Good Things About My Weekend In Cosmopolis And Fluffy's Note

I know that I have been doing a lot of complaining here lately, and I am truly sorry for that, but it's my life, one which is creating a lot of complaint-worthy material for me. Does complaining help? No, it does not, except for the bit of steam it helps to burn off. I know that I could try to take another stab at positivity here, but it would really come off as snarky. Okay, I also know that I could just decide not to write about how my family makes me nuts or about how my maternal grandmother is in the hospital and could be dead by the end of today or about how today was supposed to be the day that I started my fabulous new position. I could not write about all that. I could write about happy things instead. That is starting to sound like a decent idea, because everyone's families make them nuts, I can fill you in on the grandma thing after it's mostly worked out, and I already told you about how the new position I was accepted for was dangled in front of my face and then snatched away. So, on to the positive stuff about this weekend:
  • I saw a brief bit of the tail end of one of the worst, low-end shows on television, "Pimp My Ride". The absurdity of the fact that this show is on at any time other than the zero audience spot on Sundays at noon made me shake my head and laugh. The best part was explaining to my father the meaning and context of the verb "pimp" as it related to automobiles.
  • Sunday afternoon was lazy and long and sunny like no Sunday afternoon has been for months and months. The Fiery One and I lolled about at in his parents' back yard in Cosmopolis. He drifted around the pool in goggles fending off incredibly drown-resistant black ants while I meandered around the yard, occasionally dipping my feet in the pool and managing to be gently chewed on by not one, not two, but three cats. I am very much a cat person and a water person, and living in an apartment building has deprived me of both luxuries, so the Fiery One's parents' back yard in the summertime is like an oasis in the desert that is my apartment-dwelling life.
  • The Fiery One and I hung out with one of my cousins who just finished grade four, and the three of us spent part of Saturday afternoon drawing monsters and versions of our imagined ugly secret twins. Bizarre teeth seemed to be an important distinguishing physical characteristic when it comes to ugly secret twins. My twin's teeth were razor-sharp triangles set in a mouth that looked like it belonged to a suckerfish.
  • Despite the fact that I have seriously been contemplating becoming a vegetarian, I thoroughly enjoyed the bloody steak I ate when we went for dinner with our families on Friday evening. I even regretted not ordering an even bloodier version of my steak when there wasn't enough blood to mix into my garlic mashed potatoes. I am a bad, bad person, and I should have my hands slapped.
  • Jake, one of the in-laws' cats, was my boyfriend again. When the Fiery One and I first started dating and we would stay over at his parents' house, Jake would follow me around, watch me get ready after a shower, sleep with me, and give me love nips. He seemed to cool toward me somewhat after a while, and I always wondered if it was a problem with him or me. Well, he loves me again! I was over the moon with cat love. When he chewed on my arm while I was trying to brush my teeth, when he sat down in the middle of the newspaper I was browsing through, when he insisted on sticking his head in my cup in order to share my water with me, I felt such gratitude for the cat love I was being showered with. Oh, how I long for the days that are surely ahead when I will be able to have cats of my very own.
  • Because I was in Cosmopolis, I was able to visit, if only briefly, with a few friends that I have not seen in a while. There were more friends that I wanted to see, but because I have decided not to complain about certain things in this entry, I can't tell you why I wasn't able to. The ones I did manage to see (Frances, Starcat, and Batty) were a joy, and of course too much beer was imbibed, I stayed out until the pub closed down, I babbled at Batty for much too long, and by the time I had finally lugged myself up the stairs to bed in my in-laws' house, I'm sure that if they weren't convinced before, they must be now that I am one of the worst daughter-in-laws ever. (By the way, to the friends that I didn’t manage to see: I didn’t call anyone to get together, because I was a little preoccupied, so whoever called or happened to show up where I was on the one time I went out got to see me. The fact that I didn’t call you had nothing to do with how much I actually wanted to see you).


    I love found stuff, which is why I am so addicted to this site (click on “audio” and then on “avon minisure” to listen to a gem of an old 8-track diary from 1967). I routinely get rid of my stuff, so I don’t have much from more than five years ago, but I still keep some of my found items around: an old glass perfume bottle with a gold filigree casing, some purple foil, a few old coins, keys that have lost their locks, etc. This morning, on my way to the bus, I noticed that the dumpsters in the alley behind my building were overflowing with garbage, and some of it looked pretty interesting. Curses to having to work and not to be able to indulge my inner dumpster diver. One thing caught my eye in particular, though, which was this scattering of notes beside a dumpster. They were all in the same handwriting and from the same pad of paper, which would have meant a swath of voyeuristic reading for me to pour through, but I had not time to be scrambling about in an alley for bits of paper when my bus was coming, so I scooped up one sheet. I tucked it into my back jeans pocket and nearly forgot about it altogether until I went to pick my underwear out of my butt and noticed this piece of paper in my pocket (all punctuation, capitalization, and spelling is as per the note):

    (the main text is preceded by a sketch of a woman’s face from the nose down)
    Wilfie,
    Hi! Love you. Now that that is out of the way… Would you be a lamb and put the Lasagna in the oven for us. Thank you.
    Oh and I have your cell and will likely be at Sylvias when you come home. Bye
    - Fluffy - (she originally spelled it “Luffy” but wrote over top of it in way of correction)

    Did Wilfie and Fluffy indeed have lasagne for supper that night? Does Wilfie dislike the I-love-you stuff as may be indicated by her second underlined “that”? Or is this the first outright declaration of her feelings for him? Did Fluffy give herself that nickname, or is Wilfie a co-conspirator? Does Fluffy have a Christ complex that drives her to urge Wilfie to be like a “lamb”?


    Here are some great first lines to get you started on your best-selling novel.

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    Amnesty International says that any further detentions by U.S.-led occupation forces in Iraq would be illegal.

    This isn’t new, and the reporting is a little pro-draft-if-we-must in its leaning, but it’s important to know that you may find yourself dealing with being drafted if you are a U.S. citizen, male or female. Canada used to be somewhat of a safe haven for draft dodgers, and we could see this again, as our extradition treaty with the United States does not list resisting the draft as an extraditable offence.

    Paxil, in my estimation, is evil. I should know, because I had to go through months of what was called “easing off” on the drug, and it wasn’t pretty.

    Saturn’s strange magnetic field is a puzzle to scientists.

    "U.N. Secretary-General Kofi Annan said Tuesday his trip to Sudan this week could lead to a Security Council action against Khartoum if it does not act to ease humanitarian crisis in the western region of Darfur."