Things have been so crazy lately. I feel like I’ve had no time to do much of anything but work, sleep, and play Mafia Wars on Facebook.
My father is recovering nicely from his heart surgery. He can now drive and lift ten pounds! He’s also been cleared to return to work part time, at his leisure. This is pretty exciting because my dad is so fucking bored sitting at home watching Rockford Files and walking around the block. This past weekend Janie and I went to their cabin to do some much-needed yard work and while he wasn’t yet supposed to do any crouching or bending or pulling or anything other than wander around carrying a bottle of water and his daily sack of post-surgery pills, I caught him doing such things as weeding, more weeding and, once, lifting a bucket of water. My father is a rascal and you can’t take your eye off of him for a second or the next thing you know he’s building a retaining wall and lifting 200 pound rocks with his bare hands. It’s a full time job
loving the Lord wrangling my dad.
Our little puppy, Augustus Pullo, now weighs in at 7+ pounds. He’s learning to “potty outside” and generally has done pretty well if you choose not to believe my incredulous Facebook status updates abut how he keeps shitting on the carpet and peeing on the office floor in the span of just a few minutes. He’s growing up so, so fast, though, and it breaks my heart to see that little guy getting bigger and learning new things, like how to face rape Janie’s stuffed bear. On Mother’s Day we spent some time with my brother and his baby. Gus took that as an opportunity to try out this new thing called barking that he’d only ever done in his sleep before.
In other pet related news, we still have cats! I’d forgotten all about them, but sure enough, there they are, sitting on the living room looking all hungry and starved of attention because I forgot about them for several months. Carson, the resident bad tinkler, is now on Prozac. Every evening we pry her jaw open, chuck a pill down her throat and clamp her mouth shut until she swallows or starts to foam and run away. While I try to convince her that it would really be so much easier if she’d not try to dig it out of her food or fight and scratch while I do my best to administer it, she doesn’t see things the same way. She seems to believe that if she fights us off for five or ten minutes until we eventually win that one day we’ll give in and stop trying. What she doesn’t know is that those ten minutes are better spent trying to shove a pill down her throat than wiping up stinky puddles of urine that ruin our floors, furniture and lives.
Last week I started massage therapy because my doctor thought it would help with my headaches. I’d never had a massage before in my life, so I was nervous. I felt like I was going to do something that was illegal, with the darkened room and candles and mood music and the stripping down and the bed and the touching. It wasn’t at all like I imagined, it was way worse. The fact is, people, I don’t like to be touched by strangers. All that touching is something you do with someone you love in the dark night of Wednesday evenings. You know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about Business Time.
The sun is finally shining here in Seattle which means that it’s yard work time. This weekend we’re renting a gas-powered tiller to do some serious shit to the grass that was brutally murdered by the horrible, horrible snowfall we had this past winter. I have a lot of plans for our little yard- so many that I had to schedule them in my Palm Treo. We’re gonna rock that garden again this year, blowing our hard work of 2008 out of the water. This time, with paving stones and walkable plants! You’ll see.