Phil’s brother Rickey and cousin Spencer are visiting. I’ve been laughing so hard at tales of their crank-call hijinks back in Savannah. I regret that I was always too chicken to do a good crank call as a kid. Hell, what’s stopping me now? Project 365
The kitties have taken over Felix’s tube, and right now, they can sort of fit into it (it takes more effort for Jack to get in there as he’s a big ‘un). And they are mesmerized by the most hypnotic, most annoying cat toy ever (er, at least so far):
[for June 30] My oldest nephew turned twelve Saturday, so I took to the road and joined up with the family in time to go see a Diamond Jaxx game in Jackson — my first Jaxx game and my second minor-league game ever. We had a great time. I bought beer for my underage brother, the kids ran down to the field to get autographs, I flinched every time a foul ball was hit, and…
• There is a series of small scratches and puncture wounds spanning from my legs to my shoulders where I have been used as a tree trunk/scratching post while sitting at my desk and attempting to type on my keyboard while the cats scaled the desk chair repeatedly, using me as an inconvenience to be trampled upon. • All cords have had to be elevated to the extremely unattractive location known as “eye level” so…
Mark your calendars: The Harmony Brothers will make their live debut this Friday at Otherlands, alongside Cory Branan and Brad Bailey. The show starts at about 7 or 8, I think. I wish I could go to witness the first Harmony Brothers old-timey emo-indie-country-folk-gospelcore spiritual, but I’ll be slinging pages like a trained monkey just a few miles away. Maybe I can sneak out on my lunch break and catch a couple of songs or…
I’m back home after a day-plus jaunt to see the family and celebrate the oldest nephew’s birthday. I’m hungry, my flea-ridden animals need a bath, the apartment is — once again — filthy, I’ve got lots of e-mail- and blog-post reading to catch up on, I’ve got about 400 photos from the weekend to process, and I’ve got a few actual posts of my own knocking around in my head that I may actually sit…
My mom grew up in an unstable home, where she was shuttled from city to city to parent to parent to grandparent, always one parental breakdown away from being sent back to where she had come from. She grew up watching her mother have a decades-long mental breakdown, during which Nana popped pills and guzzled alcohol and checked in and out of mental wards; Mom’s parents fought and argued and divorced and flung vitriol until…
Every surface I own is covered in cat hair, ferret hair, my hair, purple fuzz (why is fuzz always purple? I don’t own anything purple that could shed), crumbs, fingernail clippings, junk mail, clothing, feathers, receipts, tissue shreds, newspaper bits, and probably fleas. It also smells like ass in here. I have 45 minutes before I have to get ready for work. Everyone hold hands and send Martha Stewart vibes my way.
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