Over the weekend, I did a lot of errands, one of which was to buy my dad a birthday present. The actual date was back on October 12 (he shares a birthday with my pal Jorge’s dad and with Aleister Crowley) but we hadn’t gotten together to celebrate yet. He wanted a new boom box, having blown out the speakers of his old one playing Metallica too loud. My dad is a hep cat. I bought him the boom box, despite my Magic 8 ball warning against same. I also bought Alan Barrel of Monkeys - I was thrilled to discover that they still make Barrel of Monkeys and Target had some! They had Pick Up Sticks, too, but that seemed like a more girly thing than Barrel of Monkeys, somehow...we had a monkey competition and I won both times. I am the MONKEY MASTAH!
Saturday night, we all had dinner together and I dropped off Sprocket Man to visit his grandparents while I house-sit in Alpharetta. I’m just guessing, mind you, but I suspect that Tim & Sue would rather not have their house redecorated in Shih Tzu fur (and, not incidentally, Shih Tzu wee). I miss my little man already. He’s such a happy dog...I’ve known a lot of dogs but I’ve never known anyone who so utterly embodied happiness like Sprocket. He has never had a bad day, even when he’s been bathed or trimmed or taken to the vet for shots. If I could harness the energy in his constantly wagging plumy-tail, I could move mountains. He sent me an e-mail today and is having fun with the other dogs, which is good - but I miss him. I miss Finnovar, too, but he wouldn’t appreciate the admission so I’ll just gloss over that. He is a cat, after all.
In packing for my sojourn in North BFE, I was reminded of one of my less desirable personality traits: I worry and worry about forgetting to pack something. I go over lists, both mental and written, endlessly; I fret about what item has been left off the list or out of the suitcase. This would make sense if I were, say, going on safari in Kenya or scaling K-2, but I’m going to a different suburb of Atlanta, for fuck’s sake. It’s not like they don’t sell anything I might possibly leave behind, from toothpaste to clean underpants. I did not forget, but rather elected to keep to a minimum, the jewelry I packed. I usually try to match my jewelry in color and in style (i.e., formal vs. casual vs. funky) with whatever I’m wearing, but I didn’t want to haul every pair of earrings I owned to North BFE, so I took one gold bangle bracelet, one ring per hand and my gold hoop earrings (a gift the WGB brought me from Barcelona - w00t!) and that was all.
No doubt faithful readers will pinpoint straightaway what has been forgotten and no, it is NOT available in North BFE: my Lurchaway amulet!!! Sure enough, he was weirding about up here for the longest, asking about our weekends and such. Now, really - why is he asking about my weekend? If I had done something like harvest organs from incapacitated drunks or dismember cadavers, thus proving I was the woman of his dreams, does he think I’d admit it? I wouldn’t. Certainly not in front of my co-workers.
MONTOYA DELENDA EST!
Saturday night, we all had dinner together and I dropped off Sprocket Man to visit his grandparents while I house-sit in Alpharetta. I’m just guessing, mind you, but I suspect that Tim & Sue would rather not have their house redecorated in Shih Tzu fur (and, not incidentally, Shih Tzu wee). I miss my little man already. He’s such a happy dog...I’ve known a lot of dogs but I’ve never known anyone who so utterly embodied happiness like Sprocket. He has never had a bad day, even when he’s been bathed or trimmed or taken to the vet for shots. If I could harness the energy in his constantly wagging plumy-tail, I could move mountains. He sent me an e-mail today and is having fun with the other dogs, which is good - but I miss him. I miss Finnovar, too, but he wouldn’t appreciate the admission so I’ll just gloss over that. He is a cat, after all.
In packing for my sojourn in North BFE, I was reminded of one of my less desirable personality traits: I worry and worry about forgetting to pack something. I go over lists, both mental and written, endlessly; I fret about what item has been left off the list or out of the suitcase. This would make sense if I were, say, going on safari in Kenya or scaling K-2, but I’m going to a different suburb of Atlanta, for fuck’s sake. It’s not like they don’t sell anything I might possibly leave behind, from toothpaste to clean underpants. I did not forget, but rather elected to keep to a minimum, the jewelry I packed. I usually try to match my jewelry in color and in style (i.e., formal vs. casual vs. funky) with whatever I’m wearing, but I didn’t want to haul every pair of earrings I owned to North BFE, so I took one gold bangle bracelet, one ring per hand and my gold hoop earrings (a gift the WGB brought me from Barcelona - w00t!) and that was all.
No doubt faithful readers will pinpoint straightaway what has been forgotten and no, it is NOT available in North BFE: my Lurchaway amulet!!! Sure enough, he was weirding about up here for the longest, asking about our weekends and such. Now, really - why is he asking about my weekend? If I had done something like harvest organs from incapacitated drunks or dismember cadavers, thus proving I was the woman of his dreams, does he think I’d admit it? I wouldn’t. Certainly not in front of my co-workers.
MONTOYA DELENDA EST!
3 Comments:
Barrel of monkeys - cool! I'm sure I should know this, but what does "BFE" stand for? All I can really figure out is the F.
By
Anonymous Me, at 5:39 PM
BFE? Oh, well, *ahem* The following definition is rated R. If you are under 18, do not read further without written permission from a parent or guardian.
BFE means out in the middle of nowhere and is an acronym for which there are several acceptable variations, which include: Butt Fuck Egypt, Bum Fuck Egypt or, my personal favorite, Bug Fuck Egypt.
By
Helly, at 9:21 AM
You are so right! Sprocket is the happiest doggyboy I have ever known. Smidgen is a very happy doggyboy too, but he makes growlies a lot. Sprock only makes growlies at Miss BB the cat, and he only barks when Satchel starts. He has had SO much fun on the pupstring going out into the BIG YARD, and I've let him play (alone) on the BIG BACK PORCH, which is also up high on his MUCH FUN list.
I know you miss him; it is great having him around.
momma
By
Anonymous, at 9:37 AM
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