Crunchy Thoughts

Today is once again Damn Near Game Day, the last one of the regular football season. So sad, so sad. Tomorrow is not only Game Day, it’s THE Game Day to beat all Game Days — the Alabama game, also known as the Iron Bowl. However, with the way both teams have been playing this year, it’s more like the Balsa Wood Bowl. But as disappointing as Auburn’s season has been, Bama’s has been much worse. Forgive me a small “Ha!” Now, we cross every crossable parts of our bodies in hopes that we break the away-game-advantage streak that’s been going on for quite a few years.

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Renton the Moth Cat is doing much better. There has been no puking since Wednesday, and he is getting back to his stinky-poop ways. I’ve never been so glad to smell cat shit as I was on Wednesday night. That little lump saved me five hundred bucks in vet tests!

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Today I finally cleared off the top of my dresser, which was overflowing in assorted pocket stuff. Much to the irritation of Steven, I tend to dump all the stuff I get in my pockets through the course of a day on top of the dresser. Not the best of habits, but it could be worse, like a booger collection. Most of this pocket collection was recipts, grocery lists, and pocket lint. Some of the recipts dated back to May.

I would like to say that I decided to clean for the sake of a less cluttered life, but that’s not the case. In actuality I was on the hunt for a Kinko’s recipt and a friend’s phone number. Alas, I found neither. On the upside, I did come across some major pocket change in the form of a hundred dollar check from my mom, dated July 14th of this year. Yeah. Jackpot!

I can’t remember what in the world it was for, but no matter. While preparing it for desposit, I decided to try my luck and search through my wallet for any other potential goodies. And wouldn’t ya know, I came across another check, this one for twenty dollars, also from my mom. It was more recently dated at October 30th, and I distinctly remember that this one was for a DVD. I do love finding pocket change.

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T minus thirty days and counting until Operation: Wedding gets underway. That’s right folks, we’re not counting in months anymore, it’s days.

Well, Renton has finally done it. He’s met his match in palatable fabric. This most recent bit of cloth that he’s consumed is fighting back.

It seems that Renton, on a late Thursday night, decided to have a bit of my Auburn afghan blanket as a midnight snack. On Friday morning I found the evidence in the form of an orange and blue hairball. Lovely. On Saturday, he left us two more of these little wonders of nature. Then the puking began.

I don’t delve into the details too deeply; no need to make anyone nautious. Suffice it to say that by Sunday he was beginning to worry me. Everything was coming out the front end, but not the back. I would like to think that Renton was learning a life lesson from this, but I doubt his little destructive brain will ever connect the blanket-eating with the blanket-barfing.

So yesterday, after dodging tornadoes, I took him by the vet, with the mothcat-eaten blanket in tow. After filling in the sign-in sheet with my name, his name, and reason for visit (“he ate an afghan . . . blanket, not person”), we got to see the doctor, who was pretty impressed with the job Renton did on the blanket.

“Guess he’s not an Auburn fan,” he said.

Renton has been put on a regimen of mineral oil, 2 cc’s, once a day, to see if he can clear out the rest of my blanket. If he’s not better tomorrow, though, the doctor wants him back in for x-rays. And as of Wednesday night, nothing much seems to have changed with this cat, except for that he just stepped into some epoxy glue (no, I’m not kidding). I suppose he figured one crisis just isn’t enough pizazz around here.

Well, we’ll see how it goes. Renton just might be headed for intestinal dye and x-rays tomorrow. Either that or he’ll pinch a really big, multicolored loaf. As for me, I’m rooting for the loaf. It might be sore on his end, but it’ll be cheaper on mine.

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In other news, I’m slowly getting my newly brainwashed computer back to how I like it. This process can be tough, though, when you don’t remember what it was that you like, you only know that this current situation isn’t it. I’ve yet to fix my away messages, and my old e-mails are gone forever.

I’ve gotten back a few of the links, though. It took a while, but I eventually was able to find my photographry idol’s website of Italian wonder. This is how I would ideally take pictures, but I seem to lack the talent. Or maybe it’s the experience that is lacking. Or maybe I just lack the guts to take pictures of the most ordinary things in extraordinary places, things that at the time you would not consider to be memorable, yet looking back ten years later you treasure those pictures more than any British Parliament building, Eiffel Tower, or Castel Sant Angelo photos that you ever dared to put in the crosshairs of your lens.

Then again, it could just be the talent.

I don’t usually blog articles (instead of hilarious stuff I don’t write, I try to do hilarious-because-she-thinks-she’s-funny stuff that I do write). However, this one is a hoot, in a Daffy Duck kind of way.

The Onion | Mom Finds Out About Blog

And on a side note . . . it’s looking like we are going to be in for some tornadoes and wild, wild weather tomorrow. Hot damn, it’s about time for something interesting to happen in the weather world!

Hmm, what should I do about Renton? Man, this isn’t as fun when you’ve got a cat to worry about while you’re at work, dodging twisters . . . Boogers.

Yesterday, my Renton reached a new milestone in his self-serving kitty life. He ventured into the world of the outside. Well, he has been outside before, but that was only while being confined in a carrier or his mamma’s arms, which he categorizes as ‘the usual place; different scenery.’ Yesterday was new. He went outside on his very own . . . on a leash, of course. Hey, don’t laugh — Siamese cats are very dog-like. They even drool and poop in the tub.

His daddy, Steven, and I were working on sealing the doors to the apartment. I have seen one too many lizards and way too many spiders during my time here. Renton didn’t bolt out while we had the doors open, but he was curious. His little nose twitched with the beguiling scents that a rainy Sunday can bring. He looked so cute for once (as opposed to Satan’s Housepet), that we decided to let him have a go at the world.

Not only was it his first time outside, it was his first sucessful time with the leash, too. We had tried it before, but we were inside when we did so. This cat is known to chase his tail. You can imagine what he wanted to do with a nylon string four times as long than any tail he’d ever chased before. But yesterday the smell of the cement patio was much more alluring than any prostectic tail.

It was very humbling to watch him. He stopped to sniff and investigate every inch that was around him. Each piece of dirt or spot of water was the ultimate fascination for this cat. And here we are just bustling to and from work every day, and none of us ever take the time to smell the dead leaves. Not only did Renton smell the dead leaves, he investigated the dead bugs and the live holly bush. Thankfully, he didn’t eat any of it. His palette is more geared toward Auburn afghans.

I am also glad to report that I got many a picture of Renton investigating this new world. How could I not take pictures of such a nice, non-violent point in his life? Steven remarked to me that I take so many pictures of Renton that I’m going to be worn out by the time we have kids. Grandma please! (To quote Willis . . .). When we have children, I’m going to have so many pictures of that kid, you could put them together in a flip book and make a moving picture with it. There are no worries on the wearing out of my picture-taking desire here.

Speaking of which, I need to find a place where I can buy good camera film in bulk. Steven and I did some calculating, and the wedding is in some odd 33 days or so. When you start counting in days, it’s time to start buying film.

I am having the weirdest time with my recent toothpaste selections. Man, I never thought I’d have toothpaste on my mind so much that I’d want to write about it. Maybe I’m getting old. That’s probably it. I’ve been having this problem with my back, too . . .

In the past, I’ve usually gone for something like Aquafresh or Rembrandt, as long as it’s extra-super-duper-will-make-you-go-blind whitening. That’s the good stuff. But it was beginning to irritate me that they don’t seem to make these kinds of toothpaste in the bigger tubes; the kind that would last you for six months. Having to remember to buy toothpaste once a month or face stinky, yellow teeth can be weighty on the memory.

So last month I went out on a limb, and bought a new kind. In a big, baseball-bat sized tube. Perhaps you’ve seen the commercials for this one. These commercials almost made me not even try the toothpaste in the first place. In the commercial, these two overly happy people come upon this overly happy cartoon beaver in the woods. “Hey, it’s Mr. Beaver!” exclaims one. This is the cue for all college-age students to snicker drunkenly. “How do you get your teeth so white,” says the other dude. And of course Mr. Beaver keeps his teeth so white because he uses this herbal toothpaste that is oh so fine, and it has natural herbs. Yee ha. Horrible commercial.

But I bought this stuff anyway. One, it was in a big tube just like what I was looking for. Two, I like herbs. It can’t be that bad. Sure.

This stuff is like brushing your teeth with puree’ed grass. The taste in my mouth is worse after using this glop. But I didn’t give up. At first. After all, it is a huge tube and I paid for it, so dammit, I’m gonna use it all.

I gave up on it last week. I just couldn’t take it anymore. So back to the toothpaste row in Wal-Mart I went. I still wanted a big tube for some reason. It escapes me now, though. I settled this time on something more normal: Colgate Total with a Mint Fresh Stripe. Woohoo, mint! An herb, yes, but a minty herb!

I first tried it out last night. It was pretty good. A whole lot better than that grass paste, to be sure. Soon after I was done with it, though, my tongue began to feel numb. And I began to feel a little nervous — I had been cleaning the bathroom earlier. What if I got clorox in my mouth?

No Clorox, it was just Colgate Total with a suspicious Mint Fresh Stripe. Methinks they slipped some Ambesol into this concoction. I hate that Ambesol feeling, especially on my tongue.

So here I sit, numb-tongued, typing up my toothpaste woes with a calm Renton in my lap. I wonder what I should do with all this toothpaste. Maybe I could throw it away. But no, it’s a big tube that I paid quasi-good money for. Maybe I can tough it out. I’ll try for a bit, anyway. Maybe my tongue will get used to it.

If you’re talking to me, and I sound a little slurred, dont worry, I’m not drunk. It’s just the toothpaste.

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And now for an update on the Renton + blinds situation. I had previously thought that he had only destroyed one of the two sets. I was mistaken. Last night I made to raise the blinds by the string (there was a lizard amongst us, uggg). The string came easily, but the blinds themselves did not follow. Another one bites the dust.

It was rather comical, actually. Renton probably set that up on purpose. He discreetly chewed through the string on the bottom, knowing he’d get a kick out of it once I attempted to raise them. One of the most essential traits of a practical joker is patience.

At last! Finally, I seem to be keeping Renton amused this week. For cheap, too. For one thing, he’s finally gotten old enough to where it seems catnip has an effect on him (he’s gonna be nine months Friday week). I’ve sprinkled some dry catnip on the middle shelf of his cat tree thing. So now, whenever Renton feels the need for kitty weed, he just pops up there, sniffs around and takes a few bites, make some hilarious low meowmeowmeow sound, hops off, shakes his head, and hops right back up again for some more. Ha, he’s getting high, figuratively and literally.

Another thing I’ve done is I’ve built him a little tunnel. I had a plethora of boxes from my wedding tea just stacked up in my living room (YES, we unpacked the stuff outta the boxes, Dad; everything is easier to store that way). Renton has been slowly knocking down the boxes, one by one. I could tell he was just dying to have a play with them, but did not want to incur my wrath — which is suprising, because he obviously doesn’t seem to mind being on the receiving end of my frustration and anger when it comes to the blinds, which is another story altogether. Uhh, back to the boxes. Last night I took all the boxes and stacked them in such a way that it creates a little tunnel for him to run through, and run through he does. Back and forth, back and forth. I think it amuses him that he can go into something and come out at a totally different place. Hey, if I was small enough to crawl through the tunnel, I’d be amused, too.

Back to the blinds now, since it is amusing, in an irritating, stinky way. Renton, ever since I first got him, has been fascinated with the blinds on all the windows. No matter where we go, he would be desperate to whack and paw at these things. Cute at first, until you realize he’s bending them out of shape, and almost chewing through the strings. It’s something he gets in trouble for every single time he does it, which I think is part of the kick for him. “Rattle blinds ’till a human comes, act surprised, then dash away and see if they can catch me,” is on his daily to-do list.

I’ve tried several things. There was that kitty boundary spray that didn’t work, the discipline, many other things to play with . . . nothing would distract this cat. So one night a few weeks ago I decide to try hot sauce. It works with deer, why not cats? But I go to the fridge and alas, no hot sauce. Time for improvisation, I’m good at that. I get a few things out of the pantry and let Renton sniff them. He didn’t seem to like the garlic salt at all, so I thought, “Great! I’ll make a paste and smear it on the blinds.” So I go about the steps to do that, and it seems to work. Renton stayed away from the blinds the whole evening.

When I woke up the next morning, I realized why. My whole apartment smelled like a giant onion farted. It was pretty strong. I immediately decided I needed to hone my improv skills. But I had to get to work, I couldn’t do anything about it now. I apologized profusely to Renton and left.

Came back for lunch, and guess what I found. Not only had Renton attacked the blinds, he had finally broken the thing! Garlic salt and all. I was so irritated. Those aren’t my blinds; they belong to the apartment complex! And my apartment still smelled like onion fart. Uggg, that was some day.

Auburn University has the coolest mascot ever. I just got done giving three of my four daily votes for Aubie at CapitolOne Bowl’s website. They do a yearly mascot contest, and this year, Aubie is in it. It only let’s you vote once a day; somehow it KNOWS, and the only way we’ve found of getting around that is using more than one browser. At work, I’ve got ye olde Internet Explorer, Mozilla, and Opera (personally, I’m starting to think that Opera is the best of the three. . . Mozilla’s the worst). At home I haven’t had a chance to download Mozilla and Opera. Maybe I’ll do that tonight while I prepare my computer for the brainwashing this weekend.

But anyway, back to Aubie. He’s just so. . . cool. And not just cool as in ‘hey, look at the color of this booger’ cool, I mean cool as in Samuel L. Jackson cool. BMF, man. But as cool as he is, he’s nice, too. You see too many creepy mascots with a permanent scowl on their face, like they’d rather eat that kid up than have a picture taken with it while the parents smile and clap. Hairy Dawg and that ill-formed Razorback (alas, I know not the name) comes to mind. Aubie kicks their polyester butts big-time. He can ride a bike, he’s certainly not afraid to roll around in the mud during a rainy game, he can conduct the band, he walks with a swagger while swinging his tail, and he’s got fingers, unlike the majority of college football mascots. Even Big Al, who is admittedly nicer than most mascots, can’t claim fingers.

Once, Steven asked me if Aubie came up to me and proposed, right then and there, would I leave him for the furry tiger. I told him that it’s not fair to ask me such a question. I don’t want to have to choose between the love of my life and Steven, uhh, Aubie. I don’t care for those kinds of choices. Hmm, now what about Steven . . . in an Aubie costume? There’s an idea . . .

One might think I’m crazy, babbling on about college mascots, and why ours is the absolute shiznit. I’m not quite sure myself. Maybe it’s because I’m easily amused, and Aubie definitely amuses me easily by the amusement he finds in others . . . easily. I think it also comes from me being in Auburn’s band for three years, and the band loves Aubie just as much as Aubie loves the band. We’d get to hang out with him a lot on the sidelines while pulling out our stuff, pulling in our stuff, waiting to get into the stands, waiting to get out of the stands, waiting to do the pre-game banner, and so on and so forth. Somewhere there’s a picture of me and Aubie, but it wasn’t taken with my camera, and I never got the picture. How sad.

