What A Surprise!

I really do try to refrain from making fun of Steven Weber too much. Really, I shouldn't go read what he writes because far too often the temptation to ridicule is just too much. But how could I possibly resist this list? The number one thing this pompous, liberal blogger is thankful for is his thesaurus! I'm not making this up. And this one too:

My ability to become sexually aroused at even the most horrific or banal moments.

Correct me if I am wrong, but did anyone really want to know? Maybe this explains why he writes his column. He's just creating his own horrific moment to share with the world. It's like literary masturbation. (Hmm, first time I've used that word in my blog. Should get some interesting search engine referrals.)

Sorry I've been absent for a couple of days. Been very busy.

UPDATE: Thank you Rachel Lucas for saying it even better

End of the Long Weekend

I took Friday off work and thankfully do not work in a place that is open on Thanksgiving, so I got a four day weekend. Of course, when I am away from the office, stuff breaks. Got my first phone call at 7:30 AM on Friday. Thankfully, that was an easy one. Got the next one at 9:30 AM. One of the 2 ladies had a family emergency and needed to leave. The other was already scheduled to leave at noon. That was also my last call of the day, so I figured whatever happened could be handled after the weekend. It can be. I'm busy but not any more than can be handled.

The weekend was good overall. Thanksgiving with my family was lovely. We gorged on lunch at about 11:30 then grazed all through the afternoon while playing games and laughing. I'm thankful for my family and that we aren't such gluttons the rest of the year. I kept glancing over to where Granddad always sat. It looked empty even when someone else was there, but that was alright in a way. It won't ever feel that his place is filled, but it being empty isn't really a bad thing. Of course I miss him, but I will see him again.

Thursday night, we hosted friends at our house. No one ate since we had all stuffed ourselves at lunch. We just spent time together. My friends are family too. One couple was in from out of town and brought Christmas presents since they won't be back at that time. We shared pictures and caught up on goings on from being apart. They must be pretty special since I actually scrubbed the bathroom in preparation for their arrival.

We did not get up before the crack of dawn on Friday to shop. That would drive me to homicide. My 7:30 call actually woke me up. I didn't get out of bed even then. We did shop a little in the afternoon, and surprisingly, the mall did not make me wish I was carrying my pocket flask. We were supposed to go camping Friday night, but our camping friends chickened out on us due to the cold. Guess we will have to wait to use the new tent. Instead, we had them over to our house. This time I mopped the kitchen floor. (I think I'm going to plan more get-togethers, it's doing wonders for my house.) We grilled shrimp and salmon. My brother-in-law and his wife made guacamole, and the other couple brought spinach and artichoke dip. We laughed and drank and watched Spinal Tap.

Saturday, we got to do one of those things that only homeowners get to do. We repaired our fourth slab leak. While watching the movie the previous night, it began to sprinkle on one guest's head. One of the hot water lines was leaking into the floor vents. Since there was very hot water there, it made our house warm and nicely humid. Unfortunately, since it was so cold outside, it caused condensation on the ceiling around the return vents. And so after we showered in the morning, we cut off the hot water supply and I began to clean up the mess. You gain some unusual talents as a home owner. My newest one is the proper way to mop a popcorn ceiling. It must be done in a blotting motion so as not to strip the popcorn and 30 year old paint. In case you ever need to do it. I also got to employ another strangely useful talent gained during a previous slab leak. I can stick my hand through the vent in the bottom of the kitchen cabinets and cut off a pipe very near the ground. It's rather painful, but it can be done. I did it before when the leak was from the utility closet to the kitchen sink in the cold water line. Same process for the hot. In case you ever need to know, it is possible to shove half inch pex through the original three-quarter inch copper lines. It's difficult and causes the husband to blurt expletives, but it will work and is much cheaper than having a plumber take a jack hammer to your foundation. thankfully, the kitchen and utility closet share a wall, so we ran this line above ground. Still generates some expletives but not as many. Now we have hot water again and dry vents.

