December 27, 2002 :: 1:12 a.m.
Superlemon - now with gluten-free buns
I just put a collar on Rufus, and I feel kind of bad about it. He wore one when he was younger, but then it broke and he hasn't had one since. The new one is red, with a little bell on it. Rufus needs a bell; it's a vital part of his kitty charm. Ever since his original collar/bell died, it's been disturbingly quiet around here. But now it's back, that small ringing sound that used to alert us to his every movement. And I feel bad. He kept trying to bite at the collar for the first five minutes or so, but now he has apparently resigned himself to a life of imprisonment via collar. He's sleeping in the bathroom, as per usual. Hrm. I bought collars for all of the cats, actually, except Gizmo, because she won't wear one. She's weird like that. The last time we put one on her, she went outside and refused to come back into the house until we took it off. I'm not sure how Tango and Giles will react to wearing them, especially if I leave the little bells on - I don't think I will, because three cats running around with bells hanging from their collars would probably get very annoying in a matter of minutes. I'm not sure how to get them off, though. Wire cutters? Do we even have wire cutters?
And so one of life's greatest mysteries goes unsolved.
I have to take my grandma out shopping tomorrow, which fills me with such joy and rapture that I feel I may split apart at the seams at any moment. Only not. I don't want to take my grandma shopping. I am a selfish, ungrateful excuse for a granddaughter, I know. However, knowing doesn't make me care in the least. I do not want to spend the afternoon playing chauffer for an old woman with whom I have absolutely nothing to discuss. It's awkward and boring and it makes me feel bad. I do not need another reason to feel bad; I can do that well enough on my own, thank you. But I don't have much of a choice in the matter, because I couldn't say no. She's my grandma. Just because I would rather wash my hair with boiling acid than cart her around tomorrow doesn't mean that I have the balls and/or the audacity to say so.
In more pleasant news, I hung out with Adam for a bit tonight. We went to PetSmart to buy collars for my cats and treats for his dog, and to see the kitties that they have up for adoption - they were so cute that it took every bit of willpower I have to pull myself away from the cages. While we were out he put some air in my tired, because I am an automotively incompetent female. So sad. We also stopped at Blockbuster and rented Death to Smoochy, which we saw in theaters but wanted to watch again. I think I want it on DVD now; Ed Norton rocks, especially when he's playing a highly ethical fuchsia rhino who eats soy dogs topped with spirulina. It was a nice way to spend the evening, though I wish it could have lasted longer. I haven't gotten to see Adam for more than a few hours at a time since we came home for break, due to his disgusting work schedule and seemingly never-ending stream of family commitments. He mentioned that both of his parents are going away at some point this weekend, so maybe if I'm really lucky I'll get to sleep over. Here's hoping, with a generous helping of "please, oh merciful god" on top.
I love the song "Gloomy Sunday." I've loved every cover of it that I've ever heard, but I have no idea who it is originally by. That's kind of sad, considering how much I like it. I'm too lazy to look it up right now, though, so it shall continue as such. Yay for pretty songs about death and suicide (though I suppose the topic is somewhat irrelevant to its prettiness).
Well, I should probably get to bed sometime soon. I have to get up at a reasonable hour (I'm thinking 10 or so) and prepare to suffer through the Grandma Outing. If I were any less enthused, I'd be dead.
'Night.
back & forth
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