when the fire could still fly from my fingertips on a regular basis, but it's pretty much unprecedented in the recent past. Dammit. That's all I've got. Well, I'll see what I can do. I might have to resort to pictures of brussels sprouts again. I'm not proud.

Work SUCKED today; I accidentally insulted this crusty old ex-colonel and then crashed the travel program on my computer after I spent approximately twelve hours planning a trip I'm not super enthusiastic about to start with. When I got home I saw on facebook I missed the birthday of one of my favorite people ever. Because I never, ever look at facebook at work. Sorry, Janelle! Actually, you know what? I never remember birthdays. It's one of my character flaws. I think it has to do with my whole Jehovah's Witness/Holiday aversion thing. That might be an excellent topic for another day, but I'm too tired and cranky to go there today.

Oh, I know! Once again, I need to address the issue of lies on here. Yesterday, at our early Thanksgiving party, one of my charming aunts informed me that sometimes she just skims my blog because she knows it's full of lies. It's just too outrageous to be true, she said. MY OWN AUNT! Can you believe that? I have talked about this before, multiple times, but a nice refresher is always good. Everything I put on here is basically true. Things will usually fall into one of several categories. Reports of events are always mostly true, but might be slightly exaggerated or embellished for effect. Hare-brained schemes, which are labeled with that category, are always straight out of my imagination, but are most often based on something that actually happened. Flat out lies are pretty obvious, like above where I said I never look at facebook at work. Also, if you'll notice, I have categories called 'lies' and 'true'. If you're wondering, you can always check the label. And, of course, you can always ask in the comments or email me at womanwithadeadcat (at) gmaildotcom.

And, finally, here's an example of a typical exaggeration, for future reference: After I posted this I received this question: 'Did they really lock you in your apartment when the President flew into Osan??' Now, the answer is no, they didn't really lock me in my apartment. Instead, they shot chloroform into my ductwork so I was unconscious for the whole event. But see, that's not quite as funny.

So there you have it, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, from a woman with a dead cat in her purse.

Banal

I complain about Facebook a fair amount, like everyone else in the known universe, and with good reason. I don't like the recent changes; the ticker of forced sharing hacks me off pretty good. For all I know, it's keeping track of which profiles I'm stalking and teaching my computer to spy on the websites I visit and report back to it. It might even be watching what I'm writing right now and making a note of my address for the hit squad. You know you've thought about that; just admit it. I hear more major changes are on the way, too. I keep reading what a big freaking deal they are going to be, blah blah blah, boring geek talk, blah blah blah (not a direct quote).

I have been seriously considering defacebooking. I'm reluctant, because I am lucky enough to have friends all over the world, and it IS handy for keeping in touch with them. I guess I should wait and see how much I hate the upcoming revisions before I decide. I bet I despise them, though. Just a guess. Change is bad!

And what else is out there? I'm not sure about that Google thing; is there anything else? I'm not very clever that way, you know, with all the techie stuff. I don't even know how to put contacts in my work phone and the other day I accidentally sent a seriously questionable message to the wrong (VERY wrong) person. Oops. But who will be crying when the pulse destroys all the electronic equipment on the face of the earth? Not me, that's who! Oh, wait. Never mind. SOMEBODY HELP ME.

Anyway, in the meantime, I thought I would experiment to see if I could find a suitable alternative to satisfy my compulsion to share the most banal (that's for you, Leah!) details of my day:

Woman with a Dead Cat had better get out of bed; that coffee isn't going to drink itself!

Woman with a Dead Cat doesn't know if there's enough makeup to cover this thing.

Woman with a Dead Cat has to wear a wrinkled shirt to work

Woman with a Dead Cat needs to decide: vest or no vest?

Woman with a Dead Cat is so hungry! Donut or bacon? Better go with the protein, it's healthier.

Woman with a Dead Cat just spilled some coffee on her shirt.

Woman with a Dead Cat just dropped some bacon on her shirt.

Woman with a Dead Cat just dropped some jelly on her shirt.

Woman with a Dead Cat is definitely going to wear the vest.

Woman with a Dead Cat wishes her rude co-workers would stop laughing at her.

