Shoes.

Well, the Olympics are over. They were not as exciting for me as I had hoped they would be this year. Eh- not true completely. The women's downhill with all the wipeouts and devastation and thrilling recklessness was Amazing. But the night of the women's free program in figure skating somehow became overshadowed due to what turns out to be a lethal combination of bananas, sheep, dice and muscles.

Anyway. Now all we really need the converter box for is so I can beat Adam at Jeopardy every night. But I am in hopes that some necessary new series will come on regular tv so we can all watch. I always forget though, that I do have access to House and 24. Both of which I love.

Lola is anxious for Adam to come home. She is snooty to me and Maggie.

Maggie got her hair cut today and now looks French and expensive. Especially because she wears gray leggings so well.

Oh Adam just got home. Whoop-de-doo.

Also he apparently brought both Margaret and I prizes. Oh goodygoodygoody.

I retract prior sarcasm.

In about ten minutes Joy is picking me up to drive me down to the Mill to make sure I can still read.

Have to go. Maggie is putting on her wedding shoes.

Sham.

Yesterday was a fun day.
Due to massive pothole devastation throughout Richmond, Brett's car has decided to be a whiny little girl and x at every possible opportunity.
So it was in the shop/so he needed a ride to work. Done.
So I spring out of the bed bright and early and putter over there to visit with my dear Suprise before we go.
I visit. I coo, I nuzzle, I discover that he for some reason looks like he's recently gone swimming in an oil spill and that he needs a bath. I decide to set aside 48 hours sometime next week to thoroughly bathe and blow dry him so he doesn't take a chill.
I fall asleep.
I offer for Brett to take my car and drive himself to work as I can cuddle with Suprise some more and I have nothing to do except the laundry at the Barksdale and it would do me heaps of good to walk there.
He does.
So Suprise and I stare into each others eyes and give kisses for another hour or so. Wilson snuggles up close to us (within 1 ft.) and turns his back snootily, like he does. So I am happy as a duck with two gorgeous cats and a blanket.
I decide to check my phone. I have of course three text messages all inviting me to do fun things in the next two hours. My phone immediately dies.
Oh well.
One of the fun things was Jennings inviting me to help with a mailing for Fairy Tale Ball. I love sticking labels on things and writing fancy addresses on envelopes so I am all about this. She tells me Hannah has offered to pick me up from my apartment.
So I trudge briskly out in the slush and walk through the back alleys (this thrills me because I know the whole time--YOUR PARENTS WOULD NOT LIKE THAT YOU ARE DOING THIS! DANGEROUS DANGEROUS!) and behind the huge house that at Christmas was decorated over every millimeter and had a festive sign on the front in somber black lettering saying "In Memory of Our Deceased Son." Who I can only assume, really enjoyed Christmas.
I stroll down Boulevard. Two blocks down I realize that I am STARVING. Starving. To a crippling degree.
Now- it should be noted that when I say I am "starving" what is probably actually the case is that I haven't eaten in about three hours and am getting slightly grumpy.
But nevertheless. With my usual flair for the dramatic and intense suffering situations, I pretend I am really in a pickle and have to walk all this way and may or may not pass out due to hunger.
I also admire the curly shadow my hair makes on the sidewalk. Really quite lovely.
Also- I do not have my keys. So I cannot get in my house (though I am considering the window- I would really fancy myself cool if I did that) to charge my phone.
So I round the corner onto Monument. I squint down the street. I see Hannah's car! Which you know is Hannah's car because it is the only one like it in America. For real.
I scooch up her steps and knock on her door. Love having friends all living within blocks of each other.
Her dog puts up a mightly fuss and then she lets me in. I collapse on the couch and explain while I am there. She offers me some water. I offer myself some food.
She displays the options of yogurt, fruit, cereal, hummus, coffee....
I settle on a Pepsi. And a banana- AND a banana.
Bananas are always amazing tasting when you have one for the first time in several years.
Because Hannah can always solve any problem she charges my phone with John's phone charger and then we shuttle off to the Barksdale to put in the laundry. The irrelevant laundry that is actually made diritier by washing it. Oh well.
Hannah then announces that we are going to wash her car. I get excited because I like going through those car wash tunnels. But she has in mind the do-it-yourself car wash next to Wendy's.
I am at first substantially less excited because I do not like to do things like vacuuming myself.
But then she puts in all the quarters and I start helping and then she gives me the power washer stick and turns it on and I start chortling like a toddler with cake.
It is very cool. And cheap. And has options for wash, wax, rinse, scrub, and a special option for tire washing.
Fun. Ruined my dinosaur mittens. Worth it.
Hannah eyes all the fun I am having suspiciously.
We then go down to the Empire to stuff envelopes.
Jeff lets us in. Good ol' Jeff. Like him an awful lot.
Jennings, in her usual amazing party presenter fashion, has set out pretzel sticks and lollipops and allows us to have Diet Cokes. The very Diet Cokes I have been crabbing about not being able to have for months.
We stuff. I take two trips over to the theater to pick up envelopes and nose around at Lepettiponce.
