We took the boys to their first art show.  My SIL’s boyfriend and some other local artists had a show that had some large wooden and metal pieces.  The kind of art that kids like to climb on.  They asked us to come and bring Monkey and Maus.  So we did.

There was an enormous wooden dragon at the entrance, with gauze wings.  And his chest was on hinges so you could open him up.  The artist informed me that you could fit a keg in the cavity.  So, if you want a $5000 keg fridge that doesn’t chill I can email you the address.  It was a pretty amazing piece.  The same artist also made a lion, a hammerhead shark, and a komodo dragon.  Maus stood in front of them and clapped.  Then he walked around the gallery and looked at all the other pieces.

Monkey was more interested in the popcorn machine and the fact that he could get adults to give him real coke, not sprite which we cruelly call “clear coke”.   At one point, we were looking at a metal piece and he said “What is it?”  I told him it was a sculpture. 

“What does it do?” 

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“You look at it.”

He shrugged and walked away.  De gustibus, Monkey. 

Sunday I got Maus his first pair of shoes.  Stride Rites.  He has my feet and needed a 4 ½ Extra Wide.  So it has to be the $42 stride rites that he will outgrow in like a month.  Plus, they only have 2 styles in extra wide—brown Velcro strap ones that look like Special Ed shoes and The White Baby Boots. The baby boots have blue dinosaurs embroidered on the back of the heel.  We got the baby boots.  At first he was cool with them and kept walking around looking at his feet.  Then we had dramatic falling followed by baby face of anguish.  Then we had sitting and pulling at shoes while screeching.

This morning, I got to work and opened my purse and what should I see?  Tiny white clodhoppers.  I keep pulling them out and admiring the clunky cuteness

This is a gross story.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

So, my husband has this cat—Melee.  And Melee is a 16 year old Siamese. I got Melee for him during our courtship when she was about 9.  Melee has always been sensitive.  Foods with too much fiber make her poop blood.  Stress makes her poop blood.  She pukes a lot. Like the Unipuker.  Her breath is bad.  Her temper is worse.  She’d bite you but her teeth are worse than anything the English have to offer.  Her belly has droopy, swaying skin.  Her nose has a bump from the time she got a paper bag stuck on her head and ran around our old apartment until she went *smack* into our futon.  When J goes out of town, she howls at night like Ginsburg on a bender.  She is a frequent inappropriate peer.  Often on my clothes.  About a year ago, Melee started puking up stomach acid tinged with blood about once a month.  “That’s it!” I said to J, “Her time has come.  You need to take her in.”  I started calling her Dead Cat Walking (behind their backs).  J resisted.  And put it off.  And told me that if I did it without his permission/consent that he’d never forgive me.  Meanwhile, we (mostly I) spent a lot of time cleaning up cat effluvia.  Appointments have been made and cancelled, made and no-showed.  We’ve talked about taking steps.  Google has been consulted. 

Tuesday, my husband (the same guy who didn’t want to take me to the ER when a bug killer oil lamp spilled on me and my voice vanished and I started wheezing on account of the $75 copay) collected a stool sample and took it to the vet.  The vet declared the cat parasite free and told J to bring her in.  They went yesterday.  The vet didn’t think she was that bad.  The vet said some ‘Mese live to be 30.  The vet said it could be cancer but probably is not as she has a history of the bloody stool.  (By the way, that sounds like a ghost story:  The History of the Bloody Stool.)  The vet tried to talk J into a $200 endoscopy and blood work.  He agreed to blood work and urinalysis.  Melee has a bladder infection.  The vet says clearing that up may help with the peeing.  The blood work can rule out (or in) liver or kidney failure.  The vet said she might have IBS.  The vet said she might be exacerbating it by not being able to chew kibble on account of the aforementioned terrible teeth.  The vet recommends a soft food diet.  I hate the vet.

I am now faced with the possibility that this cat might live until both my children are in highschool.  Bleargh.

I’m 34 today.  Doesn’t feel any different.

Last night, Monkey was taking a bath and I told him to stand up so I could put soap in his hands and he could wash his bottom and his penis.  He said "You mean my pirate parts?"

I'm still snickering over that.

Today I’ve  gotten more than one email in which someone writes “should of” instead of “should have”.  Should I of said something?  Ok, I don’t know if I can respect myself for typing it.

This morning when the alarm went off, I came too with the kind of bone deep fatigue that causes a wave of nausea.  I thought “Dear Lord, please let it really be Friday.  Don’t let this be a sick joke!” 

This weekend, we’re making our maiden voyage to Chuck E. Cheese.  Other than that, we have no plans.

So, a couple of friends have pointed out one of my faults to me, swearing. Did you know that if you overuse those words, they lose their power?  Also, if you swear too much it makes you look stupid.  THANKS FOR THE NEW INFO.

There’s another two of my faults:  sarcasm and the ungracious acceptance of well intentioned criticism.

First of all, anything overused loses its power.  Do these friends is favor preserving the sacred specialness of sexual union?  I mean really, no more porn, no more wanking, no more sex unless it is with your spouse AND undertaken in love.

Also, I am past caring what people think of me unless there is concrete benefit in their high opinion.  More money at work?  GOOD.  More time with my friends? GOOD.  However, these are people unlikely to eschew my company due to profanity.  They’re just being pissy.

I think that I shall never see

Anyone fill this tank, but me.

A tank that drips and drips all day

While people go about their way.

A tank that gives to all who ask

Though they ignore this simple task.

They leave the pitcher on the shelf.

They think it’s filled by an unseen elf.

Poems are made by fools like me

While tanks can be filled by Thee.

measure the sugar

while i have this booger

i stand on the chair

BLUE

Blue

blue

let me pick the kool-aid

for a change

This Is Just to Say

by Deflater Maus Trueblood

I have eaten

the cheerios

that were under

the sofa

and which

you were probably

saving

for sweeping

Forgive me

they were delicious

so dusty

and so dry