I'm going to jump around a bit, but I'll start here:I think the current government administration is playing us all for saps. I think they are laughing all the way to the bank, and nothing they say can be trusted. El Presidente thinks it's okay for all of our major seaports to be controlled by Dubai? WTF? Why aren't American ports controlled by, pardon me for saying this, Americans? I am appalled at the greed and selfishness and hypocrisy of these people. Let those in the religious right who are so fond of using the Bible to achieve their own ends chew on this one for awhile:
It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God. Bible, Matthew xix. 24.
Here's the moronic ephiphany I had about an hour ago. I was talking to R about having to make appointments for both of us at the accountant, and she said she had a haircut appointment on March 16, and I said, "Oh, that's too late anyway." She gave me a blank look and said "Too late for what?" and I did one of those shoulda-hadda-V8 smacks in the head and said "Oh, right! Income tax day is April 15, not March 15!" Uh, yeah. And has been, I think, since sometime in the 1930s. Why did I think I needed to get to the accountant and get it all done by March 15? I have no freaking idea. But I'll tell you, it made my day. I've had the March date stuck in my head for weeks now.
This is Max. In his wolf suit. Say, Hello, Max!
K did, indeed, bring it home from DC for me, having gotten it a couple of weeks ago at the Library of Congress giftshop, but she forgot to take him out of her suitcase and give him to me until Monday night, which means he's been to Canada and back. He's very cute, and even has little butt-cheeks under the wolf suit. Hee. The girls also brought me this fellow, whose name, of course, can only be Rocky.
I have any number of stuffed little creatures and dolls and things, most of which are on a shelf in my bedroom. (I have a small Sebastian the crab on my desk here, and, god knows, Mickey Mice everywhere you look.) I'm thinking that once the girls are both out for good, that all the little dolls and Beanie Babies and things will be the motif in the spare bedroom. They can be on the bed, on the dresser, on shelves, everywhere. I think there are lots of the girls' things packed up in the basement, too, including the Cabbage Patch dolls that were the hot item in, oh, 1984. Someday, I shall set them free.
Ooh, ooh, maybe I'll post a voicy thing tomorrow. Right now I've got to call the Sibs before my fifteen minute calling window expires. Don't ask,
