oh, look at that.....villainous baby
This morning there was a brownish, tiger stripey cat in our yard, and he was walking toward the front of the house, so I hurried to the living room window to see him from there. As he was passing by, I tapped gently on the glass and he turned to look at me with big, gold eyes. Turning on my considerable charm, I gave him the come-hither squinty eyes, which in cat speak means something like, 'I mean you no harm and I like you'. He stared at me, he goggled even. After a few seconds of the squinty eyes and him staring, he turned toward me and took two steps forward [as if to say, "do I know you?"], which only encouraged me to blinky blink at him even more. A few more seconds of squinty eyes elapsed before he turned and left, pausing once to look back at me almost huntedly. Why am I telling you all this? I don't know; I guess I just enjoy interacting with strange cats, and also, he surprised me when he stopped to look at me, I thought he would run for it.
I've been thinking today about how I wish I had access to a baby that I could take out in public (anyone need a sitter?), because I think it would be hiLARious to draw a little curly villain moustache on his/her face, plus a scar, and a teardrop, a la the gang tattoos. A lot of people want to look at babies when they're out in public, and the baby-gazers probably wouldn't be expecting to see face graffiti, right? I was thinking it would be okay to use eye liner for this purpose, since it's washable and meant to be used on skin, but probably I'll get some hate mail about how delicate baby skin is and what a terrible person I am to even think of such a thing.
I really don't feel like writing today, and I don't have much to tell. I felt like crap for most of the weekend--tired, a little nauseous, a bit feverish sometimes--so I didn't do a lot. We went for a short walk on Saturday and yesterday I took some big stuff (3 comforters) to the laundromat to wash them. I was a bit nervous about washing two of them--the down ones--but they came out just fine. I followed instructions I read off the web for drying them, which included sticking some tennis balls in with them, to pummel and fluff the down, but I'm now firmly convinced that was someone's funny joke, since all the balls seemed to do was fly out of the driers when I opened the doors, and go bouncing across the floor, exposing me to ridicule. My fellow launderers probably thought I was nuts, including my new Mexican boyfriend, Roberto (I don't know if that's his name but that's what I'm going to call him). Roberto was young and pretty and he showed me where the non-obviously placed big washers were, through gesturing and the holding up of fingers, and I'm grateful because otherwise I would've just sat by the ones at the front, waiting for them to be empty. See also: Dufus.
No songs today, but I'll make it up to you tomorrow.
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