Sunday, we decided to go to an earlier service so that we could have lunch with our Sunday school class. They are always a fun group. When we got home from lunch, we decided that we had such great momentum going on the house that we would just keep going. So I scrubbed the shower, bathtub, and the cook top in the kitchen. Trust me, all of these were major jobs. We are not exactly great housekeepers. Hubby sorted through the living room. This was also a major job. He got the living room clean enough to put up the Christmas tree.

It's Monday and back to our regularly scheduled program. It's good to be back, but I sure could've used more weekend.

Snicker worthy news

I've been wanting to write about this for a while, but just haven't for one reason or another. Boy George (yes, I am referring to everyone's favorite pseudo cross-dresser) has been accused of chaining a man in his London apartment. Boy George apparently invited this guy over to pose for some pictures and then kept him imprisoned in his apartment against his will.

I don't know, but I would assume that Boy George is not exactly intimidating to the majority of men. I probably shouldn't, but I am drawing the conclusion that this is one of those pansy sort of guys that spends more time on his hair than I do. This type doesn't generally qualify as a 'man' in my book. First of all, I don't know any self respecting man that would go home with Boy George for 'pictures' (because we all know that's all the invite was about). Secondly, if a real man found himself if Boy George's apartment, he would get out. Candy chains with fuzzy cuffs are not actual restraining devices. And finally, if due to being drugged or otherwise unable to prevent finding himself chained in Boy George's apartment, upon release would never speak of said event again. Not a peep. I know there are a couple of men that read this--Am I wrong about any of this? But not this guy. He goes home with Boy George, allows himself to be tied up and whatever else we won't mention, and then goes and tells the police. Can you imagine how hard it had to be for the detective to take his statement without laughing in his face? These images make me laugh. But I have been accused of having a rather twisted sense of humor.

Speaking of things that shouldn't make me laugh, how about the antics of the Catholic Church? Apparently there is a lot more at risk in the upcoming presidential race than the possible election of a harpy shrew. You risk your very soul (said in my best creepy horror movie voice). Forget grace! Apparently an ill thought vote can damn you to hell. Wow. I had no idea. Here I am attempting to judge the candidates on the basis of how well they could do the job of president and Whammo! apparently my salvation hangs in the balance as well.

Oh wait! I'm not Catholic! Whoopee! Whew, that's a huge load off my shoulders. Now I can go back to worrying about the liberal idiots convincing the populace to vote in the harpy chameleon communist.

Love and loss and stupid emotions

Damn you Rachel Lucas!
I sat on my front porch with my blackberry (yeah, I'm that much of a nerd) and cried today because of Rachel Lucas's dog. A dog I have never met owed by a person that I don't really know. I've read her blog and often feel like I know her, but I don't. And dammit I am still crying and running snot like a faucet. I'm gross and red and puffy because she had to put down this dog that she loved so much. It doesn't help that Digger looked an awful lot like my sweet Pepper that I lost a few years ago, but that's really not it. Pepper never got so bad. When she knew that it was her time, she left on her own. Other things in life at the time were unfortunately more pressing and I think on some level she knew that I couldn't deal with her dying at that moment. She climbed the fence with her worn out hips and left to die alone. I looked for her, but I never found her. Not really knowing what happened to her was horrible. She had been my dog since I was 16. She had been the litmus test of boyfriends. If she didn't like them, I didn't need them around. I should have paid more attention to her in that regard. But she loved my husband from the first time she met him. She would actually obey him. I was the only one she had ever obeyed previously. But because life truly sucked at the time of her departure, I never got to really mourn her loss. Sorry for anyone reading this, but that still feels a little too personal to share on the internet. But her blog didn't really make me think about my dog.
I am sitting here bawling in my home office because dammit if Rachel's feelings about the whole thing didn't make me think of Granddad. And yeah, I know that sounds really stupid. But when she talked about how hard it was to leave Digger alone in that room at the vet's office, I saw Granddad. All alone in his hospice room. We had packed up all of our things, and everyone was ready to go to my aunt's house to just be there with each other. I felt awful just leaving him there alone with these strangers. He was dead. It was just his empty shell. But I still wanted to be with him so that he wouldn't be alone. I know that was just me. I wasn't really ready to let him go. I'm still not. He wasn't alone at all. He was finally and completely free of pain. It was wonderful for him, and it still is. He isn't alone. It's me that lost him. I'm the one that still wants to hear the stories he had to tell even though most I had heard a thousand times. I'll probably always want just one more. He looked so small, and that's not who he is in my memories. Only his hands looked the same. Taking him to hospice care was the right decision, but I am so glad I didn't have to be the one to make it. His first day there, he told me that he was still going to fight, but the truth of the matter was that the battle had already been lost. He was in hospice so they could keep him comfortable while he died. He made the decision to go himself. But while he was there he begged for all of us to get him out of that bed and give him a chance to live. He couldn't get out of the bed. If we had ignored everything and gotten him up, he would have collapsed in agony. His back was broken. He was riddled with cancer. There really was no more that could be done. We buried him not long ago. The box was far too small to hold the man that he had been. His body was cremated and buried just 2 feet below the ground.
It's amazing to me that love is so boundless. The grief for a lost pet is no less real than the loss of a person. It seems that it should be. But the pain really is the same. While Granddad was dying, I lost my pet betta. I made the comment to my friends on the daily kitten that it just seemed so small. It really felt like the least of my worries considering everything else going on. But Lynn said to me, "Nothing you love in whatever capacity, is small. So sorry for your loss MM. Love Lynn." I'm not sure I really loved that fish. I've loved fish before, but I didn't really form a true attachement to that one. But the sentiment is so very, very true.
I'm so blessed to know God. As a Christian, I know that God is love. I know from experience that love is boundless even in my limited capacity. I can really love the dog and the owner of said dog when in reality, I don't know them. I can be loved by the amazing community on the daily kitten when I don't know them in the real world. I'm not sure they know how much their comments and prayers have meant to me. And I have these amazing people that I have met in the blogosphere. Like Megan from CastoCreations. I got the opportunity to reach out to her and share some pretty raw emotions. Love isn't limited to our households or our families or even to our species.
Rachel, I don't know if you will ever read this. I hope you do, and I also hope that you understand that although I would love for you to find God, I am not attempting to convert you. You have asked before why Christians choose to be Christian and not something else, and that is a really good question. I'm a Christian because God is love. The love that is being poured out from your commenters; I believe that is God. The undefinable, unexplanable arms that embrace you at that moment when you are at your lowest; that's God. God understands when no one else does. At least, the God I believe in does. He understands because he created all of it. And He understands my doubts when I am in the dark places. The muslim god doesn't. Budda doesn't. Only my Christian God does. No one else's god is love. I cannot fathom a world that just created itself by chance. And because we as His creation have such an amazing capacity to love, our creator must have even more. I will continue to pray for you. This loss is great because you have loved. Thank you for the opportunity to love you too. (In a completely non-gay sort of way)

Why won't the liberal bloggers strike too?

There is a reason that writers write and actors recite. And Steven Weber is that reason. Check out this gem from a recent posting of his.

It's the poison in the toy beads from China; it's the underfunded and underarmored soldiers in Iraq; it's the jaw dropping succession of cronies in government; it's the ping-ponging economy and the disingenuous disavowals of it's instability; it's the incessant enforced obsolescence of technology; it's the mercenaries for hire deployed to fight unnecessary wars; it's the corrupt and deceitful attorney generals; it's the abandoned hunt for the perpetrators of terror; it's the shrugging off of the anthrax scare; it's the rising oil prices; it's the housing crisis; it's the squandering of the trillion dollar surplus into the trillion dollar debt; it's the unending obfuscation and smirking and shrugging.

It's the frightening shortage of periods; it's the over use of semi-colons; it's run-on sentence that will change the world.

In one, apparently large, breath he whines about mercenaries in 'unnecessary wars' then complains about the 'abandoned hunt for the perpetrators of terror.' I think he just thumbed through his copy of Liberal Moonbat Talking Points for Dummies which he keeps with his other most treasured possession, a thesaurus. He's apparently skipping through the alphabet in search of new words. Today he read D and O but found nothing better that 'ping-ponging' when he got to P. I could go on and on, but English teachers are already vomiting on their shoes.

If this isn't proof that Hollywood needs writers, then I don't know what is. Everyone should be warned. This is what happens when you give an actor, previously relegated to no more than two syllable words in his scripts, permission to write. As Mr. Weber puts it-

They need to strike because they view the world from ground level level as opposed to lofty heights where the usurers dwell. They know that desiring the same thing their masters have in spades, that by kneecapping the creators of content, the hewers of material, the sculptors of tools, by undercutting the quality of the product in order to secure even greater yields, they would virtually ensure the end of, dare I say, all we profess to hold dear in this country.

Yeah, I could've said it better myself, but then I couldn't laugh at his pompous wording. Yes, all we hold dear. We want our entertainment, and we want it now!

Please Hollywood, pay the writers what they are worth or we will be subjected to more drivel from the actors usurping the empty writers' desks. It's too late to stop Steven Weber, but maybe this abomination of journalism could be prevented in the future.

Political correctness gone too far

This article, posted here in it's entirety for your convenience (and to keep you here because there is nothing more you need to know), made me giggle.

SYDNEY (AFP) - Santas in Australia's largest city have been told not to use Father Christmas's traditional "ho ho ho" greeting because it may be offensive to women, it was reported Thursday.

Sydney's Santa Clauses have instead been instructed to say "ha ha ha" instead, the Daily Telegraph reported.

One disgruntled Santa told the newspaper a recruitment firm warned him not to use "ho ho ho" because it could frighten children and was too close to "ho", a US slang term for prostitute.

"Gimme a break," said Julie Gale, who runs the campaign against sexualising children called Kids Free 2B Kids.

"We are talking about little kids who do not understand that "ho, ho, ho" has any other connotation and nor should they," she told the Telegraph.

"Leave Santa alone."

A local spokesman for the US-based Westaff recruitment firm said it was "misleading" to say the company had banned Santa's traditional greeting and it was being left up to the discretion of the individual Santa himself.

Next thing you know, they will be going after the Jolly Green Giant! Children find many reasons to be frightened of shopping mall Santas. Pretty sure that even with the stench of cheap booze, the thought has never crossed their impressionable minds that Santa is really a pimp calling out for new recruits. Personally, I find most hired Santas rather disturbing, but since the term 'ho' doesn't apply to me, I am not offended. The *ahem* ladies that the term does apply to are probably not so worried about Santa.

Seriously some people deserved to be slapped. Maybe they would grow thicker skins.

And here's a barely related tasteless joke for you:

Did you hear about the dyslexic devil worshiper?
He sold his soul to Santa

Veteran's Day

I'm going to re-pot my giant peace lily today. Bought a brand spankin' new pot this weekend. I still wish I didn't have it though. It was a bereavement gift from my office from when Granddad passed away.

Granddad wasn't going to join the army, but when WWII started felt it was his duty. He signed up over his mother's objections so that he could be a man. Granddad fought under General Patton. He traveled in Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, and finally France. When the doctor asked him what he'd done in the military, Granddad's answer was that he walked. He was infantry, so I am sure that was pretty accurate. Here is a letter written May 24th, 1945 to his parents while he was in Neumark, Germany.

“Dear Parents;

We have been having April Showers the last few days. They just lifted censorship today, so will try and tell you a little about what I have been doing the past few weeks.

I joined the company west of the Rhine River a little bit around the 25^th of March and we saw the other outfits getting ready to cross and we were ready. We didn’t know when we were going to cross but we knew it was going to be soon and one night we heard all hell break loose and it was another outfit crossing. Then we began to feel better right quick because we knew we weren’t going to have to make the river crossing. Then in a day or two they put us on the alert and the trucks came that night and we crossed the river and bridge that the engineers had built and rode all that night and until about noon the next day. Hen we started walking and we walked until late that night and settled down in foxholes for about two hours, but that was our only night in a foxhole.

