Oh, the hars!

I got home from work yesterday and immediately set about soaking and feeding the lizards.  Their brumation cycle makes it necessary for me to feed them a couple of times a week instead of daily.  I tend to load them up on the protein and soak them for longer periods to make sure they are well stocked for their prolonged naps.  Neither are interested in the least when I dump veggies in their dish. Just let them swim around, eat sixteen or twenty worms, and go back to sleep, thankyouverymuch. They usually hang out on their logs for the next day or so, then crawl back into their hides to resume their naps. Then they usually stir a few days or a week later, and I know it’s time to haul them out and dump them in the tub again.

MUCH lower maintenance then Those Darned Cats.

We had Chicken, Black Bean and Potato Skillet left over from Monday night’s dinner, so I hung out with Calvin in the kitchen while he cobbled together some dinner.

Uh. Mah. Gah. You guys.

He heated up the leftovers and smashed them a bit finer of consistency with the spatula, and added ranch and cheese. Then he took some flatbread that I had in the freezer (Trader Joes), thawed them and fried them golden and crispy on the outside, warm and chewy in the middle. Then he topped the flatbread with the skillet, more cheese, and jalapenos on mine, and broiled them in the oven for a few minutes.

Holy CRAP that stuff was good.  Like a tostada on crack.

So anyway, I hung out with Calvin in the kitchen while he cooked, and we talked and talked and TALKED. Mostly about the pending refi and the plans we’re making for a couple of years from now. We listened to the stereo, then I put on the Jersey Boys soundtrack and we sang along to that. Marie came downstairs, Michael showed up, and we all sat in front of the TV and har’d at America Idol.

At about 9:00 I got it into my head to go out for a “run”. Insert air quotes here, because if they’re going to be used ANYWHERE, this is where they apply. You guys, it bordered on the pathetic. No, scratch that, it didn’t BORDER on pathetic, it crossed the border and went right to the middle and set up camp in pathetic. The first week of Couch to 5k is twenty minutes broken up into 90 seconds of walking, 60 seconds of jogging, 90 seconds of walking, 60 seconds of jogging, etc.

I could barely manage it.

By the time I staggered around the neighborhood and got back home again, I was feeling leaden in my legs and light headed. I actually felt FAINT, forcryingoutloud. This is ridiculous. I’m so out of shape I’m going BACKWARDS. I’ll tell you what, this jogging business hurt so much that it damned well better WORK. And it better get easier than this, or I’m just going to give up and be fat and happy.

At eat entirely from the Fuckit Bucket.

Homey

Life here at AcronymCo kind of grinds to a halt when there are computer and/or network issues.  My Outlook is hosed right now, preventing me from getting eleventy-seven things done.

Hence, you get an entry.  I am flexible that way.

I went through ALL of my archives and put together a “Best Of” list, which you can find by clicking on the tabby thing at the top of this page that says (GASP) “Best Of”.  When one has been writing for going on eight years, one accumulates a lot of wooooords.  That list ain’t short, people, but it’s pretty representative so if any new readers want to catch up, that’d probably be the way to go.

Let’s see, what else is going on?  Calvin and I are refinancing the house as part of our Grand Plan to Escape Arizona.  Debt restructuring to a New! Shiny! Low! Interest! Rate! is integral so that when the housing market turns around again (some day) we will be well poised to sell and Reap the Equity Benefits.

Playing fast and loose with the capitalization, there.

Part of the refi is getting the house appraised, which is this Friday.  Cross your fingers for us that we haven’t lost a lot of value on our home in this downturn.  Also cross your fingers for Calvin that he can find the darned leak in the wall and fix it in time to make it all pretty again.  Thirdly say a prayer that the landscaper can come do an emergency clean up of our front and back yards, which are looking pretty darned shabby due to all the wet weather we had over the weekend.

On a new note, I begin to see why it is that Zoe ended her ass up in the pound.  Oh. My. GOD.  The cat chooses EVERY MORNING at 5:00 a.m. to express her desire to be fed.  Now.  Neeeaaaaooowww.  Please?  Now?  Okay?  Hello?  Now.  NOW.

She stands at the bedroom door and meows her fool head off.  Then she waltzes over to the bathroom door in case we can hear her better from there, and meows her fool head off.  THEN she gets Ozzy involved – he jiggles the bedroom door handle while she yells from the bathroom door.  Then they switch places. 

The ONLY time they call a truce is when they’re working together to turn our morning into HELL.  Otherwise Zoe hisses at Oz if he even LOOKS at her.  Which I’m pretty sure amuses him.

“I’m not touching you… I’mmm noooot touuuuching yoooouuu…”

“HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS”

“Still not touching you…”

“SSSSSSSSSSSSSSPPPPPPPPPPPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT.”

“I’m over here, NOT TOUCHING YOU.”

“GGGGRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWLLLLLLLL.”

At which point Zoe hops up and runs away, and Oz chases her because she’s running, and he catches her because she’s slow, and she freaks out like she’s getting killed and makes these completely inhuman (natch – she’s a cat) yowls and screams AND we holler at them AND they ignore us AND we get up and chase Oz away from Zoe AND he waits until we sit back down or go back to whatever it was we were doing AND it starts in all over again.

 Razzlefrackin cats.