I used to be a major klutz. I'm still not grace in motion, but I manage most days not to trip over my own feet.

But yesterday, it seemed I was trying to get all my klutz moments in for the year.

I cut my tongue biting in to a pretzel of all things.

I bit my lip and raised up a nice ulcer there.

I bumped the edge of the entertainment center which is still sitting in the middle of the laundry room floor because the baseboard problem hasn't been solved yet and now I have a lovely purple bruise on my bicep.

I sliced open my finger instead of the mushroom I was quartering while making supper last night. (Jason put a butterfly bandaid on it for me and learned first hand what my doc has known for years: I am a very bad patient!)

I almost knocked a book off the bedside table and when reaching to catch it, I knocked over the lamp.

I sat down on the couch and promptly sloshed wine all over Sutu. (And NO, it was just the first glass of wine)

I'm not sure if I should be driving today.

There are two things I don't understand. Well, actually, there are a LOT of things I don't understand, but for today, there are two.

One. Why is it that I can rip out wall to wall carpeting from a 12x15 room, complete with carpet pad, pry off baseboards more or less intact, remove the outer perimeter of those EVIL carpet tack strips, paint the uncovered walls, clean the subflooring, and lay fake hardwood floor strips in above mentioned 12x15 foot room all with only some minor muscle aches yet I can't hammer more than four hammer strokes to replace above mentioned baseboards without excruiating pain in my "bad" elbow?

I hate not being able to do something because of my stupid genetically inferior joints. Really.

Two. Disaster movies. Is it required that they all have A.) Misunderstood scientist who is estranged from some family member. B.) Evil politician guy who has: C.) Evil scientist guy in previously mentioned politician's pocket. D.) Estranged family member working for B & C and E.) Pissed off mayor/governor/president. Oh, and let's not forget F.) the disaster stuff.

And of course, A and D must reconcile at the end when they and they alone survive the total distruction of the known universe when the little doggie that they saved when the sun exploded (who is really an alien sent down to observe the planet) jumps in front of the meteor and sacrifices himself so that they might live.

No, wait, that's Smallville.

Nevermind.

Warning: Cat Day

During the recent renovations to the back room, I had moved the kitten's tree to the kitchen and they weren't quite sure if they were supposed to be there.



And for my son, who thinks it's cute when kittens sleep:





Sutu ran for his life shortly after waking to find the twin terrors had encroached on his napping territory.

Diamonds are not a girl's best friend.

A three foot crowbar is.

All baseboards removed, relatively intact, in less time than it took me to call Jason, ask if we had a crowbar, walk out to the shed and find it.

So the destruction is complete. Ready for construction.

My muscles hurt real bad.

Gosh!

It seemed like such a well thought out plan. Rip out the old nasty stained up ba-zillion dust mite holding carpet in the back room, clean off the sub-flooring, install fake hardwood flooring (because I can't afford real hardwood), buy a nice large area rug, new furniture.

Voila! New room.

I didn't count on the base boards being half and inch too high for the new flooring. Nor did I count on them being glued to the wall, not nailed, which would make the odds of removing them in re-usable pieces much higher.

And since I have to lower them, means I have to repaint the half inch of old wall color that will be showing.

Not to mention that I have already had to take a shower (it's a real dirty job), put on going out in public clothes and run to Lowe's for a carpet cutter in which the razor blade doesn't fall off every five seconds.

And Thor, the super sniffer, is going positively INSANE over all the new smells I'm stirring up.

But it is going to look sooooo AWESOME back there when I'm done.
I just hope I'm still alive to enjoy it.

I was trying to watch the news while I ate lunch. Big mistake.

Arab country with spotty record on terrorism? Got big bucks? Well, here are six major US ports you can take over.

(I'm almost reasonably sure that this company has been checked out, well, sort of sure. But they can't control everyone they hire. To me, even if the company is A-OK, it provides an "in" for employees who might not be.)

Bushie heading out to Colorado to talk to a group of scientists who are working on alternate energy sources. What's that? Shit! You are kidding, right? We just cut their budget and fired more than half of them? Well, hell, here, give 'em a couple million and re-hire those scientists before the speech. And give 'em a raise so they look happy when Bushie tells them how "important" their jobs are.