Well, that was easy enough. I do love getting the little red notifications and the comments, though. Plus, how will people know to come and read them if I don't tell them on Facebook? Hmmmm, I'm not sure if this is going to work for me. I might need to invent something. Or maybe I just need to build a thermonuclear device in my garage. For the pulse; that will solve all our problems! I'll keep you posted.

Friday

Happy Friday, everyone! At my house, it's barely 6 a.m. The coffee has bypassed the carafe and flowed all over the counter, cabinets and floor, along with a generous helping of grounds. I like strong coffee, y'all! The towels were all dirty and there was no soap in the shower. I licked the floor like a thirsty cat, I rubbed the grime off on the shower wall like a cow on a fence, then shook myself dry like a dog, only to discover that facebook is down. OH, THE HUMANITY!

Let me make a slight clarification: when I say facebook is down, I mean I can read it, but not post. They are working on this issue and feel certain it will be resolved shortly. Try again in a few minutes! In the meantime, however, here I sit with rage to vent. Thanks a lot, FACEBOOK!

You know, I hate the legislative branch as much as anyone these days. Maybe more! It's super easy to get whipped into a frenzy, for a multitude of legitimate reasons. But I keep seeing these posts about how they all get their salaries for life, or how they get a full pension after one term. None of these things are true. You can read the truth here or here. Or google it up and find out more. As per the usual, the truth is much less outrageous than the rumors and lies.

Circuitous

I feel like I need to write something; we've had a pretty eventful week or two, and there's a lot coming up, too. But I don't usually like to write just to report just the facts; I get cross with myself unless I actually have a point of some kind. Dumb, I suppose. I've noticed I never just post on facebook about just what's going on, either- I always have to have some smartass remark or I won't even bother. I feel like I have a million things I COULD write, and sort of want to, but I don't know if I have the energy for it. Plus, no one wants to read a bunch of dreary crap here; you can get that anywhere. I mean, the only reason to come here is for funny stories and the occasional rant, right? You can get your depressing garbage 24/7 on CNN. Or Fox, if you're not boycotting them. I am. Too bad, too, because while I despise their toxic right wing slant, they are consistently ahead of the pack on breaking news. That's probably what Rupert Murdoch got in exchange when he sold his soul to the devil. Up until pretty recently it was working out pretty well for him, too, yes?

Well, since I'm here, clicking away, I might as well make a report. I guess if you don't like it, you don't have to read it; it's a free country and all that.

Want to know something weird? I have had the preceding paragraphs written for DAYS, and all this blank white space has just been sitting here waiting. Waiting, waiting..... I just couldn't make myself spit it out. Sometimes, though, if you can't do something by barreling straight through, you can come at it from the side. I have to do that all the time at work; it's usually pretty successful, if annoyingly and unnecessarily circuitous.

So! We are going to the beach next week. It will be super fun. First, though, we have to stop by the cemetery for my mother's burial service, and my grandmother's. Also my grandmother's dog, but that's not quite so traumatic. They've been cremated, of course, so no need to get all creeped out. The relatives will be out in full force; feel free to get all creeped out! Since all three of the decedents will be buried at the same cemetery but in different spots, only Grandma and Tiger will be buried at that time. We'll stop back by on the way back for my mother's actual burial. I have to say, I wouldn't recommend this dragging out of the festivities. The next time I have a shopping bag filled with friends, relatives, pets, or any combination thereof, I am definitely getting rid of it as soon as possible.

Speaking of dead people, there is also some depressing business going on at my office with some co-workers. It's not my story to tell, but it has been quite distressing for the entire staff, and the response has been underwhelming at best. Hmmmm, I guess that is all I have to say about that.

There, look! I did it. I only left out a few things, like our recent visit to the ER. Everyone is fine now, not to worry. Everyone except me, that is. Weston weighs 68 pounds; I know this because the only time I put him down was to place him on the scale, so they could figure out how much to dose him for the excruciating and inexplicable neck pain he was experiencing. It's gone now, but I still haven't figured out how to dose myself for the excruciating lower back pain I will probably be experiencing for the next month.

See? Circuitous. But done.

Rats

If you are my friend on Facebook, you probably already know all about the rat wars at my house. If you're not my Facebook friend, you totally should be, because I have a lot of really important stuff to say on there, as you can well imagine.

