...or the dogs that shoot bees out of their mouth and when they bark they shoot bees at you.

I got home yesterday to a giant box from my mom, by way of the Everything Jewish website/catalog. Yes, it's a real place. The best thing about this catalog is the truly weird shit, like the bag of plagues (or, more accurately, cheap plastic things that sort of symbolized plagues) mom sent me a couple years ago, or this adorable plush Torah they used to have. Not that one on the site now; he's weird looking.
So here's what I got:

It's a plush Judah Maccabee! He's like 18" tall. I can't wait to have him meet Tree. Tree, incidentally is MIA, by which I mean he's probably under a bunch of laundry I haven't gotten around to putting away yet.

By some miracle, the unwrapping lasted for 8 nights:

But then the cats had plenty of twisties to play with, including the one I broke and left in the box, which Legs spent 10 minutes with his head in a too-narrow box trying to rescue. Because the 300 other bits of plastic around the apartment he's commandeered to play with aren't enough.
Here's Judah off to buy some Kosher for Passover food. Or, standing in front of where I keep my perpetually in progress ill-fitting Koigu gloves.
But wait, there's more! I also got a tenpin toy bowling set where each pin represents one of the plagues suffered by the Egyptians. That's right, BOWLING with the PLAGUES. Hell's yeah.

And here they are all artsy and backlit and shit.

I kept the key. It's easier to figure out what some of them represent than others.


They're all such happy plagues!

...except for "1st Born".

Only my mother would send me a Maccabee and a plagues bowling set as an Easter/Passover present. Although I prefer to think of it as a psychic YA-circ-stats-doubled-this-month present. Yeah, that's right--teen materials went out twice as much as last month. I am a golden god.

Gold teeth and a curse for this town.

Who wants to see moving pics? Or, well, pics of cats in boxes and such.

***
So, you may have noticed I'm back. Thanks to Tiff, whose laptop I'm borrowing (and typing horribly on) until I can manage to get one of my own.

I cleaned out my toaster:At Melissa's, the boys taunted poor Miss Mabel:

This one has nothing to do with moving. I conned my mom into buying me the Playmobile advent calendar awhile ago. The first few days are a leafless tree, a black bird with its wings stretched, and an owl. So, you know, fucking creepiest Christmas ever.
My new kitchen:
Legs in my old kitchen's cabinets:
Facing a potential box shortage, I packed some things in my microwave. Not, however, including my microwave plate. In other words, I'm a moron. Legs investigates:
Moving with cats=cats in boxes. A lot.

I may not be cowardly or frigid, but at least I can emasculate something.

Thursday morning started perfectly. I had a little bit of that gross post-beer taste in my mouth, but that was the only sign of the Wednesday night birthdayathon. The temperature was perfect: it had even been a little chilly the night before, which is why I was under my comforter. My brand new comforter (look, isn't it cute?) that I had ony pulled out of the packaging Wednesday night, because even though I can think, ooo, cheap cute blankie! during a heat advisory, I can't be bothered to open said blankie, or even move it further into the apartment than the top of the stairs.
Anyway, I go into the kitchen, apologize to the boys while giving them the last of their food, totally blaming this non-dress-wearing jerk for distracting me from catfood shopping the night before. I make breakfast. I take said breakfast back into my room, and have no sooner set everything down and gotten comfy again when I spy, over the edge of my mug, a certain furry someone who evidentally doesn't agree with me about the cuteness of the new comforter. He thinks it should be yellower and stinky, if you catch my drift. His jerkass brother agrees.*
Which is why I spent all of my work breaks yesterday at the laundromat. Don't worry, the smell seems to be all gone.
Which is why my mattress was still wet from stank-be-gone and I had to sleep on my futon couch last night.
Which is why I borrowed the livetrap from Becca and Kevin (stars of such stories as That Time I Got Stuck on the On-Ramp and You Can Rent a Fern!?).
Which is why I spent my 25 minute commute this morning listening to increasingly demanding mews, escalating into straight-up pissed off yowls once we got into the vet's office.
Which is why, I like to think, I was too distracted to notice what plastic container I grabbed this morning, leading me to mistakenly bring a brick of plain tofu, extra firm, for lunch. Yum.
I tried to take a picture of the caged furriness in my backseat, but my camera's battery decided to go off right then. And I'm really really hoping they'll still be woozy on the way back.
Mrow!

*Weirdly enough, Johnny was the first one to let go; usually any jerk behavior is started by the Legster.

I am the biggest nerd, and I really need a nap.

Oh shit! Choose-You-Own-Buffy!! Is this the best thing since sliced bread, or what?
Anyone interested in buying some cat food and garbage bags and bringing them to my house tonight so I can go straight home after work?

that glazy sleepy stare

Damn kittens, keeping me up with their cuteness and their beating down on each other.
Last night they discovered the Christmas tree. I'm really hoping I come home tonight to a vertical tree.
My face-front graphic novel shelving came in today. Hooray! And there really isn't much that's hotter than a cute librarian putting together furniture and listening to JAMC, is there?
***
'Course, if that were true, I'd have much less of a history as a dateless wonder. I've decided I really want someone to make me a good ol'fashioned crush mix. The kind where you call up your best friend and giggle, holding the phone to the stereo to analyze each and every song, which of course was put on the mix for a very significant reason. The kind that doesn't have bad songs on it, or disappear into the mix-maker's brother's car never to be seen again. The kind that, unfortunately, is on cd, since I have no way of listening to tapes. The kind made by someone who lives in the same city as me.
I'm not holding my breath.
***

pretend this is another line from "Brave New Girl"

Brave New Girl being returned last Thursday must have been some kind of omen, since I wound up seeing the Pixies Saturday night. And they were amazing. I can't say the same for the Datsuns (the opening act) however, since they just about embodied every criticism I've ever slung at the Strokes, but even more so. And from New Zealand to boot, so they really should have know better. Quick! Think of a rock star from New Zealand that isn't Dean Wareham. Does Dean even count?
Speaking of Dean (in the round-about, that cat that Cindy and Tiff used to see on walks that they named Dean kind of way), I've picked out my choices from the bookmobile annex kittens. I'm naming one Legs and the little black one will be Johnny. They're very cute, and on December 3 I can take them home. So I should probably clean before then, and get in the habit of closing my closet door.
The drive to Chicago was mostly notable because I got to see this giant cross in the middle of Illinois. Huge! I like when undemonstrative Midwesterners do things like Cubans, or Brazilians. The drive back, the parts where I was awake, mostly stick in my mind because there wasn't much in the way of electric lights, so we could see lots of stars. Although, despite having sat through a planetarium show only 36 hours before, I could still only positively ID Orion and Sirius. Shane seemed less interested in the stars, but then, he was driving. Just sleepy, or less of a science nerd? Fellow science nerds: apparently we're in for some good meteor showers round about the second week of December. I wonder where I could see them from here?
Reciprocal: Melissa is super great. She and her friends made for a great Friday night, if one that didn't involve any of the errands I still need to run. Because who wants to run errands on Friday night? Learned the lesson that Jameson one weekend and Black Velvet whiskey (in the O! so classy plastic fifth bottle) the next do not "balance each other out". Why do I insist on buying alcohol for camp? I never let people I'm with by food based on camp. Well, except for candy.
There are 6 books staring at me on the desk that I have to write booktalks for. I should get on that.