Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,

My Hands Are Bananas


My favorite cat Niki got fed up with my sleeping in so late this morning and gave me a good whack on my eyelid. He did this a few months ago and I ended up looking like Scott punched me, ever so slightly, for a few days. I'm pretty sure this one will turn purple too.

I think what happens is that he realizes that fresh water and food arrive when I open my eyes and start moving around so he comes out of the bathroom where he likes to spend most of his elder cat time sleeping on a warm heating pad, stands beside me for a while, and then wallops my eye. It's also possible that he's just been sitting around watching me for a while and because I'm dreaming he thinks my eyes flitting around are kind of interesting and wants to take a whack at them. I don't know.

It seems more of a deliberate thing, although I was in the middle of a dream about a giant werewolf, about the size of the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man in Ghostbusters, coming into a city like Manhattan. He was huge; this big wolfy dog walking on all fours, about four buildings tall, with a couple of people riding on his back. He seemed pretty benign, as far as these kinds of things go. He didn't seem to mean anyone harm. But people were running as if from Godzilla nevertheless. I just wanted to find Beau and keep people from accidentally being trampled. I also wanted to protect the giant werewolfy dog

Speaking of cats, how cool is this; a guy strapped a small digital camera to his cat's collar and snapped random shots of his cat's wanderings throughout the course of several days. What a great idea. I wish I'd thought of that. I can't remember whose journal I found the link on last night, I was verrry sleepy as I had just taken a sleeping medication to help me sleep, sorry, please remind me if you'd like me to give you credit.

I own the domain mycatcam.com and have been wanting to do something fun with it for the longest time. I own some other great names too, oh well, one of these days. Right now it's all I can do to keep up with my life. Most of the time I feel like I'm just trying to keep my head above water.

I stayed up late last night because I wanted to check in on Ana and I had a lot of computer catching up and DVR watching to do, and of course it never ever comes to an end. It's like my house; forever in need of some expensive and time consuming repair or organizational need. I often think my purse, car, bathroom, and closets are a reflection of my mental state. When I'm in chaos, so are they. When I can put them all, or even just one of them, in some kind of order I feel so much better about myself. I wonder if that's a tad OCD-ish.

Then there was the fun news this morning that the doggies had figured out how to open the roll-up garage door, rolled it up, and went marauding about in all of our stored stuff, pissed all over everything and dragged out whatever they wanted to play with. Poor doggies. Poor Concha. Not wanting to wake me up, (Which I would have totally understood and welcomed, as opposed to her having to try to clean it all up on her own), she went out there and worked in the hot son for hours stacking everything up again and trying to pull the garage door back down. Beau came out and helped her. I just feel so bad that all of my accumulated stuff, including the dogs who so badly need to placed in good homes, had caused all of this trouble for Concha and Beau. Now I need to find someone who can come and repair the garage door and pray that the whole thing doesn't repeat itself all over again tomorrow.

I have been praying/meditating/visualizing positive things for my friend ana who is about to have her little baby girl Lili any second now. I hope she has the healthiest, easiest, bestest labour in all the world.

Beau came into my room to share this video with me today. It looks like it was uploaded about a year ago, so we are seriously way behind the curve here, but I think it's pretty funny in a teenagery Sprokets kind of way. We laughed so hard. I love my son, but of course that goes without saying. Do I need to tell you that he's about 6' 3" now? Standing next to Concha this morning he actually startled me for a moment because he looked like a giant and I started to worry that he might have some kind of endocrine disorder. My eenie weenie preemie who we had to buy doll clothes for, for a few weeks after he was born, because nothing in the extra-small baby clothes section would fit.

I so wish we had, had access to the kind of technology and global communications that kids, ("Kids" God that makes me feel so old), have today. We would so have been doing this instead of wandering the winding streets of Bel Air looking for ways to make ourselves laugh by acting out. One of my personal favorites was the tag bare walls with the phrase, "Stimulate my clitoris." I thought that was a hoot because the phrase seemed so out of sync or context with the act of vandalizing a wall; seemed like if you were going to tag something you should say "Chuey was here," or "Get your weed from Stinky," or even "Suck it," instead of a more clinical reference to sexually pleasuring one of the best parts of the female anatomy.

Okay, well, I've got to run. Scott's coming over any second and we're all going to see Harry Potter.

Big hugs,

PS: "Beware the Milky Pirate."

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded