I was tired and crabby when I went to bed last night. It wasn’t really very late, but I was exhausted anyway. I grimaced as I walked down the hall because I could hear My Honey snoring the paint off the walls. My husband is a snorer of Olympic proportions. He’s legendary. Does he listen to his wife about going to the doctor? No, no he does not. And don’t any of you helpful internet people give me any bullshit suggestions like putting those ridiculous strips on his nose. Did that. Effing useless. It doesn’t matter what position he’s in either. He snores in every position. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. Even when I’m covering his face with a pillow.

I kid. I’ve not done that and I’m not going to admit it on this blog if I’d even considered it. Not with the FBI trolling here all the time because of a few cavalier comments made about panda bears. Bla bla bla national security my ass.

ANYWAY.

There are only a few options available to me if he’s in bed snoring away before I get there.

Option 1. Time it perfectly to climb into bed the very instant he hits one of those brief stages of sleep where his

snoring is severely diminished.

Option 2. Shove earbuds in my ears and go to sleep with my iPod playing loud music. I can sleep with this. I can not sleep with snoring. I’ve been known to sleep with Rob Thomas – with or without Matchbox Twenty. Also, the Irish punk band Dropkick Murphys. I know. You’re thinking that’s insane that I can sleep with that nonsense going on but not snoring. Punk music rarely makes me feel murderous. Fill in your own blanks.

The worse possible scenario is when he has rolled onto his side facing my side of the bed. At that point, I’d have a better chance of sleeping with a platoon of Marines marching over the bed. That leads me to Option 3.

Option 3. Poke and kick my beloved hoping he’ll turn over until he wakes up and gets mad. At that point, I pretend to be asleep and have no idea what he’s talking about when he wakes up all indignant. That’s what he gets.

Option 3 was what I faced last night.

I poked him excessively. When he woke up – very annoyed (imagine my expression) – I told him to roll over.

“I can’t,” he said. “I hurt my shoulder and can’t sleep on that side.” Then he promptly returned to snoring. In my face.

Even the dogs have been known to leave at this point.

I tried. I really did. I turned on The Foo Fighters and begged Dave Grohl to lull me into senselessness. It wasn’t happening so I snatched up my pillow in a huff and stomped off to my martyr bed – the miserable couch.

This evening I kissed him goodnight. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t snore like that again tonight.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” He looked like he meant it, too. “But I really hurt my shoulder; I could hardly move my arm all day. Wanna hear how I did it?”

I rolled my eyes. “Was it in the service of doing something for me? No? Then I don’t care.”

He smiled. “No, you want to hear this.”

I huffed a heavy breath, shoved my hand on my hip and said, “Fine. Tell me.”

His grin grew wider. “I sneezed really hard.”

Holy shit we’re old.

This is the most important picture I have ever seen in my entire life. Seriously. It changes everything.

You’ve done this. Don’t act like you haven’t. The Sisters spent most of the ’80’s trying to get jeans on that were way too tight.

I wonder if other people in offices have the bizarre experiences that I do. Honestly, it’s like the universe likes to mess with me.

Late in the afternoon on Friday, I was sitting at my desk and I thought I saw something flutter by my office. I swear at first I thought it was a giant moth. Then I decided that was crazy and it must have been a reflection from the window. A bird must have soared by and it reflected off the grass. Everything was fine. No giant moths. That’s ridiculous.

Then the guy in the next office literally ran past, screaming – yes, screaming, “There’s a bat in the office! There’s a bat in the office!” Sort of like Paul Revere as written by Bran Stoker.

Wait? What? I followed him down the hall only to see the black thing flit into another office up front.

Our receptionist declared that she’d caught the last one and this time it was someone else’s turn. She shoved the guy into the office with a garbage can and a section  of newspaper then slammed the door behind him. I listened with eyes wide to the thumps and knocks from the other side of the door. Then he burst back out yelling, “I don’t get paid enough for this!”

I agreed whole heartedly. The three of us decided none of us did. We called the building manager, but they said they couldn’t send anyone until Monday. We hung a sign on the door, “BAT INSIDE ~ DO NOT OPEN!”

It seems this is the fifth bat that has somehow gotten in. We’re on the second floor and the windows don’t open – I assume it’s because they’re certain we’d use them to leap out and take our chances – so it didn’t come in that way. There are two exterior doors, but they’re never open because you must have a keycard to get in. None of the exterminators hired can figure it out.