When Rummie showed up, I had to turn the TV off. The cognitive dissonance was becoming painful and just the thought of Rummie isn't helpful to digestion.

I'm just going to start watching HGTV and Food Channel. And Jon Stewart of course. The man is a freaking genius. Hmmmm....wonder what he is going to say about the fired/re-hired scientists tonight?

I got a fairly good raise at work. So I was going to increase my retirement withdrawal immediately so I wouldn't "miss" it.

Three days and I still haven't quite figured out the math.

I'm not a math person. Really. I can add, substract, multiply and divide whole numbers. I can do a drug calculation. Figure out what percentage I should increase to cover a set amount of money? Nope. Sorry, not this chick.

That's what accountants are for.

I sleep in late on Fridays because I have to start my night shifts on Friday nights. So I should be all warm and fuzzy and too sleep-satiated to be grumpy.

But then I sit down with my cup 'o coffee and the winner of the first cat to the lap contest (Sutu), looking forward to skimming through the news. And what should my wondrous eyes behold? Under my ISP providers "Top News" story list, in this order:

Mudslide Feared to Leave 1,500 Dead.
Some French chick chosen to be the next Bond Girl (paraphrased)
Simon Cowell doesn't get along with others (paraphrased)

It makes me want to hit someone and/or puke that we are that shallow.

Then I get an email reminding me of an event that I was signed up for without my approval, that if I had been ASKED, I would have said no because for one thing, it is on the evening after my last night shift, so I get to participate on about 3 hours of sleep, unless I just sleep the whole day away and completely mess up my carefully adhered to sleep cycle schedule. And also because I really don't have anything that I care to share right now. And last but not least because I don't want to because I wasn't ASKED.

So now I'm grumpy.
I hate being grumpy.
I need to go do something anti-grumpy.

Yesterday, Jason brought home the current issue of Vanity Fair magazine. This issue had apparantly created some buzz because Scarlett Johansson and Kiera Knightly were photographed nude for the cover(forgive me if I've misspelled, Jason took the mag with him and it is sign of getting old #157 that you can't remember new actors names).

I don't know why (other than the fact that America is highly bi-polar about sex) there was any fuss. The cover was well done, classic (and classy) nudes. The only problem I had was that the male in the picture was clothed and that's a sign of male dominance. But I won't go there.

Why do we make such a fuss about female nudes? Whether photographed, painted or carved? Everyone likes to look at them. Even women. The female form is beautiful to us. And it isn't about the sex act on an individual level. Not fully. I know there are men out there who just drool and lust without considering why they do so.

It is part of a deeply buried core memory if you will. This goes way way back before men decided to create a male diety and to use their physical strength to destroy the previous diety, which was the cult of the goddess.

Almost all ancient cultures worshipped a goddess. And why not? Women are the creators of life. Way back before they figured out what a sperm was, it was women who miraculously brought forth a new life. It was women who knew the plants to gather to ward off starvation when the hunts failed. It was women who the entire clan's lives centered around.

And the greatest of goddesses, we still know: Mother Earth. There is a reason why we refer to the planet as a female. She provided for our ancestors, animals to eat and their skins to wear, plants to gather for food and fire, water and rain for drinking. She still provides for us, oxygen to breath, food and water, timber and oil and minerals to fuel our modern life style.

Even though these days we treat poor Mother Earth more like we are a drunk husband coming home on a Saturday night to our bruised and battered wife rather than reverent and thankful worshippers of a goddess.

But that acknowledgment is still there, deep in our genetic code, that is why we find the female form pleasing to the eye. It is why the Christains scream immoral, it's why the Muslims make their women cover themselves from head to toe. It's why (observant) Jewish women must cover their hair and dress modestly.

Men fear the power of the female. We are the creators and keepers of life.

I swear I will never again paint a room without doors.

Or maybe I could get a show on HGTV: The Painted Cat.

It's easy. You apply paint. Thor sniffs it. Loki touches it. Sutu (ON PURPOSE because he KNOWS what painting is) brushes his tail through it.