My mom and I talked to a lady once at an invitation shop in Homewood. She was telling us about how her son got to be Aubie back in the late 80′s; being Aubie was this kid’s goal, the sole reason why he went to Auburn. What a fantastic calling! This lady told us a story of some friends or relatives (I forget which) of her son’s were getting married, and Aubie showed up at the wedding! I bet Aubie looks positively smashing in a hat and tails, though I’m not sure if that’s what he wore. Too bad I don’t know anybody that is Aubie. My rooommate was going to try out in college, but she forgot to attend the meetings.

Now that you know why Aubie is so cool, why don’t you go vote for him? He is da pimp. Literally. He pimps himself out for events! Yeah, Aubie! You da tiger!

Don’t forget now . . . vote for Aubie. Daily. With every internet browser you can find.

After avoiding it for over a week (which is probably a new record for me), I went to the local Wal-Mart today. Uggg, Wal-Mart: can’t live with it, can’t live without it (because then you’d have to go to the FoodLand instead, and we know how that goes).

Our local Wal-Mart, obviously thinking more of it’s customers than they deserve, has recently installed these ‘self-checkout’ isles. Ohhh yeah. They actually did this about a month ago, but nobody wanted to use them at first, so everything was going relatively smoothly. You could zip in, grab your powdered sugar and loose razors and zip right back out. I’d used a similar system in a Winn-Dixie for a few years, so I’ve sorta got the gist of these things.

Today, however, it appears that the normal Wal-Mart clientele are beginning to brave the machines, and so far, the machines are winning. If you’ve got one person in front of you, you’re looking at a ten-minute wait. If you’ve got two people in front of you, find another line.

You can’t blame the user, though. These self-checkout machines are more onery than a bull having his balls pinched. Here’s how it goes:

Computer: (magically sensing someone is there) Welcome to Wal-Mart! Please select your language, and start scanning. . . NOW.

Me: (scans item)

Computer: “One. . . fifty-nine. Put. Your. POTATOES. In the bag.”

Me: (puts potatoes in the bag)

Computer: “The weight in the bag is not the same as the item scanned. Put. Your. Item. In the bag.”

Me: (slams potatoes in the bag and jiggles the metal bag holder thingy)

Computer: “Thank. You.”

Me: (scans item)

Computer: “Ninety-nine. Cents. To protect this item, do not put it in a bag. Please place the item in the shopping cart.”

Me: “What if I wanna put my bread in a bag?! I’ve got potato chips next, and they can be in a bag together. You know, save plastic. . .” (grumbles, and scans item)

Computer: “One. . .seventy-nine. Put. Your. POTATO CHIPS. In the bag.”

Me: (puts potato chips in the bag, thinking it would make it more sense to put it in the bag with the bread, but NO, the Computer Nazi won’t let me. Tries to scan item)

Computer: “The weight in the bag is not the same as the item scanned. Put. Your. Item. In the bag.”

Me: “They’re potato chips! They weigh less, and are more fragile than, the bread that you wouldn’t let me ‘Put. In. The bag!’ Fuh-Q!” (slams potato chips into the bag, no doubt breaking half of them).

Computer: (satisfied that it’s making my Wal-Mart shopping experience more hellish than usual) “Thank. You.”

Well, you get the jist of it. I finished up my scanning, then waited for the Wal-Mart Guy with a Key to check and see that I am actually not stealing my potato chips, ponied up my cash, and stormed outta there, with the Computer saying, “Thank. You. For shopping at. Wal-Mart. Have. A. Nice day,” behind me as I went. And I know how to use these bloody things! I think Wal-Mart’s ultimate goal with these things is to make you look stupid on purpose.

On a totally different note, Auburn won last Saturday. It was a struggle, though. 73-7. Intense game, man. Intense.

And in parting, I hoist a glass of Diet Coke to Uncle Willis. Teach him/her/it bad things, and teach them well. Like. . . “Ahh, that’s the Good Stuff.”