The company that has provided the magnets we are mailing has included as a free sample two festive in your face magnets for the Football Squad the Saints. No idea where they are from. New Orleans? Beside the point. All I know is that Ford LOVES the Colts. And thereby probably does not much care for the Saints. So I march right into his office and affix both magnets prominently to his filing cabinet. This gives me a great sense of peace.
We finish envelopes. Hannah and Jennings decide to go running later on today. I try to talk them out of it. I do not succeed. Good for them.
We go to the bank. The branch John works at downtown.
It should be noted that I am SO IMPRESSED with myself for knowing someone like John who works so successfully at a bank. And then comes over and watches action movies.
This bank should never be attended to deposit your check. We wait in line for absolute MINUTES. Upwards of twenty-five I am sure. I do alot of shifting my weight from foot to foot and whining. Hannah tells me a story about the little girl she nannies for peeing on herself and Hannah making her clean it up herself. Hannah, is AWESOME.
But it is mostly worth it when we get to the front of the line and I discover a necessary little metal door under the teller window that you can open and close. And so I put one of Hannah's crumpled up receipts inside. Would have been cool if I had opened the door again and it had been gone.
We go home. I am picked up by Brett as I am crossing the Monument median and we go to his house and drop him off. We youtube my new boyfriend Shaun White doing his little snowboarding.
I go to pick up Dorland.
He has a brownie. A. One.
He eats it.
We go put the laundry in the dryer and then go home.
I shower and peform most of "Oklahoma."
Maggie eats noodles and blows her nose.
Wendy pops by to drop off the fruits of the crime she and Adam and I committed the day before.
That's all I'm going to say about that. Actual crime.
I hop in her van and she takes me to the B'dale, where she is bartending.
I invite myself to lay in the floor with Joe Carlson and learn about the process of flailing and wheezing and pretnding to be a seal called "Oxyrhythmics."
He graciously allows me to join and manages to continue his warm-up all the while feeding me a constant stream of instruction and ignoring my giggles when it is fun to do something like put your legs straight up in the air and then touch them to the floor over your head. I realize as I am going that this is probably not meant to be "fun."
Have now learned how to do that.
Is good for relaxing and stretching.
I watch Michael Hawke eat a salad.
I find out more than I want to about the Grapes boys and their long underwear.
I "fix" a costume note in under two seconds using the scissors.
We all listen to the Debra singing in the lobby.
Adam comes to pick me up.
We go to Short Pump.
We go to Pottery Barn. We make thirty laps of the store looking for a green duvet cover.
I wonder if Adam is going to ask the salesgirl where it might be as we have driven all the way to Short Pump.
Adam and I do not like to ask sales people anything. Or to order pizza over the phone. We make Maggie do it. Or whoever else happens to be in the house.
I CAN do it. I am working on it.
He of course finds it before asking, which robs me of any satisfaction of him having to ask.
We go to urban outfitters where we find lots of things we NEED. Like telephones shaped like hamburgers and unicorn keys.
I decide I might faint if I don't have beef.
So we go to Wendy's. We eat in silence, as you can do with good friends. I think about how nice it is to have so many good friends that I can ignore completely most of the time.
Two small girls are dining in Wendy's with their mothers. They are sent to the bathroom to wash their hands. They emerge from the bathroom and loudly announce that there is a gun in there.
Adam and I are riveted and blatantly staring.
The mother investigates. No gun. Shucks.
I teach Adam the back way to the Short Pump target.
In Target we (well I-- Adam purchased only boring things like tupperware for sweaters and pillowcases) I found very necessary items.
-Shoes I can wear to sing tonight and that Maggie likes as well so we can share as they are heels and she will wear them more.
-Swim goggles for snowboarding excursion tomorrow night. So I don't have to spend the whole time crying blood and fire.
-An enormous new bath towel featuring Sleeping Beauty.
We go get Frosties.
We go home.

Best reason ever.

Well, I cannot be a grandmother.

And I have been reeling from this knowledge all the way since Tuesday, folks.

Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, yesterday Adam and I went to Barnes & Noble after we finished vacuuming, dusting, washing and shaving the Grapes of Wrath set. We like it there. We would live there. Take out a small cot under the Babysitters' Club section.

I've forgotten what I was saying.

Oh yes.

I sharply spy the new Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition on the rack by the register.

We unanimously decide to get this.

He pays, as he is a boy. I purchase a small bright bookmark featuring the picture of a kitten in a sweater looking put out.

We go home, silently doff our coats, turn on the light and take up positions on the couch for the viewing.

Now, let it be said that Adam and I enjoy this magazine for different reasons.

Ever since I can remember, in the magazine rack next to my grandfather's ancient recliner was one Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. I have no idea what year it was from, but it remained in that rack for the better part of my childhood and teen years.

