Important safety tip!

If you are using glue pads to monitor the flea issue, please do not leave them where kitties often congregate.

Explanation: We had a flea problem a couple of months ago. Actually, we had a flea invasion. (Our apartment backs onto a very nice little greenbelt. About 10 feet away, the trees start. Our kitties are indoor/outdoor. The weather turned warm and the fleas moved in and shouted “Smorgasborg!!!”)
At any rate, we sprayed and bombed and dipped the kitties and eventually got the problem under control. The apartment complex wanted to monitor to make sure we didn’t need the pest control guys to come back. So we were given glue pads. Glue pads are little trays full of nasty, sticky glue (about 1/4 inch deep). The thought was that the fleas would get stuck as they hopped about and we could get an accurate reading of whether or not our problem was licked.
Until today, I hadn’t really thought about them at all.
Until Grumpy laid down on one.
Ohmigod! Luckily I got to him fast enough that I was able to get it off him without TOO much fur lost. But he was very, very upset. He actually *yowled* – and Grumpy is my strong, silent type. Poor guy.

*snicker*

It’s 2 am. The house is quiet, even the cats are sleeping peacefully. I, of course, am wide flipping awake.
Maybe I should be doing something constructive..you know; make your insomnia work for you!
Nah.
=======================
My next intern night is this coming Friday. I’ve got to say that so far I am enjoying the experience. I still feel like we should be able to accept tips (or SOMETHING!) for our efforts. I don’t grok TX’s rules about this. Its not like it wouldn’t make us work harder or push ourselves to learn more. *shrug* Me no say.
I /am/ being productive, now I think about it. I’m going through my collection of laid back type music as a review for possible use in the massage office. Some of the crap they play at the intern clinic sucks gangrenous donkey dick. Some of it sounds like music rejected by the elevator companies. Bad, bad BAD instrumentals over ho-hum nature sounds. Why did ANYONE think that random and poorly recorded wolf howls and inexpertly played light jazz was a good idea? And who on earth thougth it would be relaxing? I will never, ever figure out people’s ideas about what is relaxing and what isn’t.

Hey! Random chat in the AM…whatchoo want?
Oh…I see. Alright. Here’s a warning: if you see me online, and check out my profile (which sez “massage therapist”) *don’t* ask me about erotic massage. If I was a sex worker, it would say so. It does not. I am a therapist. I am not here to yanky your wanky. Got it pally? Good. Now fuck off.

…for using the word “fuckmuppet”. It has now become one of my favorite word of all time; indeed, replacing “fuckpuddle” as a favored swear-word. (esp. as used in the following phrase Chicken-fried fuckmuppet with a side of potatoes and gravy!
Thankyouthankyou.

As we can see, I am back online again. I’ll pause here for the rampant cheering and thrown flowers.

(pause)

And now, the larch.

I’m sitting here working on MY goddamn computer. Its a strange and wonderful thing. I haven’t had my very own computer for over a year. I am waist-deep in happiness, I am.

The Update du jour….
Of course, we are still Seriously in debt. I had a telemarketer call – she made mention of our credit being “bruised”. Evidently her firm sells good credit, for a small fee, of course, or some happy horse-plop like that. I informed her (in no uncertain terms) that a.) our credit wasn’t bruised, its in the fucking ICU and b.) did we sound stupid? Then I hung up.
Things should be getting better. I hope. I pray. Because I’ve only one last school payment to make. Huzzah and can we hear from the choir please?
Hallelujah!
And, I am now in my official Internship-mode. This means that I get to work like a dog a few days a week and not get paid for it. Certainly, its not humping crates or ironing in a sweat shop for free. But it ain’t easy either. I believe I’ve mentioned before, massage is *hard*, sweaty work. As I do two massages a night, its like doing aerobics for two hours at a swatch. Don’t get me wrong. I love massage. I would just love to get paid for what I do. Ah, well – Gots to pay them dues.
The ‘kins is going to be starting school (Real, big-time, big-kid school) in August. That’s in 2 months. She will be FIVE at the end of July. And she has informed me that what she wants MOSTEST of all is a Barbie birthday party – complete with ice cream cake and a good deal of Pepto colored streamers. And Mommy and Daddy’s present needs to be: a new bedroom decor featuring..you guessed it. Barbie.
*Faint, thud*
Ok. I can deal with the whole school thing. I can deal with my precious lil baby being five and having opinions that differ from my own. Its expected. Its looked forward to in some ways. But BARBIE????
I blame her Grammy and her Nonni. (No, I didn’t come up with those names for the grandmothers. Them were there THEIR idears, not mine.) They’ve been foisting pink and flutters on her since she was born. And gods help me – I think its catching. I actually like…pink.
*faint, thud*
But, not Barbie? Ok? Ok Baby-grrl? Please oh please, not the Flaxen Haired Wench of Doom? Please?
No? Barbie? It has to be Barbie. *sigh* Ok sweetheart. Barbie it is.

….*mutters* Fuckmuppets.