A crash of rhinos. How perfect.

I will not be making turkey tomorrow, as that is a job traditionally tackled by my dad. I will, however, get up from my parents' house at some ungodly hour, drive over to my grandma's, and spend the morning making kugel. This will involve grating many, many pounds of potatoes and combining them with ingredients such as bacon and lard. This activity will eventually yield a cake-like dish with a density equivalent to that of most continents, and a calorie content that would make Richard Simmons roll out the harikari mat.

You gotta love old-school Lithuanian cooking.

How I Broke My Bed Frame

From my kitchen, I noticed that Marc was standing in my bedroom getting ready for work. Logically, I decided the proper course of action would be to run full-speed through the kitchen, into the bedroom, take a flying leap, and spear him onto the bed. Just for fun. Strangely, bed frames do not take kindly to 300-combined pounds of weight crashing down upon them.

Someday I'm going to lock that boy in an empty room with a bottle of white-out, a pair of dirty socks, and a box of old 8-tracks. I'm telling you now, he'll come out of there with a tank.

Case in point: A couple of days ago, I managed to break my bed frame. Last night, Marc fixed it using the following items: 6 or 7 old books, the case for my toolkit, and the cardboard box my cellphone came in. The bed's sturdier than ever.

The joys of cat ownership are boundless.

Thanks, Jen. I needed that.

And now for an educational segment ...

How to Hurt Yourself
by Kate Foster

1. While putting away recently-washed dishes, keep all cabinets in kitchen wide open, including door whose bottom hangs about 5'8" from the ground. This works best if you, like Kate, are 5'10" in height.
2. During dish-putting-away process, stand up rapidly after putting collander in lower cabinet. Make sure you do this so the top of your head lines up directly with the bottom corner of the cabinet.
3. Smash head into cabinet corner.
If you've done this correctly, you will enjoy a bleeding head and a golfball-sized swollen knot on your skull.

I'm the clumsiest idiot on the planet.

It's been quiet around here lately. Everyone out there in good shape?

Stay tuned, boys and girls. I'm working on a plan to get Zack back into posting mode.

In other news, LazarusTheCat is much better. I've been keeping him on the ultra-expensive prescription diet, and am greatly enjoying the daily task of jamming an antibiotic tablet down his throat. So far I've sustained only minor lacerations as a result, so I spose the glass is half-full.

Preface 1: I finally found a buyer for my old Firebird. Today I am supposed to meet with MrBuyer so he can give me money and so I can transfer the title to him.
Preface 2: LazarusTheCat, who suffers from a chronic urinary tract problem, spent yesterday dragging around the house at a snail’s pace, growling at all who came near him. Last night before bed, I called the vet.

8:15 a.m.: Veterinarian calls. Expresses concern; asks me to bring cat into office at 9:30 a.m.
8:45 a.m.: Extract angry 17-pound cat from under bed. Stuff growling cat into pet carrier.
8:50 a.m.: Lumber lopsidedly down stairs with weight of cat; load pet carrier into Firebird.
9:00 a.m.: Fetch Holly from her apartment for daily carpool to work.
9:10 a.m.: Drop Holly off at office. Make U-Turn; go back in direction of vet’s office.
9:35 a.m.: Arrive at vet.
9:45 a.m.: Vet examines cat, declares his bladder “blocked,” asks if have been feeding cat SuperVetBlendMassivelyExpensive cat food she recommended. Confess that no, have instead been feeding cat OrganicCaliforniaHippieAss (75% less expensive than SVBME) food from OrganicHippieAss feline specialty store down the street. Vet declares cat’s urinary flare-up due to consumption of inappropriate OrganicCaliforniaHippieAss diet.
9:50 a.m.: Vet senses guilt; tells me I’m not a bad owner, but cat will remain at vet for day or two.
10:00 a.m.: Get in Firebird; head back toward work.
10:05 a.m.: Realize that have forgotten to bring Firebird’s extra summer tires for impending sale. Decide to stop at apartment to fetch tires from garage.
10:15 a.m.: Roll tires from garage to rear of car. While rolling, realize that sections of tires are covered in filmy white membrane. Decide to find sharp stick to poke at/remove membranes from tires.
10:20 a.m.: Jab stick into largest membrane, and quickly realize that membrane is full of baby white spiders.
10:22 a.m.: Gasp, flail, and scream like child as 20 or so prenatal arachnids emerge from sac and travel down my pantleg.
10:23 a.m.: Newly spiderless, lean against car door, huffing and puffing in post-traumatic daze.
10:25 a.m.: Turn garden hose on tires to wash away remaining spiders.
10:30 a.m.: Cover back seat and back hatch of Firebird in trash bags to avoid getting tires’ water/dirt on car surfaces. Load tires into car.
10:45 a.m.: Arrive at work. Realize have left parking permit/hangtag on rearview mirror of new car. New car is in garage, back at apartment. Consequently, cannot legally park anywhere near office except lot containing parking meters.
10:50 a.m.: Put 95 cents into meter. Receive 56 minutes of parking time. Assume this will be sufficient, as CarBuyer is slated to arrive at office at 11:15. Tromp two blocks to office.
11:00 a.m.: Check office voice mail. CarBuyer has called to report will not show until noon.
11:05 a.m.: Rummage dregs of purse, paper clip cup, pen holder, and coat pockets in search of more change for meter. Find 90 cents.
11:10 a.m.: Tromp two blocks back to meter. Feed meter. Tromp two blocks back to office.
12:00: CarBuyer still no-show.
12:20: CarBuyer traipses into office, sputtering apologies. As today is Veterans Day, banks are closed. CarBuyer has no way to get money required to buy car.
12:30 p.m.: Make plans with CarBuyer to sell car/transfer title tomorrow.
12:45 p.m.: Park car illegally behind office building, as am out of coins and cannot bear thought of panhandling coworkers for spare change. Leave note for meter enforcer, begging mercy from parking ticket.
1:00 p.m.: While eating lunch, decide to forfeit 30 more minutes of work time by typing this entry.
1:45 p.m.: Post entry. Additions to entry possibly forthcoming if day continues to play tricks on me.

Didn't this win Best Picture at Cannes? According to the New York Times the movie is "awash in a kind of cinematographic expertise not seen since the heydays of Fellini."

*snort*

Even if you are a prodigal son, remember that when the prodigal son came home, everyone was happy. Then they all ate steak. Or something.

Mmmmm. Steak.

*evil grin*