I immediately texted Ava.

Me: There’s a f****** bat in the office! I can’t work like this!”

Ava: A bat? A real bat?

Me: YES!

Ava: Do we want a bat pet?

Me: No! Gross

Ava: We’d be the only girls with a bat pet.

Me: That is not what I want on my tombstone.

Seriously, if I’m going to get rabies it’s going to be from a bobcat like a normal person.

The first week of capitivity comes to an end. Everyone keeps asking us how it’s going and we guess that it’s going as well as can be expected. It’s better than being in actual prison, but then we keep coming back to the peace and quiet that would come with solitary confinement. As work goes, though, we shouldn’t complain. After all, we’re in an office with heating and air conditioning. We could be out roofing or digging ditches or something equally awful. Still, if you don’t think we’re going to complain, then you must be very new to this blog. We love nothing more than voicing a good complaint. Anyway, even though we’re at work these days we have plenty of time to amuse ourselves and you. Here we go.

1. Drink what? It has come to our attention that Mariah Carey is bored. That can be the only explanation for the fact that we discovered she is currently hawking water. We discovered this at the Walgreens on our corner (they’re on every corner. It’s their plan to take over the world. Be nice the the Walgreens people, soon they will be your overlord.) We are heartily amused by the packaging. It’s called Butterfly. Seriously. With no irony at all, it describes itself as, “A melodic beverage inspired by the magic of Mariah Carey.” It doesn’t stop there. The back extolls the following, “Butterfly gives everyone something new to sing about. Let this melodic blend of sophisticated sweetness lift you to your high notes every day that you pamper yourself with a sip of Butterfly inspired by Marah Carey.” We will tell you that it smelled like

Probably plague infested **shiver**

strawberries but tasted like perfume. Can you imagine the brainstorming session around this concept? Did we say BRAINstorming? We didn’t mean it.

2. The PLAGUE!!! Is still going strong! If you’re not alarmed you should be. The lastest bout is centered in Madagascar, having arrived in the wake of cyclones last month. So apparently, it’s not bad enough that your country is ravaged by cyclones, you get to have a deadly plague for dessert. It has already killed 57 of the 213 known cases. It continues to shock and amaze us that the plague is still a thing. We also DO NOT recommend that you Google “bubonic plague” because that will scare the hell out of you. And REALLY DO NOT look at the images. You’re not mature enough for that, we promise you. We do recommend that you don’t allow any rats to bite you. This has been a service announcement from the Quill Sisters.

3. Snakes are a thing. Say you live in Florida and you’re bored on a Friday night. You have absolutely no one to blame but yourself for that sorry state of affairs. We have discovered an activity that will keep you busy and possibly earn you money. No, not prostitution. Keep your pants on. Keep all your clothes on, please. Turns out the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission is holding monthly sessions to train the general public on how to identify and catch “troublesome” snakes. We think all snakes are troublesome, but the FFWCC has specific guidelines. They mean Burmese pythons. Seriously. These non-native snakes have completly run Florida over and they’re sending the good citizens out there to catch ’em. We don’t know what they’re catching them with, but we suggest you stay in your damn car. Look at the size of that thing on the right. HOLY CRAP!

4. We still don’t think you should try spaghetti. A man in Marietta, GA received a ticket under the distracted driver law of that state. What was he doing you wonder? Was he shaving? Screwing his wife? Changing a diaper? Nope. He was eating a cheeseburger. In fact, the policeman who issued the ticked was reported as having said, “You can’t just go down the road eating a hamburger.” Of course, now we’re wondering how his driving was while eating the burger. Was he swerving? Bashing into other drivers? We don’t know what prompted the policeman to stop him in the first place and we never will because reporters never answer the important questions – like where he got this burger. Was there bacon on it? Anyway, a judge dismissed the case. Whew. Car Eaters Annonymous, Georgia Chapter can rest easy and nibble on their collective snacks.