The next day we were starting through a town which had out several white flags and hell broke loose. I was in the rear. I stayed there. Company headquarters always stayed back. Then when we finally got into the town I saw a lot of good Germans on the ground. We kept walking for several days, then one evening we started across an open field in order to come into a town on the backside by the woods and hell broke loose again and we had left one platoon back to guard another town. Several men were gone for several reasons. At least we had only 59 men at the time and there wasn’t supposed to be many Germans in the town, but we took 145 prisoners and there were a lot of good ones there and the medics were busy all night taking care of the wounded Germans. The whole company went in together because we had to have all the men we could get. In just a few days we got the tanks with us and after that we did pretty good for a day or two. Then, the airplanes started one day. We were arguing whether they were theirs or ours. They were up in the air quite a ways and we couldn’t tell for sure, and in a minute we found out they were strafing, bombing, too. But every truck had a machine gun on it that got rid of them in just a little bit. Then they came along every evening for about a week, but we had the A.A. (Army Air Force) with us by then and they did not bother us much that way.

I have had a lot of other experiences too, but will tell them when I get home, which I hope isn’t far off, I don’t know.

Right now I am just a short ways from Leipzig in a small town named Neumark. We have two prison camps now and are discharging them right and left.

Well, I have told about enough for once, so had better close for now.

Love, Gerald

Gerald had been selected as assistant orderly by his captain.

Copied from THE GRENOLA GAZETTE Thursday, June 21, 1945 #25

Once the war was over, he went on to be a guard for a POW camp in Paris. He treated the POWs as equals. He knew they had been drafted into the war and were just doing their jobs. They loved him too. I've mentioned before about them making him gifts and rebuilding his tent. He used to say that he probably had the warmest tent in all of Paris that winter. In all the years I knew him, he never had a single negative thing to say about the German troops. Mostly he just said that they were good people.

That's just who Granddad was. Shortly after the Berlin wall came down and it was announced that the Cold War was over, we all went to an air show. It was a huge event because for the first time, there were Russian planes and pilots at the show. Everyone was nervous about meeting them....well that's not entirely accurate. Everyone except Granddad. He walked right up and shook his hand. Treated him like an old friend that had been away for too long.

This Veteran's Day, I remember Granddad and those like him. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be sitting in this office, my desk covered in pizza. I wouldn't be able to write a blog about whatever I wanted. I wouldn't have the opportunity to gripe about the idiots in and running for public office.

And let us not forget those veterans who have not yet claimed their final reward. There are guys like my dad. He was in the air force during Vietnam. He worked in Thailand as a fuel systems specialist. And there are many young men and women putting their lives on the line for us right now. They don't have the luxury to sit at their computers and peruse the blogosphere. They are far too busy making sure that we can.

While you are reading, here are a couple of lovely Veteran's Day entries made by some blogging friends of mine that I have run across today and think deserve your attention.
Happy Veteran's Day by Instinct at Life in 3D
All Gave Some at Casto Creations
And of course, Michael Yon always deserves a read. The Old New Way tells you what our modern day veterans are doing every day. Today is no exception.

Upon the Altar of Professional Sports

Any one that knows me, knows I'm not a sports fan. You can be. That's fine. I have no problem with people choosing whatever entertainment makes them happy. What I do have a problem with, is society raising sports up onto a ridiculous pedestal.

And so, I am incredibly impressed with Citizens for More Important things. Unfortunately, they have been so successful in dealing with their problem that it is coming to my home. Mr. Van Dyk, we have chatted before, and I am sure we will again. For anyone not aware, the Seattle Sonics (soon to be the Oklahoma City Sonics) got tired of their arena. And who can blame them? I mean it was built way back in 1994 for the bargain price of $74 million. So they want a new one. No problem! Professional basketball is multi-billion dollar industry, surely they can afford to upgrade their facilities.

Yep, there's the problem. The new owner, Clay Bennett, threatened the city of Seattle that he would move the team unless the city built them a new arena. He thinks basketball is so very important that tax dollars should be spent to give these guys with million dollar salaries a nicer place to play. Apparently they don't generate enough revenue from ticket sales to pay for it themselves. My response, too bad. And the people of Seattle seem to feel the same way. Chris Van Dyk and the others at Citizens for More Important Things, got the measure to a vote, and the people said 'no.' Lawmakers in Seattle tried to scamper around the voters to fund it anyway, and still it was stopped. Kudos to you in Seattle! David Stern, the NBA commissioner, says they won't even get another team. Not only that, but he's been whining about it.

