I’m not a cat person.

I don’t like them. I had one good cat, and he was so beyond cat that we couldn’t even name him - so he stayed KC (Kitty Cat) for about a decade before he died. I don’t currently have a picture of him, but one day I’ll post it. I never had a kitten because KC came to use an adult who drank bottled water and didn’t have any claws, and the one kitten I did have gave me ringworm, so we gave her back.

I digress.

This weekend, I planned to get some more futile practice on the back of Buddy, my chestnut Western nemesis, who would rather crush my legs into a metal pole than pretend to remember that I’m on his back. I didn’t get that far, though. I was stalled by something I didn’t think I’d care that much about.

What makes it more unbearable is that, not only do I not like cats - I loathe black and white cats. I just do. Cats can come in better colors.

Meet Alice, who has no sense of personal space, who hopped in my lap not two seconds after I entered the room, and who shot straight up my fishnet stockings on Sunday morning. I love her, she is the death of me.

And then there’s Jasper, and if his eager little purr doesn’t melt your heart, you’re a cold shrew.

Presumably, if they ever make it out of the house, they’ll be bloodthirsty barn cats, all too happy to rid the farm of ratty vermin.

If I don’t steal them from my mother.

On a less selfish note, I did do good things this weekend.

I finished the Sacred Selections quilt, and due to a country postal system, I sent it on with Larry. I hope it’ll make it to the fundraiser.

Speaking of which: go to it. It’ll be October 18th in Crosby, TX. There will be games, food, an auction, and a softball game thing. I wish I could go, but I’ll be in Edom (quickly becoming a favorite name).

The thing about quilts…

…is that I pretty much hate them, until they’re finished. Same with paintings. I’m too critical. But, I remind myself that I’m less critical than my mother, who took apart one of my skirts because a seam in the inside wasn’t lying flat. I’ve learned to let go of it because if I don’t, I’ll never finish. So, I set forth with a goal, meet the necessary requirements, and then when the quilt is lying on the floor and I’m seeing it from the viewpoint of, “I’m done, it’s over,” I love it and I don’t want to let it go.

So, go to the fundraiser and bid on my quilt. It’ll put a baby in a good home.

I thought I was getting sick this weekend, but it turns out that sore throat may just have been due to screeching this song for two hours as I drove to the franch on Friday. Then I screeched some more as I drove around the town on Saturday looking for a place from which to ship the SS quilt. I decided to lay off on the way home, and now I’m doing alright.

I listen to an exorbitant amount of classical music.
I wear a lot of blue jeans.
And I live in a big house that only grows more enormous at the passing of each day.
My weekends at the franch only make it harder to come back to the wretched big city.

ps. David Gray sounds like a sheep.

Onto the third.

That may be a record for me.  Maybe rivaled by a Harry Potter on an overseas flight.

Ben Folds says, “Won’t you let me walk away sometimes?”

I don’t live in a constant state of reality, so when I have a moment of clarity, I often think, “This is my life? How did I get here?”

I went to the franch (see: farm) the (long for me) weekend of my Uncle Keith’s meeting at church. A “neighbor” had been wanting to get her horses exercised, so I decided to ride. Now… I haven’t ridden in four years or more. And, Buddy hadn’t been ridden in eight months or more. And, I’m not exactly a Western rider. But hey, anything to get on a horse.

In fact, Cowboy Cory said, “I could tell you rode English from the second you got on. You were sittin pretty straight.”

See, the first saddle is what I was using. The second is what I’m used to. Granted, while you’re riding English, your stirrups aren’t up that high (that’s for storage), but I just don’t know what to do with my dangling useless feet in those big, clunky western stirrups! And all I’ll say about reigning is: horses seem to respond much better to English reins than Western.

I’m not saying one way is better than the other, I’m just saying I’m better at one way and both Buddy and I were very confused. After about an hour, he leaned against the round pin and I opted to get off and take him in, rather than have him crush my leg.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to this weekend, when I can do it again.

Speaking of Uncle Keith, his meeting was wonderful. Words cannot express. Well, here’s some: Even though I had to get up every morning at 4:30 and I did not get a nap, I was still there every night. I even went to another meeting this weekend and was mostly disgruntled, and I think it’s Keith’s fault. That’s probably not appropriate to say. No, I know it’s not his fault. The rest is probably not appropriate either.

I know, only I can decide how I feel.

Dad has determined that I need to keep gas in my car and keep a gas can full with me. I’ve determined I need my own girl-friendly gas can because the ones in the garage have too many rules, and they’re gross. Can you buy a gas can at Lowe’s?

I roasted some pumpkin seeds, and burned them, so I won’t show pictures. I remember these being delicious, though. My hermit crabs seemed to enjoy them.

Speaking of Uncle Keith, Grandma got her neighbor to host an impromptu photo shoot over the weekend. Here’s some lovely highlights: (link to Family 2008 set)

I chose these not because they’re “portrait”, but because they’re real and interesting. I’d be okay if I never saw another portrait as long as I lived. Thanks, Alex Garza for being awesome (no, he was not the photographer here).

