March 16
Wow, is it beautiful outside. It’s supposed to be 85 degrees this weekend. The sky is so blue and the mountains so crisp, it’s almost like someone put a cardboard cutout of mountains against blue construction paper. The Bank of No Forks frowned when we asked if we could move our desks out to the shady courtyard so we could more readily enjoy spring. You know what the problem with big corporations is? They’re no fun. Unless you work at Google where you get haircuts and massages and nap pods. Nap pods! Doesn’t that sound like the height of pampering? You get a glorious massage and then roll into a nap pod. Zzzzzzzzzzz. We’ll be dreaming about these things…
- Research. On the surface, that doesn’t sound like the most exciting
thing, but it totally is. How anyone wrote a book that required research prior to the internet is beyond us. A good Googling session yields no small amount of amazing factoids. Of course, that will eventually lead us to a book store where we torture the employees with weird requests while maintaining a straight face. We are unsure of anything more fun than loitering around a Barnes & Noble with a nice latte, asking off the wall questions in rapid fire succession, and then wandering away, leaving stunned and confused clerks in our wake. We’re fairly certain the entire staff of the local B&N quit yesterday.
- Yoda.We are going to include a picture of this fellow, however, we suggest that you don’t look directly at it. Glance to the left, then dart your eyes away. Or perhaps look straight ahead and check it out with your peripheral vision like you would a comet. Yoda was the title holder of the Ugliest Dog. We can’t imagine there was any real competition. We’re sure Yoda was a perfectly nice doggie. Call us shallow, it won’t be the first time, but we don’t think we could be his mommy. Maybe if he came with a panda bear, but even then…. We’re sorry to see you go, Yoda, if even because now they’ll have to resurrect that damn competition and no one needs to see that.
- Ryan Bowden. Mr. Bowden was “discovered” while we were conducting “research”. Back in the day when we were all in sales, when we said we were off to “go marketing” everyone knew it was a euphemism for screwing around. It was fairly obvious when we always returned with new shoes. Or going to the movies and we’d return with popcorn breath. Doing “research” is much the same – especially if it’s on the internet. Mr. Bowden happened along and then all good intentions flew out the window. Now if Ryan here came with #3, then we’d be the proud owners of an inconceivably ugly dog and a cute little boy we could teach to kill the icky bugs and not to speak. Sigh. That sounds like the perfect use of a nap pod.
- Exotics. We’re in very serious trouble. A website has come to our attention and nothing good can come from it. Knowing our proclivities, why would the Boy Who Lives at Ava’s House bring this site to our attention? It reeks of a set up, like someone wants us to get into trouble. You know those studies where they put a person in a room with a hidden camera and a bunch of
cookies and tell them NOT TO EAT ANY? Those people always eat some cookies. You can hardly expect us to control ourselves now that we know of a website that sells both leopard cats and prehensile tailed porcupines. That site led to another and we found a baby camel and a baby giraffe for sale. Who would have ever thought you could be on a website and push “Add to Cart” and a baby leopard would be waiting for you to enter your credit card number. We promise you people, this will end badly. - Nada. When it comes right down to it, we got nothin’. Really. We searched high and low and we could not come up with a fifth thing. How depressing is that? Not too depressing because that alone made us laugh. Next week we’ll shoot for six things but don’t get your hopes all up or anything.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . a NEW perspective often involves alcohol.
In Our Humble Opinion…it’s probably best to just smile and nod when one of the Sisters presents herself to you and announces she is “disgruntled”.
In Our Humble Opinion…a pot hole as big as the Grand Canyon does not qualify for National Park status, except in Tucson, AZ.
The 200 Million Dollar Kitten
Let’s just say I’m very near the end of my child-bearing years. I’m actually looking forward to a little menopause for the obvious reason. You always hear about a woman’s biological clock ticking and her sudden need to have a baby but you never hear about that same need rearing its ugly head when you are just about unable to physically to do it.
I’m sure it has an official name or something but I like to call it the “IneedakittenorI’mgoingtodie” period of life. Some woman report that they experience an over whelming need for a human baby. Since I wasn’t happy giving birth the first two times, I have an over whelming urge for a furry baby – hence the kitten issue.
Just so you know, I have a perfectly good dog and a perfectly good cat. I treat them both like the children I gave birth to, actually I treat them better because I didn’t give birth to them. When people ask me how many children I have, I say four. I’d really like to be able to say five. Let people wonder if I’m catholic or mormon or crazy.
Anyway, I drive Amylynn insane about this daily. Kind of like the way she drove me nuts over the puppy. However, she is married to a very nice man and I’m not. I’m married to Ed. Ed – the man who is not, I repeat not, “going to entertain the purchase of another cost sucking living creature in our house that has to be taken care of” by him.
Did I happen to mention the $493.82 we just spent on cleaning the dog’s teeth on Tuesday? I guess I could pick my times better for asking for a kitten.
Today’s phone conversation –
Me: I’m going to need a kitten.
Ed: Did you and Amylynn buy a lottery ticket?

What the Baby Adorable Puma will grow into - I guess that kitten's not looking so bad after all, huh, Ed?
Me: What’s that have to do with the kitten we’re getting?
Ed: If you win the lottery, you can have a kitten.
Click.
Damn, how’s that for permission? If I win the lottery, I’m getting a puma kitten and Ed will have no one to blame but his sarcastic self.
In Our Humble Opinion… if we were born in another time period we most likely would have been locked up.
In Our Humble Opinion…spring has sprung. How disappointing if that proves untrue.
Maybe we’ll try the carwash next
I made a tactical error. The Bandit didn’t want to take a bath or shower. He’s six years old so it’s not like his reaction was unexpected. That, however, does not matter. He’s smelly and dirty and looks like a ragamuffin. The boy needs to bathe.
Just like most six-year-old boys I have to supervise hand washing, teeth brushing, and face cleaning. He seems to think waving your hands in the general direction of the sink is sufficient.
It’s not.
We’ve already had the conversation where I assured him that spritzing Daddy’s cologne was not a substitute for a shower. Just the other day he appeared in the kitchen and declared himself ready for school. I knew he was coming because I could smell Farenheit at fifty paces.
His shower time seems to consist mostly of streaking bare-ass naked through the house. When I finally get him into the shower – with the water running – his primary activity becomes splashing water out onto the floor. Once I went in there to find out how things were coming along and found the ceiling dripping. I have no idea how he managed that since he’s about three feet too short to touch the shower head. He professed having no knowledge of how the water got up there. Of course he didn’t.
“Get in the shower,” I told him for what seemed the ten thousandth time.
He trotted off in the general direction of the bathroom. I wasn’t fooled. There are a lot of things that can side track a six-year-old boy on the way to the bathroom. Come to think of it there is a lot of things in the actual bathroom that can distract a six-year-old boy. There are rolls of toilet paper to be unrolled. Bottles of Momma’s expensive lotions to sample and mysterious substances to smear on the mirror. Don’t forget there’s a scale in there to pile things on top of.
Tonight I just couldn’t get the boy under the water. “Dude,” I told him with my hands on my hips. “You’re gonna get washed tonight one way or the other. If you don’t get in that damn shower I’m taking you out to the back yard and hosing you down with dishwashing soap.”
“Yeah! Let’s do that!” He took of at a run, headed for the back door in all his naked glory.
Oh shit.
I managed to catch up to him before he made it outside, but now he’s pissed because I took that offer off the table.






