Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
Wednesday, March 24, 2004 Humpblog (3/23/04)
Trash asked me, "What are you going to write about today?"
I told her, "It's Wednesday. Humpblog day. I just throw out some random crap."
That's my promise to you, my loyal readers: random crap every Wednesday.
I give because I love.
* * *
I had the shortest cold in history a couple of weeks ago. I woke up at 4:00 a.m., the back of my throat on fire and my nose stuffed up like an extinct volcano. I thought, Oh, no, I'm getting a cold. I don't have the energy for this right now.
Then I woke up again at 4:30 and felt fine.
I think this is great. The only thing that would be better would be if I got a cold for a half-hour every night while I was sleeping and then never got one of those two-week jobbies at all again. I'd sign up for some of that action, toot-sweet.
* * *
How can this story not have the headline "Every Day He Writes the Book?" Seriously. I'm asking.
* * *
There was a foul and mysterious odor in our kitchen yesterday. Emphasis on mysterious, because our kitchen was and is clean. The trash was almost completely empty, there were no dishes in the sink, no wolverines had crawled under the center island to die. There wasn't even any general disarray in which something could hide and quietly putrefy, even though our noses were telling us that an errant pot roast was doing just that.
I did everything I could think of; lighting a scented candle, taking out the trash (again), running the half-empty dishwasher, pouring some dish soap and baking soda and dish soap and some more baking soda into the running garbage disposal, et cetera. I never did discover the source of the foul and mysterious odor, but it was gone this morning.
I do know it wasn’t a cat turd. The smell appeared before the cat turd did.
It was just parked there on the kitchen floor when I walked by later, looking up at me innocently. All by itself. "Nobody here but us cat turds," it said pleasantly.
At first I thought Strat had been “thinking outside the box” again, but then I noticed a faint trail leading from the…um…artifact…to the top of the basement stairs a few feet away. There are two possibilities, neither of which bear much thinking about (as I now know from bitter experience):
One: it had escaped from the catbox and was slowly traversing the kitchen under its own power. Where it thought it was headed is a question that could give us all nightmares.
Two: One of the cats had stepped out of the catbox with a grody little hitchhiker and dropped it off at the top of the stairs. Either way? Into the dumpster with you, Mr. Hanky. And then I went online to see if Swiffer™ makes something that involves a firehose.
See? When I promise random crap, I deliver.
Today’s best search phrase: “Baby Christina clean the catbox.” Hey, maybe that’s the problem. posted by M. Giant 4:49 PM 0 comments