Thank you Halbert.

It seems like just yesterday when my beautiful cat, Hazel, was an innocent kitten; chewing on my toes, shredding the toilet paper, dreaming of bird snacks. But I blinked and–suddenly–she was eight months old. And you know what that means.

The damned cat is in heat.

I’m typically allergic to cats (I don’t question why that’s not the case with Hazel…I just accept and move on), so I’ve never had to witness this phenomenon before. It’s a rather disgusting spectacle. It’s like watching Spock going through Pon Farr, but with much less dignity. If I wasn’t such a strong proponent of controlling the animal population I’d just let her outside so she could get it on with our neighbor’s cat and end her longing. He’s a big, handsome, orange Tabby–all the neighborhood cats think he’s totally hot–and the resulting kittens would probably be too cute for words.

But no. Instead I called the vet. Bob Barker would be proud.

I met a man at the store tonight from South Georgia. He’s 75 years old and this is first time he’s been North of Tennessee. He decided to spend the winter up here in Maine, smack dab in the middle of the first real winter we’ve had in years. I had to ask him why.

“Because,” he said, “last fall I realized that I was about to turn seventy-five and I’d never tasted snow before.”

He is my new hero.

I’m reading Code of the Woosters again. P.G. Wodehouse was a genius. If you haven’t read any of his stuff, then get started on it. Right now.

Scientists recently grew a rat heart in a jar. It started beating and everything. There are so many one-liners bouncing around in my brain about this that I don’t know where to begin. Please feel free to leave yours in the comments section. I’d really appreciate it.

People need to stop using the term “baby mama.”

That goes double for “bling.”

“Many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view.”

This made me laugh. And so I share it with you.

A smile is a powerful weapon. You can even break ice with it. Unless you can’t. Smile, that is. Then, breaking ice–and life–is hard.

http://www.myspace.com/1darwinwasright1
http://www.myspace.com/honor_student

That’s right. I said, “Valentine’s Day.” Even though it’s only the beginning of January.

Have I ever mentioned how very much I hate that holiday? It is, to quote Joel Barish in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, “a holiday invented by greeting card companies to make people feel like crap.” The latter part doesn’t really apply to me, since I’m happily married. It’s the fact that Hallmark, FTD, and Russell Stover all want to dictate when men give the woman in their lives a little bit of attention. Even worse are those idiotic jewelry commercials that make men feel like shit if they don’t fork over a year’s salary for a gaudy, disgusting diamond covered monstrosity.

Here’s my idea of a romantic gift. A few days ago I used up the last of my Cascade dishwashing liquid. The next night my hubby came home with a brand new jug of it. Why is that romantic?

1.) I didn’t ask him for it. I didn’t even tell him we’d run out. The jug made that funky farting noise that happens when there’s more air left inside than soap. He heard it, knew what it meant, remembered it, and bought me a new one.

2.) He got the right scent. (Melon…I love the way it makes my kitchen smell.)

3.) Did I mention that I didn’t have to ask him to pick me up a jug of dishwashing liquid?

I’ll take a jug of Cascade over a card with a corny poem my husband didn’t write, a dozen roses that’ll make me sneeze, a box of chocolates that’ll go right to my ass, and a diamond that some abused little kid dug out of a mine any day. Even Valentine’s Day.