5. Birthday woes. A woman wrote a letter to the newspaper advice column this week. She was frustrated because, while she remembers all her friends’ birthdays, they don’t seem to remember hers. She wants to know from the columnist what to do about this. Should she just forget it? Amylynn rolled her eyes SO HARD. No one ever forgets her birthday because she tells every one about it within the first 20 minutes of meeting her. (It’s August 5th, by the way.) Amylynn will then remind you on a regular basis of the date and how many shopping days you have left. She will expect a present and she makes that very clear. It is our position that if people forget your birthday you have no one to blame but yourself. Quit being a wuss! (Ava here – Amylynn left out the part about how she tells you to save a dollar a day for her present. She says it to near strangers as soon as she tells them her birth date. She even knows how many days are left until August 5 – as in “If you start today, you can still save $173.00 by August 5th.)

When my kids were little I used to color in their coloring books after they went to bed. I didn’t care if they were Strawberry Shortcake or Spiderman. My mother also loves to color. I shrug. Otherwise I have absolutely no artistic ability. I can string amusing grammatically correct sentences together and I can tell a story like nobody’s business. Ask me to draw anything, ANYTHING, and you will get a rudimentary stick figure. Seriously.

Doesn’t matter. I enjoy a nice coloring session. And crayons smell good, don’t you think? Kinda like Play-doh. Maybe I’m crazy. I shrug again. This is not news to you I’m certain.

There is a point to this blog, I assure you.

I found this today and I might have to track this down and get a copy. Isn’t this fabulous?

Off the top of my head – Some Cat Names:

1. Patches

2. Lolly

3. Blinky

4. Callie

5. Tiger

6. Wilford

7. Lucy

8. Fuzzy Boy

9. Hazel

10.  Basil

11. Clive

I really miss Jojo Kittywiggles now that I’m back to work.

It’s easy to forget that this was what it was like working with him at home.

The good news is I lived through my first day back to work. The bad news  is my feet hurt and  I have to go back tomorrow.

Ava doesn’t have any pity for me at all. In fact, she texted me all day long with helpful tidbits like, “Hahaha, you’re a work!” and “Where are you? At work! Hahahaha!”

It’s hard not to feel warm and fuzzy about that sort of sisterly love, isn’t it?

At 3:50 I had cat withdrawals, which really sucked. I sincerely doubt that they’re ever going  to let me bring my cat to work to help me deal. Honestly, that’s such  a white-girl problem, I can barely believe I admit to having it.

You know what the bright spot in my day was? Looking at the calendar and seeing that I have Monday off for President’s Day.

Sigh.

Well, it was a good run. I gave it a hell of a shot.

Tomorrow morning, my eleven week paid vacation of unemployment has run out and I have to go back to work. Actually, it worked out perfectly. I let my severance package run its course and got hired back on at exactly the right time.

I guess I’ve mastered that unemployment bullshit.

You know what I found out while I was unemployed? People who don’t work are crazy busy. I didn’t get nearly the amount of stuff done that I thought I would.

Also, Jojo Kittywiggles is kinda happy that I’ll be going. He’s suffered greatly while I was home. I’m certain he didn’t get anywhere near the amount of sleep he normally does because I kept pestering him. I actually might have made his ear go a little bald from kissing it all the time. Also, how many other people do you know who buy outfits to dress their cat? It has been brought to my attention that he would make a lovely calendar model. Hmmmmm. Maybe.

I also learned that the cat does not approve of hole punches. He really doesn’t approve of using them on the desk while he’s sleeping on it. Also, the pigeons arrive around 1pm to eat the left over dog food and Jojo hates those pigeons with the fire of a thousand suns. He sits in front of the French doors with his ears folded back and growls ferociously. The first time he did it I had no idea what that noise was and freaked out.

Another discovery of some import is that Drew Carey is no Bob Barker.

My dog Winnie has to go in and out of the house approximately 9,325,489 times a day. More if the pigeons keep hanging around. No butterfly, caterpillar, 747, or ghost has passed by our house without being bayed at by Roscoe the Bloodhound.

So I will go back to work in the morning. Wearing actual work clothes. And shoes.

The shoes are concerning. I haven’t worn real shoes in months. Do you remember Agador Spartacus with his shoe problem in The Birdcage? That’s gonna be me.

I’ll be back tomorrow with how things went. Let me know who wins the Showcase Showdown, alright?