"To have the speaker of the house say well, they just spend too much money on salaries anyway, so we need it for other things," Stern said, casts aspersions on the whole league's operations. "We get the message. Hopefully, maybe cooler heads will prevail."

Yes, it does 'cast aspersions' on their operations. Professional sports are entertainment. These things are not necessary. I've yet to see Brad Pitt campaigning for tax dollars to build a new studio. He makes millions of dollars because people buy tickets to see him perform. Movie theaters are built by private corporations to generate income by entertaining people. I cannot see any reason why professional sports are any different.

Let's put it another way. If the vast majority of the planet was wiped out tomorrow, and you were left with the agonizing decision to save the life of a brilliant doctor or someone very skilled at throwing a ball through a hoop, who do you save? I can promise you that 10-point shot fired in the last 5 seconds of any game is not going to set the compound fracture in your femur.

Tax dollars should be spent in a way that benefits the community. Education, hospitals, public parks etc. A profit generating machine should be paying taxes, not being paid by them. People should be left to set their own priorities in what non-necessary, entertainment they chose to invest their hard earned money. This should not be left up to lawmakers.

And so, I applaud Seattle for not laying their children across the altar of professional sports. I just hope they send some torches my way while I gather my pitchfork.

A Little Girl's Dreams

I don't know, but I assume that most adoptive parents want to make a child's dreams come true. Well this lady did it, but it wasn't the kind of dream you would hope for.

She took to writing stories about her toy tiger, Stripes, and asked Julie if she would like to hear one.

"In this one, Stripes was living with a nasty adoptive mother who threw him out on the street saying: 'Get away you naughty cub, you can't come back here.' Luckily, all was not lost because Stripes found his birth mummy.

Unfortunately for this little girl, she doesn't get to go back to her birth mummy. But she was dumped by her adoptive mother.

I am so very sorry that this 7 year old girl from Tanzania who knows nothing but pain and abandonment came with some issues. Shocking that one year doesn't create a perfectly well-adjusted child. This little girl has never really had love and security and yet she was expected to know how to show it to her adoptive mother. Rather than invest the necessary time and energy to this special needs child, this lady gave her back. Who knew that children came with a satisfaction guarantee? I worry about her birth daughter. What happens when she gets to those difficult teenage years? Not only will she have to deal with normal teenage angst, but an underlying fear that when her mother doesn't feel that she is 'getting anything back' out of the relationship, that she will be dumped like her short-term sister. The psychological repercussions for both of these children is astounding.

I know, I wrote something heartwarming and something to tick you off all in one day. I wasn't going to write this one because Rachel Lucas has already expressed the outrage, but I couldn't say enough in the comments.

This Photo is Amazing

Wow! Please, click the photo and go to the story. I kid you not, I was blown away.

This photo is amazing because of what it is. Yes, the color balance and composition are visually pleasing, but what you are seeing here are Muslims and Christians placing a cross on St. John's in Baghdad. It gives me chills. All we hear about in the news is the hate and separation. We only see this from independent journalists like Michael Yon.

Until today, I had never ever heard of him. This guy is actually traveling with a combat unit in Iraq telling the real story from behind the lines. He is supported entirely by his readers. He believes that these stories need to be told, and I agree completely.

Iraq is still a scary place, but it is getting better in spite of what the mainstream media would have you believe. Check this out from this past Easter.

During the mass, Shiite Muslim leader Ammar al-Hakim, son of the head of Iraq's most powerful Shiite political organization, walked into the church. Father Louis al-Shabi, the chief priest at St. Joseph, escorted al-Hakim to a seat near the alter.

"Sheik al-Hakim came to join us in our celebrations as we mark this feast," al-Shabi told the worshippers. "We welcome this visit as a display of unity among the Iraqi people."

Al-Hakim responded, "We are all the sons of Iraq, and we should put our hands together to build this country. We are confident that the Iraqi people will come out of this crisis and our pain will end."

If that doesn't instill some kind of hope, you've been watching too much doom and gloom liberal news.

Ferrule's Vet Visit

Had to take Ferrule to the vet on Thursday. He had a ruptured abscess on his left rear leg. Ewe!

