Dryer sheets. So what, really, is the fucking point? Purportedly they keep your clothes from wrinkling or collecting static. Mainly they serve to lend a chemical stink your clothing. Personally I think they are another brilliant marketing scheme. I mean, everyone goes out and spends money on these little sheets of paper and sticks them in the dryer and......well then you get chemically smelling soft clothes.
Needless to say, I don't use them, but I share s dryer with everyone else in the laundromat and the dryer sheets always end up in my laundry. Inevitably Annabel finds them and shreds them and I have a stinky shredded paper mess to clean up.
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
01 August 2011
22 May 2011
Tea Time in the Green
Due to the lovely weather on Saturday Priscilla and I were able to finish our tree house. It is not much of a tree house, more of a raised platform of old wood with a slanted roof and some slots and shelves. All of the sides but one are open to the air and we have procured some transparent tarp for rain days. To consecrate our new artist space i.e. secret hideout I got an old china tea set from goodwill and we had a tea party with a thermos of hot water and some shortbread cookies. I allowed Anabel who came with us some tuna. Scott insisted on pouring brandy in his tea.
On Tuesday I will make good use of the tea set again because we have a tea planned with Garrett. Garrett is a man who lives in a tent shelter not far from our hideout. He has his lean-to fairly near to the path that has been worn through the bushes. Most days he sits out front of the tent on a log reading old paperbacks so we got to know him on our treks through the brush and he became curious about the scraps of boards that we were carting by. Garrett is about 50 (maybe) and actively chose to go live in the in between space to "get away from it" as he says.
On Tuesday I will make good use of the tea set again because we have a tea planned with Garrett. Garrett is a man who lives in a tent shelter not far from our hideout. He has his lean-to fairly near to the path that has been worn through the bushes. Most days he sits out front of the tent on a log reading old paperbacks so we got to know him on our treks through the brush and he became curious about the scraps of boards that we were carting by. Garrett is about 50 (maybe) and actively chose to go live in the in between space to "get away from it" as he says.
26 April 2011
There is a demon in my television and at times I posses it
As many of you know, for the most part I am a mild mannered and one might even say genteel individual. I believe in the importance of being polite and I frown upon excessive swearing or "cussing" without due cause. However, sometimes the television.....
This didn't happen until Fiona moved out. The madness started to creep in afterwards. It is like the television could see that I was alone in the house, alone but for a white fluffy cat, and then it attempted to creep insidiously into the corners of my mind.
The other night I came home from a long office day and turned on the aforementioned television. I was sitting there watching ancient reruns of "Friends", half asleep on the couch with Anabel purring on my lap.
Then it happened. The demon I mean, I could feel it reaching its sinuous tentacles out attempting possession, attempting to brainwash me. I am not sure how long it was there staring at me before I noticed it, but notice it I did. Because in the middle of a shampoo commercial in which a sultry European voice promises strong, soft and shining hair. I found myself sitting bolt upright on the couch yelling "SHUT THE FUCK UP, SHUT UP!". The demon thus exorcised, I turned off the TV. I had visions of smashing the entire box Office Space style, but instead I coaxed Annabel out from behind a bookshelf and went up to bed with a novel.
It is true, I may be going mad. And you may pretend not to know me when you see me ripping out pages from the grocery store magazine rack or cursing the Stella Artois advertisements at the Landmark Theatres. But Reader, beware the demon that lurks within the network cables and sprawls on glossy print. She is waiting for you to let down your guard. She will coax you, amuse you, seduce you, annoy you. But if you let her in she will steal your soul and sell it for a premium.
I mean, really, just shut the fuck up.
This didn't happen until Fiona moved out. The madness started to creep in afterwards. It is like the television could see that I was alone in the house, alone but for a white fluffy cat, and then it attempted to creep insidiously into the corners of my mind.
The other night I came home from a long office day and turned on the aforementioned television. I was sitting there watching ancient reruns of "Friends", half asleep on the couch with Anabel purring on my lap.
Then it happened. The demon I mean, I could feel it reaching its sinuous tentacles out attempting possession, attempting to brainwash me. I am not sure how long it was there staring at me before I noticed it, but notice it I did. Because in the middle of a shampoo commercial in which a sultry European voice promises strong, soft and shining hair. I found myself sitting bolt upright on the couch yelling "SHUT THE FUCK UP, SHUT UP!". The demon thus exorcised, I turned off the TV. I had visions of smashing the entire box Office Space style, but instead I coaxed Annabel out from behind a bookshelf and went up to bed with a novel.