Nose prints, paw prints and tufts of hair.

Perhaps, like sponge painting or crackle glaze painting, it will be the next BIG thing.

For Pete's sake.

Mommy's Home!

New musical find: KT Tunstall Eye to the Telescope.

Very cool. Sorta like Norah Jones with a definite edge.

The pharmacy called my cat a dog. I pointed out where they had put K9 by his name and that he would be greatly insulted, but I wouldn't tell him this time.

They promised to change it in the records.

And probably put a "nut-ball" flag by my name.

Oh well. I am now going to go re-read Harry Potter so I can come up with some spells or hexes to put on those raging A-holes who are cutting down a three hundred year old pine tree two doors down.

Yesterday, I skimmed through a book review in the newspaper. It was yet another book written on how reading Harry Potter will turn your child into an evil, spell spinning satanic minion.

The author of the book, whose name I can't remember nor do I care to find out, and the author of the review seem to place great importance on the fact that Tolkein is okay because he was a Catholic. Lewis (of Narnia) is okay because he was a -gasp- atheist, but found Jesus through reading Tolkein.

JK Rowling, however, "claims" to be a Christain, but is "non-practicing" and she has done -gasp- "extensive research in the occult". Triple gasp.

Really, I don't get this. If you are so fervent in your beliefs that you feel that reading a fantasy book (and I don't care that it is set in present time, it IS fantasy) will destroy your indoctrination of your children in to those beliefs, then hey, don't let them read the books.

Most of us, however, including most children can differentiate between fantasy and reality. Most of us do not panic when our child says, "Wouldn't it be cool if we could use wands and fly on broomsticks?"

Because it would be cool.

It's this not-so-little thing called imagination at work. It's not the beginning of a life of evil. I mean, don't you sometimes imagine, what if? What if I won the lottery? Then you have a nice little daydream, IMAGINING all the things you would do. You don't then go out and rob a bank to make it come true, do you?

But you deny your children the pleasure of "what if".

Whatever.

And besides all that, I really don't see what is so bad. I mean, Harry and his pals represent good, love, hope, family and Voldemort represents hate, fear, distrust and isolation. Good vs. evil if you will. That's pretty standard to almost every epic tale, is it not?

Including the Bible?

I was at the drug store this morning, dropping off my latest roll of kitten film and buying some stuff to try to make Jason's allergies go away. There was an elderly man in line ahead of me. He was buying a Valentine's Day card and a bottle of Maalox.

Honey, I love you but you give me diarrhea.

Perhaps Hallmark could cash in on this vast aging baby boomer population by creating "open and lick" cards. Happy Valentines Day (Viagra lick) or optional (Cardizium lick) Merry Christmas (Prozac lick) or optional (Valium lick) Happy Thanksgiving (Pepsid lick)

But it inspired me and I rushed off to get Jason's Valentine's Day present which is a...........ha ha.....you didn't think I'd really tell?

I can say with all honesty that it is something which I have never purchased before, ever in my whole entire life.

And it isn't Maloxx.

In my blog yesterday, I erroneously used a stereotypical image of American man as a slob. Maybe not that strong of an image, but nonetheless.

I must set the record straight.

The American male running around the house with the three cats and one guinea pig is not a slob. On the contrary.

He washes dishes everyday, he takes the trash out, he cooks, he cleans, he does laundry and minor home repairs. He even cleans the litterbox.

And, I will have you know, that he does all these things without being asked.

He's pretty marvy.

The lovely lady from my dentist's office called me today. She said, "Your crown is here! When would you like to be queened?"

Ah.....if only....if I were queeeeen of the foorrrresttt!

Yes, I am crazy. Blame on the fumes. I've scrubbed, vacuumed and mopped every inch (well, not EVERY inch) of this house today. I'm having one of those moments. See, I have bad joints. It's hereditary. Two bad knees, one bum elbow, arthritis in several fingers. My giant needle wielding elbow doctor (the needle is giant, not the doctor, although, come to think of it, he is a big fella), anyway, he told me I can't clean my house like that anymore. I'm supposed to do one room one day, wait a couple of days, clean another room.

