My body!

:-) I am covered in scratches--everywhere. All courtesy of Squooshable. After another marathon meeting (we'll be having them every Tues. and Thurs.), I felt drained. It didn't help that Fluffernut McWhinymuffin actually deigned to attend and grace us with her insights.

Shut the fuck up, Fluffer!

Whew! That's been wanting to escape for hours.

Anyway, I lost the will to live midway through because (once again) the whole thing degenerated into yapping about nothing. This time it was a raging debate over whether or not market research companies conduct research. I mean any at all--not just empirically sound studies. Let's not even revisit that one. Let it suffice to say that Fluffernut remains unconvinced.

So I decided to go get a pedicure to try to relax. Or something. The place I go is run by cute little Vietnamese ladies; this place is less expensive than where I go to get my hair done, where they want like $50 for a pedicure. They're obviously supporting some outrageous crack habit, so I just go there for haircuts, 'cos SuperLinda, Goddess of the Shears is a bleeding miracle worker. She can take my cat fur thin hair and make it *do* something with just a cut.

Butsoanyway.

The Vietnamese ladies are less expensive, and they do a great job, especially for the money ($22!), and the place is very clean; I see them take apart and disinfect the manicure and pedicure stations most every time I'm there (we had a big to-do in this state over that a little bit back, and I'm sure they're just being extra careful for licensing reasons). It doesn't even matter that I can't understand a word they're saying; they're very nice, and they know you don't speak Vietnamese, so they work with you on the communicating stuff. They're good people. Well, when I had my pants rolled up, the lady doing me was all concerned over all the scratches I have. :-) She kept asking me, "Wha happen? Fall down? Wha happen?" I guess she thought I'd gotten mugged, or something. Hell...when I took a good look at my legs, *I* was wondering how Squooshable could have done all of that. :-) He climbs up me, and I don't have the heart to stop him--he's just so proud of himself when he makes it up. And yesterday, he discovered leaping, so now when I go in there, especially if I'm using the bathroom, Squoosh will get on the stepstool across from the toilet that I've covered with a towel for him to play on (it's wooden, and I didn't want him to hurt himself on the edges), and take a flying leap to get onto my lap. Well, he misses sometimes. But he catches himself by digging his claws into my leg, lowering himself down and trying again, or climbing via nails the rest of the way up. It hurts like hell, but it's kinda cute. And you should see my stomach and arms...

Well, he's learning to be a cat; this stuff doesn't happen overnight. I've begun taking Minocycline again day before yesterday, to be on the safe side.

So I tried for about ten minutes to get her to understand it was a cat. A tiny cat. When she understood, she started laughing, slapped me on the leg and shook her finger, meaning to not let him do that. :-) She says I should get a dog, because dogs don't do that.

Ah, hell...at least we had something to talk about; many times I go there and she doesn't understand me and I don't her, so we just smile a lot. :-)

After our meeting, Nastypants actually came up to me and asked how I am and stuff. I mean in a friendly way. Something's afoot; my radar's beeping, bigtime. RCG is pleasant, even though he knows I'm flying solo, so I don't know if it's that. In this stupid discussion we had, Scooter, Sophie, and I were trying to talk some sense into Fluffernut, and if Sophie wanted to make any comments at me, she more than had opportunity. So it might not be that at all.

We have a new intern-kind of person, Kidlet. Kidlet's an undergrad, and is in the being overly helpful, trying to be useful, puppydogging stage. She's not gotten the whole Group Dynamics thing down, so I think Fluffer's "I smell a dirty diaper" face and eye rolling were flustering her. Goddamn Fluffer. Kidlet tried to establish rapport with me by looking at what I was looking at on my laptop and trying (I guess) to help by giving me a synopsis of it. Normally, I find this kind of behaviour annoying, but I think Kidlet is afraid no one will like her, or something. I can empathise with that. I wanted to tell her that Scooter, Doogie, until recently RCG, and myself...we're normal(ish). It's Sophie, Fluffernut, and Nastypants that she needs to be on guard against. But I can't say something like that. Who the hell knows--her mileage may vary.

Anyway, after the pedicure, I called Meg and begged her to meet me for a late lunch. I've simply got to stop going all day without eating. Somehow.

So I drove over to Meg, and we took her car. Afterward, we were driving back, and Meg elbows me to look at a car in the neighbouring lane; it's a Toyota Corolla, probably about a '96. The paint is dulled considerably, but it has those chrome spinning hubcaps or wheels, whatever--the really expensive ones. And *huge* speakers in the back window. And there are two boys and a girl inside, all white. And the boys have their bling-bling on, and rally caps, and they're so totally mack-daddy, or whatever, I'm sure.

"Awww," says Meg, "how cute! Mom and Dad gave us the old Corolla, and we've turned it into a pimp ride! ...well...as much as a Toyota Corolla can *be* a pimp ride."
"I don't know," I said, leaning over to get a better look, "I think he's pretty fly, for a white guy."

And, serving me right, I've had the song in my head for the rest of the day.