So here's how Thursday went. First there was the big news mentioned in the previous blog entry. Then we had a conference with Isaac's teacher. It actually went pretty well. Isaac is a bright kid, but he has trouble with his schoolwork and is sometimes a problem in class. He is improving though. That was at 5:30. We finished there at about 10 til 6.

When we left the school, we ran home to get the cat for his 6 o'clock appointment with the vet. Before the parent/teacher conference, I had run home and harnessed the Ferrule and shut him in the bathroom since I am an idiot and had left the borrowed pet taxi at work. So we ran by the house and I hooked the leash to Ferrule's harness and we were off! To Ferrule, the outdoors is very, very frightening so he began to scream and fight as soon as we crossed the threshold of the house. I suppose in some part of his mind, he remembers the hard life of a feral cat that he lived for the first 5 weeks before moving into the spoiled luxury of the Meezer house. So by the time I had made it the short distance from the front door to the car, he was in full panic mode.

So we got out on the road. Ferrule went into full throated, big diaphragm, Siamese yowls. If we had cracked a window, we could have pulled over traffic. Thankfully, the vet's office is only a block away. Before getting out of the neighborhood, my mother called my cell phone. She was meeting us at the vet's office to pick up Isaac since he was out of school on Friday. She has had a Siamese too and understood the yowl quite well. She was already there and waiting. I told her she would hear us coming. Upon arrival at the office, Ferrule decided that the torture device on wheels (the car) was much safer than anything in that complex must be and so therefore attached himself to the underside of my seat. I extracted his claws from there and removed him from the car. He immediately grabbed the nearest thing, me. We shouted our goodbyes to Isaac and my mother over his yowls and entered the office.

Once inside, he crammed himself behind my husband, of whom he is normally terrified. But when we go to the vet, I guess he assumes that the big scary guy from the house is scary to all the strangers too. Then he proceeded to empty 5 bladders worth of urine between the cushions of the couch. I'm not kidding. The nurse even commented about the volume as it was running out on the floor. By some miracle, it missed hubby's designer sport coat.

Then it was off to the exam room where he hid under the chair. When the vet came in, I dug him out and placed him on the table. The doctor checked him out, said we did the right thing by cleaning out the gross ruptured abscess, and went to get his vaccinations. While the doctor was gone, Ferrule put his front paws on my shoulders, yelled in my face, and began to poop on the exam table. Guess he got self conscious when the nurse came in because he only got one tiny turd out. The vet laughed at him and gave him his shots.

Off we go to the front desk where he thought he might finish the pooping business. One hit the desk, two hit the floor before I got him to the adjacent toilet where he could finish the job properly. I'm sure we made quite an impression on the new vet.

He's been taking his antibiotics like a champ and is doing much better now. I am sure the staff at the vet's office are still talking about him. They will probably call on Monday; we will see if they are still laughing.

I have news! I have news!! With Long awaited update

But I can't tell you what it is yet because it has not been officially announced. Stay tuned for updates. It's good news!!

UPDATE: Sorry it took so long to update you. I got a promotion and raise! Hooray! It was announced to the group just before we left on Thursday. I didn't want to risk my team finding out before it was official. They are really awesome and deserve better than that. Thursday evening was eventful (will write a separate entry for that) and Friday was busy.

The promotion is a little bittersweet because it comes on the heels of my boss leaving. I really likes working with him and will miss him a lot. He is moving on to bigger and better things though and I wish him the best. I did not move into his old position. I am now the AR Supervisor with 2 team members reporting directly to me. They will be filling his old position at a manager level but not real soon. I am very excited and will enjoy working with the people I have been given. They are both very talented, and I think they will do well.

Friday was busy at work because one of my team members already had the day off and the other called in sick. Yikes! That meant I was the AR department for the day. Guess I got to prove that I really do know how to do all the jobs within my department as well as close out the previous month. I did it, but it wasn't fun. I'll be really glad to have my team back on Monday.

Friday night was our First Friday's wine share, so we didn't get home until late. Thus the delay on the update. Very sorry. Especially to Kirsten. Didn't really intend to hold you in suspense for so long. So have a glass of virtual champagne and celebrate with me.