The cat has lost roughly one pound on his diet. That's 4% of his body weight. I'd take progress picture, but it's hard to tell how big he is without a person to help and Steady is asleep. And if you think I am wrangling my still-more-than-23-pound cat and a camera and attempting to get a picture not entirely comprised of flash in the bathroom mirror, you have clearly not been paying attention to how often it is that I fall down and how seriously the cat takes his attempts to kill me.
Okay, here's an a current picture. Because I've got nothin' tonight. I like the way he's eyeing my toes.
And then I went back and reread this entry, and y'all had better appreciate that I risked my own flesh to take this picture in which I am wearing pajamas and pigtails, looking into the display of the camera after one too many pictures of the counter detrius. Also, the bathroom mirror is dirty. The cat fucking loved being seated upright on the counter, by the way.
Well, at great long last, as of Sunday, my car has Arizona plates. It has been quite a to-do. Many letters and phone calls, one trip across the country, and an entire day spent attempting to get my paperwork together, but it's done. I am now street legal after 12 months of trying.
My car is a little bit sad. I mean, he's proud of himself for passing the e-check on the very first try, but he's a little bit sad not to openly be a Kentuckian anymore. Fortunately, Kentucky's tourism bureau sent me a bumper sticker and my mom sent me a KDP (Kentucky Democratic Party) sticker, so soon enough Jimmy (my car) will be obviously proud of where he came from. And deep down inside, he's thrilled to get rid of the creepy sun plates.
This was a major event in my life.
My boyfriend has become a bit obsessed with Filiberto's breakfast burritos. The potato, egg and cheese one, to be precise. I am using this to my advantage. I've agreed that any morning he successfully persuades me to leave the bed before seven thirty am, I will run and get him one before work. It's totally worth $3.51 (with tax)/day to up my alarm clock's enthusiasm.
This deal was struck over dinner, so we'll see how it pans out.
So, I turned twenty-six last week. I don't want to talk about it. Really, I'm fine.
Monday, for the first time in three years, I talked to the major ex-boyfriend. Well, I guess I called him and said "I'm moving to Arizona!" and he said "Great" and hung up on me two years ago. But this time we had a real conversation and it was entirely drama free. It's good to occasionally touch base with people you knew when you were twelve.
Not a great story, but noteworthy none-the-less. This is my journal, you know.
The Fine Print:
2005: No entry. Mom was here visiting.
2004: No entry. Was in Italy.
2003: "The whole way out, everytime we'd pass another horse farm with perfect fences and green rolling hills, I'd start going "Oh, it's so pretty! I love Kentucky! It's all just like a picture! It's so pretty it makes me want to cry!". It really is just all so pretty that I can't hardly handle it sometimes."
2002: "Yeah, so, um, I kissed Scary Floridian Stalker Guy."