Now that the weather has warmed up a smidge and the compost is getting good and rotty, we have had a rat invasion in the back yard. They come through the fence from the sheep farm and burrow under the compost to plan their assault. Then they swarm over the back porch to eat the copious seeds that have fallen from the bird feeder. When Henry was alive, he probably kept them at bay, but now, sadly, we have to battle them without his assistance. Lloyd started sniping them with his pellet gun, but it was a little slow for his liking, and they don't make an automatic assault version. I told him I thought I could convert it with directions from the internet but he didn't like that idea for some reason and went with traps and poison. It's like he fancies himself some big gun expert or something and thinks I have no idea what I'm talking about. You can see one of his ginormous traps in the picture; this particular one set right in the path where their trail from the farm comes under our fence. I could get some stunning dead rat pictures, but I'll spare you. I'm tenderhearted that way, plus I'm getting a little afraid of those crazy PETA people after the whole hamster thing.

Naturally, success in rat-killing leads to a quandary: what to do with the carcasses? They are big, fat, glossy, generously-whiskered creatures and surely would be useful for many things. Seriously, they are the picture of robust, glowing health, except for being dead. One certainly doesn't want to just toss them in the trash; that would be VERY wasteful. But we have to get to them quickly, or the other rats will carry them away. I'm not even kidding. They disappear if you leave them out there; I bet there is a cadre of mortuary rats that pack the dead soldiers away on their shoulders to some kind of ghoulish body shop where they hack their bodies up to make paleolithic body armor and weapons out of bone, skin, sinew and tails.

They're smart, you know, and they learn from their mistakes. If Lloyd had any sense at all, he would let me do the conversion on that pellet gun so he can just mow them down and be done with it. This slow attrition method is risky, like tying Batman to a slowly submerging platform into a shark tank, then walking away, totally sure you've vanquished your enemy. We all know how that ends up, don't we?

In fact, now that I think about it, I'm getting a little concerned. Ever since I read 'Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh', I have been suspicious that rats are more than they appear to be. I bet they could climb right up on this keyboard and start blogging away. You'll know it's them when they start raising money for PETA and pushing for a revolution.

Morning Madness

I know Helen is eagerly awaiting my upcoming post about why I love Public Works and diesel powered equipment, but that will have to wait for a while longer. Sorry, Helen, but here's a tantalizing hint: it's the closest you will ever get to pure, raw, unadulterated power, baby. The heavy rumble as the engines fire up, the...

Wait, where was I? Oh yeah: morning madness. As you might know, or guess, it's been quite an adjustment for all of us for me to get up and go to work every. single. day. But it's been going pretty well. The boys get up VERY early. They come in our room and shuffle around the bed for a while, and then we all get up. All except Lloyd, I mean- he is so super efficient that he doesn't need the entire morning to accomplish his chores so he stays in bed until I leave for work. The boys watch Underdog, I throw some toast at them and get ready to go, pretty much peacefully.

Today, though, we had a little snafu. The boys came into our room around 4:30, and then WENT BACK TO SLEEP. I don't know why they came in- I'm not home during the day so for all I know Lloyd puts them in hockey masks and makes them have chainsaw fights to entertain the neighbors in exchange for a little extra cash, giving them early morning nightmares. Not that the reason for this aberration matters one tiny bit, of course. I got up and killed a little time, made my lunch and had some extra coffee. That was nice and all, but eventually I had to get showered and dressed, and they STILL WEREN'T UP. This was pretty much unprecedented, and I had no idea what to do.

Decision time, people: do I go in, turn the lights on, shower and get dressed like normal, taking the risk that they'll wake up all grumpy and cross and I'll be late? Or do I creep in there quietly to get my clothes and then suffer the agony of getting ready without all my required supplies and equipment and have to get dressed in the kitchen? I went with the stealth route, hoping they would at least stay asleep until I slammed the door behind me and accidentally set off the alarm.

I took a shower in their grimy, toy-infested tub, and washed my hair with Target brand baby wash. I dried off with a pre-dampened Buzz Lightyear towel and brushed my teeth with a Hello Kitty toothbrush and Little Bear toothpaste. After that, nothing was left to do but get dressed.

