2005-08-09
Tuesday Blathering
Personal Hygiene (or the lack thereof)
I have a confession to make.
I ran out of deoderant about a week ago. I've been using "Shower to Shower Garden Fresh Scent" on my pits since then. So far so good -- I am still gardeny-fresh. But I know those nasty microbes will soon start their noxious output and I will begin to Smell of Goat any day now.
Furthermore, I ran out of Lady Products yesterday, and last night as I tried to fashion a tampon out of toilet paper and a cigar holder (don't ask) I was reflecting on what it must have been like to be a woman in the 15th century. Back when hot water was at a premium and baths were taken on a quarterly basis. And women had one (1) washcloth for "that time". One. Uno. Une. *shudder*
I suppose if everyone smells of fat cheese, BO, and rotten crotch that it just doesn't matter.
[gag]
Enough of that. But this before I go: homemade tampons do NOT work.
***************************************************
Tears and Sadness on TV
Man. It's been very dark and gloomy at the Fisher Funeral Home this season, but Sunday night was UberFuckingDepressing (I'm talking about Six Feet Under for those of you out-of-the-know). We caught it on DVR last night and I bawled -- I mean sup-sup, boo hoo, sniff snort HONK, all the way THROUGH it. Jesus.
I suppose watching the farewell to Peter Jennings first did not help.
*************************************************
Poopy Puppy -- Past and Future
On a happier note, HB said that he was still thinking about getting a puppy this fall. YAY! A poopy puppy. I will name her Hortense and make her wear blue bows and will make her lick my hands and face No, I'm kidding.
PINK bows.
Babe, our cat, truly misses Taylor. She used to walk with us and I think she misses that, too. I've actually taken her for a couple of walks but we both know it's not the same. Since HB and I are up at Higgins a lot we have to get someone to come in and feed her, let her out, etc., and she is terribly needy when we get home. When T was alive we'd have someone stay at the house, so Babe is really on her own now. It makes me very sad for my fuzzy little mole killer.
I'm finally ready for a new puppy, I think. Taylor will never be far away in my heart, and her presence is still very real in my mind's eye:
I see her lying in her favorite part of the garden as I have a smoke on the front porch -- she is perched and ready to take on the evil UPS truck or the vagrant motor cyclist.
Every now and then when I'm laying on the couch watching TV I'll put my arm out and I can still feel her nobby little head as she solicited free pets.
If I left the door open when I was in the bathroom she knew she had a captive audience and would come sit on my feet. Her reward was a toilet paper bow, because that's what good dogs get for keeping their owners company at ALL times.
I still wait for her to come around the corner as I'm sitting there....
She was not ALWAYS good. Here is a picture of a Bad Dog!. We blew this up and pasted it above her food and water bowls so that she would have a constant reminder what a Bad Dog!looked like.
It didn't work.
She still got into the garbage if we forgot to put it up, and would then leave copious piles of diarrhea in the basement, as if to say, "Look, suckas. THIS is what a bad dog looks like..."
You win, T. You win. You are still the Dog Love of my Life.
xquzme at sometime today