And every holiday and occasion my brother, my cousin Megan and I would look at this book.

I found it almost unbelievable how they could paint those bathing suits on those girls and make it look SO real. We would peer and peer to see if we could see any trace of nipple or any other body part that would make us think, "well, really then, I suppose this is not quite so impressive as it seems after all." But no. So I've always liked seeing that spread to see how well done it is.

Adam reads this magazine for God knows why. I guess watching girls suffering in harsh weather conditions wearing only their bones and the occasional brightly patterned tea bag.

Whatever.

But just for everyone's information, the painted bathing suit spread in this year's issue is lacking in real-ness. In my opinion. And in Adam's. And he knows. He is a painter.

There are some erroneously placed shadows, and someone got over-ambitious and decided they could make two-dimensional ruffly lace look like the real thing.

Try again.

So anyway, that was pretty much a bust. Ahaha.

The most amusing part of the whole exercise was when it occurred to me what a sight it would be for Maggie to behold when she walked in the door from work to discover Adam and I seated on the couch poring and squinting over the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue together.

She didn't.

Also.

When I adopted and raised and those three fuzzy Happy Meal sized kittens, I knew that one day, they would need to be spayed/neutered.

I knew this most certainly about Betty, for if she were ever to reproduce the world would undoubtedly be overtaken by her bat-gargoyle soulless spawn and every human would be furious for the rest of their lives.

Ouisus I knew would grow to be a refrigerator and a hunk o' burning pussy, as it were, and be extremely sought after by all the cats within the tri-state area. And I didn't want him breaking any hearts.

Suprise I would love to have reproduce, as he is wonderful and I love him in every way, but unfortunately, his general unawareness of everything around him down to and including his own body and whether or not he can walk across the ceiling on his tongue would most probably render him useless in figuring out the mechanics of where to stick it.

Having said all that, and in light of the fact that once Betty went into heat she began aggressively sexually accosting any male that came to our house in a most embarrassing way (sorry Matt Shofner) and Suprise, in a good humor, commenced merrily spraying on everything Brett owns just to spread the good cheer, I made appointments for the children to have their parts sawed off.

So I take them in for a pre-surgery check up/rabies shot.

I discover a deaf cat in the lobby of the vet clinic. This is fun because you stand by it's cage until it turns around and then it is startled and jumps and goes "YEOOOOW."

They examine Betty. They coo and ooh and ahh and call her things like "sweet angel" and "petite little lady."

I bite my tongue and roll my eyes. I wish that Adam were there so we could pompously scoff at this gross misperception together. (Maggie loves Betty. She is not all alone in the world.)

They examine Suprise. Who, by the way, is the most relaxed cat I have every come across. He has sat in my lap the entire car ride and gazed contemplatively out the window, occassionally bathing a paw. He has spent Betty's examination reclining in the corner chair, leafing through the February issue of Cat Fancy.

While examining Suprise they discover (besides that he is amazing), that my baby only has one descended testicle. I figure this is not uncommon. But the vet then proceeds to press on his lower body searching for said testicle. She presses higher and higher, until finally, somewhere around his larynx, she says, "Ah. There it is."

I find this peculiar.

But he is Suprise. He does lots of Suprising things. Which now include storing one of his balls on his clavicle.

All this means, she tells me, is that instead of them just popping open his scrotum and spooning out his testicles there, they will have to do a deeply invasive procedure to fish out the rogue ball.

I immediately almost burst into tears.

But I take comfort in the fact that, no matter what they do to him, anesthesia or not, he will not notice. He's just that laid back.

All goes according to plan. Betty sails through surgery- a "routine spay" they tell me (much to mine and Adam's secret disappointment), and Suprise does as well, with the exception of them having to do a bit more shoveling around through his abdomen than they had previously anticipated.

Again- tears.

We go to pick them up. They tell me, "That will be $256.00. For Suprise." I smile and say, "No it will not."

So I pay something I find feasible, though I am forced to go a little overboard due to the wandering nut. Apparently, when they have to go on expansive testicles searches, they really are putting themselves out so they can charge you more money.

We return Suprise home. His roommate Wilson has forgotten about him completely in the five hours he has been out of the house and hisses and moans to beat the band. I give him a withering look and a sharp smack on the rump. Suprise immediately lurches himself up onto the round footstool and sits up straight as an arrow. He is squinting violently and swaying from side to side.

I call Brett four hours later to check in on him.

He is still on the footstool.

But the next morning, he was all duckies and cupcakes. That's my boy.

So I am pleased.

Also it is really something to relish when you can cancel certain things you were planning on paying for by saying, "I'm sorry, I can't come to that now. My cat had one undescended testicle."

I was in China three times today. Now I have to go save all the depressed people from their blue rashes.

Someone gave me a rose today. I don't know who it was.

Nor, Hannah, do I care.