Now, don't be too shocked, but I am actually pretty organized when it comes to work clothes. On Sunday afternoon, I pick out four or five outfits so I can just grab a pile each morning and not have to think about it any more. Unfortunately, when I snuck into the closet in the dark, narrowly avoiding getting beaned by a trash bag full of Christmas presents and my manual 35 mm camera with the broken flash shoe, I could not find the dark wash boot cut denims that went with the week's last pre-arranged set. I carefully backed out to pillage the clothes pile, only to be thwarted once again by Lloyd's laundry prowess. There was zilch, and I mean NOTHING, either dirty or clean.

I did the only thing I could do. I posted about it on Facebook. Then I belly crawled back into the dark, peril-ridden closet, grabbed the only pair of pants I could readily and quietly find, a slim cut black velveteen pair, and bolted out the door. Problem solved, you might think, right? That's what I thought, anyway, until I got a good look in the enormous, brightly illuminated full-length mirror in the office bathroom. The thing is, there are few outfits, if any, where a pair of denims can be appropriately replaced with velveteens. At least in my closet. To make matters worse, the replacement pants seemed to have some sort of static issue. They stuck to my boots and the absurdly mismatched jacket clung to the pants. As a result, both the pants and the jacket spent all day inching upwards, and I looked like I raided the closet of a fashion-challenged dwarf. Dopey, perhaps. Only dumpier, and without that snappy hat. I considered tucking the pants into the boots, but feared I would look like a badly-dressed dwarf on the way to ill-advised riding lessons.

And let's not even talk my face and hair and all the rest, okay? I've pretty much given up on makeup improving my appearance in any appreciable way, but let me just say that a comb and some deodorant would have been warmly welcomed, not only by me, but by everyone in my office, and perhaps some passersby on the sidewalk outside my window. I did feel a little better when I saw someone from another division wearing athletic socks with black pumps. I didn't even want to ask what his morning was like.

I don't think I've EVER been so happy to get home from work. I've spent all afternoon problem solving so this doesn't happen to me again. I have a solution involving drop caches, but it's going to require some fairly intensive shopping and there will probably be some logistical issues. Now, here's a couple of little things to cleanse your palate. For a REALLY funny and excellent story about missing pants, click here.

And, I have been in a class all week. Today one of the exercises included filling in an organizational chart for an incident response. Here are my entries:

Chief- Ben Derr

Safety Officer- Izzy Dedgette, assisted by I.C. Blood

Shelter Manager- Bill DeShack

Heavy Equipment Supervisor- Anita Phillip

And that's all I have to say about that.

In which I make excuses

So. Yeah. I KNOW! But now I'm back from 'vacation' and have a jillion posts swirling around in my head, which can't possibly end well, as we all know.

Some potential upcoming topics include: unsolicited diet tips and why my pants don't fit, how much hard work it is for me for Lloyd to find a job, what a pain in the ass it is never being able to find my favorite underwear because everything currently in my possession is strewn all over amongst 37 suitcases, how much I hate the state of Louisiana, how many beers are required each day to banish the trauma of lengthy visits with the relatives, why my two-year old can distinguish a canoe from a kayak at fifty feet but can't count to three, and a dip into the hellpool of my high school years.

As an aside, the only reason the high school hell is on the topic list is because my mother forced me to go through all my junk at her house and I found a bunch of old letters that are painful and hilarious at the same time. Some of them are from people I barely remember, so I don't even have anyone to taunt on Facebook. I might post them anonymously on here just because it seems so wasteful to recycle them where no one can appreciate them except some stupid trees that would otherwise get chopped down so teenagers can write more ridiculous letters to each other. Except for I suppose they don't really do that anymore, do they? I sort of wish I had the ones I wrote back, but it's probably better that I don't. The mortification factor is reduced that way. Oh no, now I have an idea! I'll post a few later on, and if you have something similar that you want to share, send it to me and I'll post it anonymously so we can all enjoy it without you or any of your former friends being humiliated.

Moving on, I just can't decide what to write about first, so I am overwhelmed, frustrated and confused. This may result in an increased beer requirement, which in turn makes my (bigger) pants not fit, which requires more beer. It's a vicious cycle, can't you see? HELP ME.