It is true, I may be going mad. And you may pretend not to know me when you see me ripping out pages from the grocery store magazine rack or cursing the Stella Artois advertisements at the Landmark Theatres. But Reader, beware the demon that lurks within the network cables and sprawls on glossy print. She is waiting for you to let down your guard. She will coax you, amuse you, seduce you, annoy you. But if you let her in she will steal your soul and sell it for a premium.
I mean, really, just shut the fuck up.
13 February 2011
tchka taka tcka tak
That is the sound of the kitty cat clock on the mantle of our (artificial) fireplace. Annabel is poised on a nearby bookshelf wishing she were close enough to take a swipe at the swinging pendulum tails. She is ignoring the chaos strewn around the room behind her. Fiona is moving out and boxes, clothing, books and the occasional dish litter the living room. I have not even dared to peek at the state of her bedroom.
After four years as my roommate she is moving out and moving in with her boyfriend, Terrance. I wish them the best, but I will miss our late night chats in the kitchen coming home from the bar and the constant companionship. I might even miss coming home to their daily after work video game sessions (maybe, but probably not).
Sarah and her dog from downstairs have come up to "help" with the move and have some of Fiona's Spanish drinking chocolate. At least she will still just be a staircase away.
The dog has weaseled his way onto the couch on top of the DVDs that Terrance is sorting and Annabel has now disappeared somewhere akin to the back of my closet.
After four years as my roommate she is moving out and moving in with her boyfriend, Terrance. I wish them the best, but I will miss our late night chats in the kitchen coming home from the bar and the constant companionship. I might even miss coming home to their daily after work video game sessions (maybe, but probably not).
Sarah and her dog from downstairs have come up to "help" with the move and have some of Fiona's Spanish drinking chocolate. At least she will still just be a staircase away.
The dog has weaseled his way onto the couch on top of the DVDs that Terrance is sorting and Annabel has now disappeared somewhere akin to the back of my closet.
26 October 2010
Raven
Speaking of birds.... I am pretty sure that a bird followed me home from the grocery store last week. I decided to walk the 10 blocks because it was a beautiful fall day and the leaves were turning all sorts of orange and yellow and brown. With the leaves that had fallen and the leaves on the trees it made a sort of golden tunnel as I walked down the sidewalk.
On the way home, bag in hand, a raven or a crow started screaming at me. They do that, and I didn't pay it much mind, just kept walking. But about a block later a really magnificent leaf caught my eye and when I turned to pick it up I noticed the bird, or at least another large back bird a few feet on the pavement behind me. It was just sitting there staring, but it flew away when I turned around.
When I got home there was another raven perched on my balcony and Annabel was having a fit trying to claw through the glass window pane to get at it. It looked exactly like the first bird and it sort of made me nervous. I shut the blinds but Annabel would not calm down until it got dark.
On the way home, bag in hand, a raven or a crow started screaming at me. They do that, and I didn't pay it much mind, just kept walking. But about a block later a really magnificent leaf caught my eye and when I turned to pick it up I noticed the bird, or at least another large back bird a few feet on the pavement behind me. It was just sitting there staring, but it flew away when I turned around.
When I got home there was another raven perched on my balcony and Annabel was having a fit trying to claw through the glass window pane to get at it. It looked exactly like the first bird and it sort of made me nervous. I shut the blinds but Annabel would not calm down until it got dark.
18 May 2010
Laundromat
In books and movies laundromats are always the setting of some romantic meeting or misadventure. The dryers hum, the washing machines spin in unison. Eyes meet over folded linen, hands brush as a stray item is returned. An excuse is made to meet again.
The only person who talks to me at the laundromat is the old woman with thinning hair. She is always there on Tuesdays. She asks me how my cat is doing. "fine" I say and scrape the cat hair out of the lint trap. "yours?". She launches into a story that I can't quite hear due to the noise from the tumble dryers. I nod and smile. We fold our laundry, say goodbye.
The only person who talks to me at the laundromat is the old woman with thinning hair. She is always there on Tuesdays. She asks me how my cat is doing. "fine" I say and scrape the cat hair out of the lint trap. "yours?". She launches into a story that I can't quite hear due to the noise from the tumble dryers. I nod and smile. We fold our laundry, say goodbye.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
