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President of your heart, baby!
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Get off my lawn! (Formerly "Greetings, hello, and welcome!") Ordinarily this area is devoted to "a few words about me", but I am 25 (formerly 24) years old and I did not get this far by not telling people to get off my lawn (formerly "by telling people about myself"). Instead, you can go on an exciting voyage of non-self-discovery (unless you're myself - and I know I am!) by reading my posts. They date back to February of 2004 - that's more than a shit-ton (formerly three) years of quality!
I love blogging. I love this joint. And just as I predicted, this blog was ten gallons of fun in a one gallon jug. Then the jug split and burst, forcing me to find another one, and since I was unable to find a suitable replacement, I have a bunch of cups sitting around, full of fun. And one of the cups is full of scorpions! So if you decide to have a look around, watch your step.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present: Drawing Blog v2.0. (It has nothing to do with drawing, please stop sending me angry e-mails about that.)
Multiple hours of mine that have been finest (at special request):
For the love of God, and all that is holy: Contact Me!
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Monday, October 10, 2005
Because all of you - every single one of you - care, I present: an update on the state of my cat. Well. My "primary" cat, Oafelia.
I took her to get spayed today, which was something of an adventure since not only did I wake up, voluntarily, at 6am on a day that I had off from work, but it was snowing heavily, was very dark, and the roads were full of people (driving cars, mind you) who, apparently, were inexplicably transported here from the year 1820 and therefore are unfamiliar with such modern concepts as "automobiles" and "snow". And if that sentence confuses you (I just took a few moments to re-read it to make sure that, y'know, it fits together in fashion altogether different from my genetic experiments to make a Soviet-powered Flying Groinal Attack Llama With Shark Teeth which did not fit together very well at all and also required an improbably large amount of post-operative cleanup), the upshot is this: "I took Oafy to get spayed today."
While the negative aspect is that it will cost me around fifty dollars (actually seventy with the innoculations they sold me on), the positive aspect is that not only will she never again spend three to ninety-seven consecutive days constantly yowling at volumes which would make some sort of unholy hybrid of Pavarotti, Aretha Franklin, and an airhorn jealous, but she'll also end up with a +12 bonus to her Fortitude Saves versus Disease and Immunity: Pregnancy. So I figure that's a good deal.
Sadly, however (sad for my checkbook, I mean), I just got a call from the animal hospital, and apparently the veterinarian, upon unzipping said tiny cat's skin with some sort of multi-class pokey/slicey device, discovered a prospective hernia. While this is, apparently, not an entirely uncommon thing to find inside a cat, and I of course want it addressed as quickly and cat-recoveringly as possible, it is also sixty dollars more. I gave them permission to take care of it (though I was initially wary as the first cost quoted me was $170, which I could not possibly afford in this or any known alternate reality except for the cowboy one and the one where I discovered the HTB protein (if you don't know what that is, ask me. In private.).). Currently my fingers are crossed (though technically they are not actually crossed at this moment, as at this moment they are being used to type this entry), but I have a feeling that Oafy will be okay.
Semi-unrelated sidenote:
I meant to update on Saturday, as part of my "update three times a week fer Chrissakes, Sheezus you slouch" initiative which is designed to get me to not only update my blog at least three times a week but also cram 70% more onomatopoetically-spelled near-blasphemy into my daily life. Also, Internet Explorer spent the last three days freezing my computer whenever I opened a browser window, and I've never particularly cared for Firefox. Change scares and startles me.
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