Tonight while I was cooking dinner I noticed Marco trying to shove himself under the stove, which was kind of interesting since he’s about the size of a fully-grown Jack Russell terrier these days. After watching him for about five minutes while stirring the food, I finally realized that he must have knocked a mouse under the stove. So I got down on the floor and pulled out the oven drawer and found not one, but NINETEEN toy mice under the stove. Damn. There are rabbit fur mice and gingham mice and felt mice and yarn mice. There are mice with yarn tails and mice with feather tails and mice with no tails at all. There are mice with catnip and mice without catnip.
Because I’m stupid, I pulled all nineteen of them out and put them in the toy basket, and the cats have been going absolutely batshit crazy over them all night. So! Many! Mousies! They hardly know what to play with first. So instead of just picking one, they’ve been racing around with one after another and now my entire house is littered with toy mice, their basket is upside-down, and their bed is halfway across the living room from its usual spot.
Actually, Marco appears to have finally worn himself out, as he is conked out in the middle of the kitchen floor. For pictures of his random decision to hang out under the back door rug the other night, check out the newest additions to my Flickr photostream over there on the right.
I got scorched this weekend. Yesterday I went to a baseball game with my mom and dad for Father’s Day and it was only about 90 degrees and blisteringly sunny, and despite my fair skin and my history of bad sunburns, I forgot sunscreen. I’m a dumbass. Honestly, I know how bad it is to get these sunburns, and I certainly don’t enjoy them, but on the other hand I tend to burn almost as badly with seventeen layers of SPF 150 as I do with nothing at all, which is why it’s easy to forget to put on sunscreen when I should. Sometimes it feels like it doesn’t help at all. So now I’m fried. And it hurts. And I know, I’m going to get melanoma, believe me I have worried about this so no need to admonish me about it. And you may also check out my hideous shoulders in Flickr if you’re so inclined.
The thing that sucks is that all day long when my coworkers saw my sunburn they would ask me if I finally made it to the pool this weekend, so I ended up telling the broken swimsuit story about a million times today. Or maybe three to five times. It’s hard to say for sure.
When I was at home, we located my 1996 Speedo among Sammi’s college things, and I tried it on. And it’s a good thing I didn’t wear it to the pool, because the fabric on the ass of that suit is so worn-out that you can see my buttcrack right through it. The homeowner’s association put out a written set of rules about the pool a few weeks ago, and one of the rules is specifically that the pool is to be family-friendly, and so no string bikinis or skimpy suits are allowed. With this chest, the string bikini won’t be a problem, but I’m guessing that even a full-coverage Speedo might count as skimpy if the ass is completely see-through. I took another spare suit from Family HQ but I’m guessing it’s probably time to do some serious suit-shopping. JOY. I just can’t wait.
I am also supposed to tell you that in the car yesterday, my mom was trying to talk about the intro to a song, and instead of calling it the teaser she called it the tinkle. It seems that if a song has a really good tinkle, then you’ll be more likely to want to hear the rest of it. Mom also thinks that the words that run across the bottom of the screen on FOX News are called the scrawl. We think this is terribly adorable.
And that’s all I have for you today.