I cannot figure out why our cats have been attempting to eat the following items:
- White bread
- Freshly baked chocolate chip muffins
- Bakery croissants
- Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies
I don’t know what the deal is. I just know that I now have to hide the above items in cupboards, because despite the plastic wrappers, hard plastic boxes, or industrial-strength Ziploc baggies, it is not enough to deter two felines who obviously have developed a serious carb addiction.
Last night I had put two chocolate chip cookies in a Ziploc and threw it into my lunch bag, stupidly forgetting to zip said lunch bag and place it in a hermetically sealed fortress surrounded by laser security technology operated by rabid dogs. So I was treated to a 1:48 a.m. wake-up call consisting of rustling sounds and tell-tale forbidden activity. On my way to investigate, sans proper eyewear or clothing, I stepped on a cookie that had been freed from its plastic prison, smooshing it into a thousand pieces before finding the other cookie still in the bag, on the floor, surrounded by tell-tale chewed-out holes.
I am just incredulous that today still exists, in its slow-as-molasses manner, despite my repeated requests that it just hurry the hell up and be OVER WITH. I mean, really. How many times can I punch Today in the head before it finally gets the message that, you know, you’re not welcome here? Move Along.
(more…)
The snow last week? It would’ve been pretty if it had been lightly caressing my cheek instead of smacking me in the face. It was less “snowy butterfly kisses” and more “big messy French kiss,” like a meteorological f-you from a drunk and sloppy Mother Nature.
As an added bonus, I attempted to blow some of the snow with our new snowblower as a surprise to Jason when he came home from work. After professionally starting it up on the first try, I managed to blow a solitary, somewhat straight line (if looking at it with one eye closed while drunk) before the snowblower died a dramatic death from suffocation due to the tightly packed snow in its mechanical esophagus.
Despite clearing the snow, it refused to start again. Well, great. That left shoveling and the requisite whining that goes with it, because shoveling wet heavy snow? Really sucks. It’s like trying to shovel up a pile of dead bodies. If the bodies are wet and attached to cinder blocks. And shellacked to the pavement.
After 20 heart attack-inducing minutes of shoveling, Jason came home and fixed the snowblower, so I could finish the driveway the way nature intended. With a machine.