I tried to get him to write me a note saying I had to have a maid service. Doctor's orders. Meanie wouldn't do it.

See, I can go along with that for a while. But after a couple of months it just drives my borderline OCD self over the EDGE. I HAVE to have my ENTIRE house clean at the same time. One clean room while the others are dirty makes me cringe.

Not that anything is very clean around here for very long with three cats, one human male and a guinea pig running around. Well, not the guinea pig because 1. He just pees and poops where ever he happens to be at the time and 2. I think Loki is getting the idea that he is supposed to kill and eat rodents.

I'll pay for it tomorrow, but for now, "this house is clean".

I belong to a writer's group. We are a state-wide organization, with local chapters. I have to go there tonight. Not that I don't want to go, I do. I just hardly have anything new (or good) to read.

I'm poking around in the ashes of a short story I wrote a couple of years ago. It just hasn't caught fire yet. It's one of those weird writer things that makes non-writer types in my life think that I have some sort of mental problem. (Well, other than my obvious neurotic tics that we all have whether you admit it or not.)

See, the main character, she's in high school and she told me a while back that she is pregnant and that is going to screw up a whole bunch of things. Pretty much everything.

Now, her older brother, who is supposed to be the wiser, more mature, level headed of the two, he just up and got extremely pissed off in a scene that has nothing to do with nothing. I mean, he was sitting in Moe's, eating nachos with tomatillo sauce and suddenly wanted to bash someone's head in with his text book.

And he don't even know his little sissy is knocked up.

For Pete's sake.

People don't understand, we writers aren't always in complete control of these people we create. But that's where the rush lies.

Or maybe I really am just crazy.

Ever have one of those days on the job where you give serious consideration to a change in career? Like maybe becoming a toll booth collector or a Wal-Mart greeter?

Me too.

Where does one apply for the job of "independently wealthy"?

Do guys not have "pee dreams"?

Cos every woman that I've known well enough to talk about it with has had them. You know what I'm talking about. In your dream you are frantically searching for a bathroom because you have to go sooooo bad.

I've had dreams where I've been stumbling through junk yards, cemeteries, malls and abandoned warehouses. Finally you find the bathroom, sit down and a split second before relief, you wake up, still in your bed and half afraid to feel the sheets under you.

Is it because guys can just pee anywhere?

Technically speaking that is. (I hope.)

Hey Thor! The President is on TV!

"America is addicted to oil, which is often imported from unstable parts of the world."

Sez our leader.

Really? Addicted to oil? Americans?

I have one thing to ask Mr. Bush.

Where the FUCK have you been?

This is a news flash?

Perhaps it has a little to do with your being not in the pockets of big oil companies, but actually crammed up their collective..................

Big deep breath.

Tax cuts for oil companies to develop new ways to get oil out of the ground. Blocking legislation that makes oil companies more accountable for their record profits in the wake of Katrina and Rita and this "war" in Iraq. Snuggling deep under the covers with the major oil producers of the Middle East. Literally and well as figuratively holding hands with the people who helped make you rich with their oil.

Years (and this covers both parties) of ignoring or underfunding any technology other than new oil production while taking huge campaign contributions from oil executives. Rush (drug addiction is a medical problem if you are a white man, a moral problem if you are of color)Limbaugh types making fun of "liberal environmentalists" so that there is a preconceived "coo-coo bird" notion when ever someone starts to talk about global warming or electric cars or solar energy.

Nope, NONE of this over dependence on oil was in any way sponsored by the government. I mean, just because the government worked hand in hand with big oil companies to ensure that oil was the only readily available energy source, that doesn't mean we should be surprised to hear that we are "addicted to oil".

And really, does anyone in American think that our oil comes from the Gasoline Fairy at Disney World? Is there someone out there who doesn't understand that most of it comes from the Middle East?

Could someone tell the President that we already knew that? And all his nice little talking points about what he is going do about it were all fine and dandy. I would like to see a report card on these initiatives in a year, just to see if he follows through.

But probably only us coo-coo bird liberal environmentalist types will think about that.