The weather here is so nice this week that we’d like to remind the citizens of our town about the importance of undergarments. Today the Sisters saw no less than three individuals who could really use a remedial education in foundation garments. Sadly, it seems the people we all want to see the least of, wear the smallest clothes. We’re not shaming. Maybe a little. Hey, if they’re happy with their bodies, then Yahoo! for them. We suppose we’re coming at this from our own insecurities. Nevertheless, we thought we’d put together a primer like you got in kindergarten along the lines of See Spot Run. It would go something like this: Jane wears panties. Panties are fun.

Just because you lay it out pretty is not going to convince us to eat this.

Fun. Fun. Fun. Jill wears a bra. Bras are fun. Fun. Fun. Fun for everyone. So now that we’ve given you those disturbing visions, let’s talk about something that really is fun.

1. Burgler or housesitter? First we want to mention that we were nowhere near Ohio this week. A Newton  Falls, Ohio couple reported a burglary in their house. It was ransacked of prescription drugs, a video games console, a DVD player, and dozens of movies. That’s very alarming and we’re sorry for those people. Here’s where things took a strange turn. It seems the burglars hung around for a bit. They had some coffee, smoked some cigarettes, and apparently, in a nod towards evening out the karma, they fed the dogs bologna. As far as we’re concerned, that’s the only appropriate use of bologna. Once again the Sisters have to point out a woeful lack of reporting in the article. There was no mention whatsoever of what kinds of dogs. Are we talking about shih tzus or bull mastiffs here? We feel this is a significant lack of information pertinent to the story.  Also, the couple themselves were arrested when they reported the burglary because they had outstanding warrants of their own. Again, we have no idea what they were for either. Isn’t this infuriating? We’re almost sorry we brought it up.

2. Harper Lee. We can’t tell you how excited we are about Go Set A Watchman. We are possibly some of the biggest fans of To Kill A Mockingbird and we read it once a year just because it’s such a lovely piece of work. Amylynn might or might not have a first edition copy she may or may not show you depending on how dirty your hands are. We’ve already preordered our copy of the new book from Amazon and it’s not even being released until July 14th. It’s already at the top of the Amazon best seller lists and, again, IT’S NOT OUT

Don’t go to this site unless you are a mature individual. Sadly, we are not.

UNTIL JULY. Just so you know, we will be out sick from work and won’t be accepting calls on July 14th. You’ve been warned.

3. Want extra money? We’re going to present a weird idea to you and we just ask that you come along on the ride with us. It seems that along with blood, plasma, bone marrow, kidneys, livers, sperm, and eggs, you can also donate poop. Yes, poop. This article begged to be read and we did it so that you don’t have to. Here’s the deal. You have poop and you’re not currently using it for anything, right? So now you can donate it to a company called OpenBiome for up to $13,000 a year. Whaaaaaaaa? you’re probably saying, right? That’s what we said! It’s actually used as medicine for people with a horribly wretched infection called C. difficile. The only issue is that OpenBiome is elitist when it comes to their poop donors. They only end up accepting  about 4% of the people who attempt the screening. Sadly, that means that you can’t just box up your poop and  mail it on in and expect a check. We formally request that when you ignore our advise you don’t mention The Quill Sisters or this site when the FBI comes to see you. We have enough of our own troubles.

4. They’re not registered at Target. We really hope you kept the receipt for those sterling silver sporks you got in anticipation of Charles Manson’s (80) wedding to his fiancée who goes by Star (26). Sadly the marriage license expired yesterday without a wedding taking place. We told you about this fiasco back in the November 21 5 Things. There was no reason given for the delay in the nuptials because of course there’s not. No reporters ever ask the questions the people want ~ nay NEED ~ to know. We can only hope that someone came to their senses. Maybe it’s because they couldn’t find a caterer.

5. OMFG Foxes! There is a place in Japan, Zao Fox Village in the Miyagi Prefecture, that has a fox sanctuary. Tourists can go there  and see all the adorable foxes and buy food to feed them. Like a petting zoo! It says RIGHT IN THE ARTICLE that foxes can be tamed and made into pets. Imagine the look we are giving you right now. We’re looking to schedule some time to head over to Japan. Leave us a note in the comments if you want one, also. We figure if we’re already picking up two, a few more won’t be that much more trouble. Besides, THEY’RE FOXES! We love their tails even though that’s obvious. Everyone loves their tails. But we’re also quite fond of those stylish black stocking legs. Adorable!