Started reading Twilight on Friday. I’m half way done. I’ve decided that Stephanie Meyer is not a great writer. In fact, she’s a fairly mundane writer. However, that never stopped J.K. Rowling, either. Meyer’s story, though, is pretty enthralling and I’m able to forgo the writing style and enjoy it. Sadly, these books give me the same depression that seeing an excellent movie gives me.

Alas.

I will admit, the more I waste time reading from stepheniemeyer.com, the more I like her. (Better than JK, who I was never fond of.) I like even more that she offers a playlist for each book (anybody who uses that much Muse must be okay). That’s something I would do. If I were to ever finish anything. My mom was right.

Last but not least, this week is not my last week at my stupid “wear a hat” store, as originally intended. I’m pretty annoyed about that. I’m also pretty annoyed that the creepy guy I interviewed with called me today and said, “Um, I’ve been getting calls from other stores telling me you’re working there,” as if I told him I was going to work at his store… Which I did not, for the very reason that he is creepy. “Thanks for telling me! Ugh!” I did. I did!

Oh well. In the whole thing, obviously the Lord’s will is being done in that I’m not leaving my store yet. Ugh is right, Creepy Guy. What do I have to do to get Evan graduated so I can be he paralegal, huh?

Oh yeah, and this is currently my song that makes all other songs obsolete - aka why have other songs?

I’m still working on Juliet’s quilt, as well as my mom’s. But, I’ve added a new one. And here’s my fabric selection:

Also, if you’re a Starbucks connoisseur, you’ll know all about the Berry Stella. It’s delicious. It’s the best thing to hit Starbucks since Verona. For those of you who don’t know, it’s a heavy tartlet with blueberries and raspeberries. It’s got Omega 3s. I don’t know what they are, but the Stella is a generally healthy alternative to… um, donuts and cheese danishes.

Anyway, it’s not gluten-free. So I’m on a quest to recreate it.

My first attempt, while delicious, is too light and sticky. (Oh yeah, and I loathe blueberries, so I used fresh raspberries and frozen blackberries.)

Nevertheless… tasty. Mmm.

Okay, so I’m Monica some more.

This is one of the 2 (3, er 4) quilting projects I’m working on. It’s for a little girl named Juliet. I haven’t seen her since she was days old, but I imagine she has red hair.

Here’s my mother’s Pearlie. We’ve got lots of geckos in the house. And outside. Recently, I’ve seen 5 or so on the outside of my living room windows. They eat bugs, so I like them. I also like to pick up the stray babies who don’t know they should be hiding during the day.

And, to put icing on the cake (sort of), I baked these today.

It’s my third batch in a week.

Don’t tell my waist.

As my first-born crab - not really, as he’s smaller than Clem - er, uh, first-acquired, last-born - he’s special to me. And not only because I called him Clementine the first whole day. He’s outgoing, and moves around a lot (in his sweet little pink shell), and is too little to pinch! Not that he would want to. Naming him took a while because I wanted it to be something big and meaningful. I was clinging to Castro for a while. There’s something funny about a tiny pink crab named Castro. Anyway, there was a vote for Otto, because it sounds like a crazy old man’s name (and he’s a hobbly crab?). But, as I love Harry Potter, Aberforth won out. (You know, Dumbledore’s even crazier brother.) All three names are a little nutty, to be honest. And in honor of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, I’ve decided to combine and dub my crab Otto Aberforth Filius Castro. Yeah, I threw Filius in there just for fun.

And it wasn’t long before Aberforth was living up to his legacy-of-crazies name.

You must know, the first thing he does when I put him down anywhere is run.

And he’s fast.

More fast than I imagined a tiny little crab could be. Especially considering I could put Clementine down on the floor for an hour and she wouldn’t move. In fact, any time she senses I’m even looking in her direction, she pops back in her shell. Anyway - so considering he’s a quarter size crab, I thought I’d be safe to leave him in my room in order to take Clementine into the bathroom to lure her out of her hidey hole. But, when I came back, Aberforth was not where I left him. In fact, he was not even in the direction of where I left him. I called my brother in, and we searched… As a last resort, I looked in my closet.

At least he has good taste.

But that’s not all! Not 30 minutes later, I thought I could leave him on the floor of my bathroom while I went to get some filtered water. I even closed the door! Apparently he can fit under the crack, as he was nowhere to be found when I returned. I searched everywhere. I even put my boots in the middle of the bathroom floor just in case. Then, just as I resigned myself to having to tell my mother I’d lost a crab in her house and we’d probably find it dead in two weeks… my brother, who lives alllll the way down the hall, came up to me, dumped the crab in my hand and said, “Keep this thing in its cage.”

Oops.

How did he get all the way over there!!

It’s been five years since my last venture into pet ownership came to a sudden halt. You know, that time when I went on a vacation with extended family, and they all thought I’d taken my dog to be boarded, but really I took her to be put down; and then I let y’all talk bad about her the whole first part of that trip before I said anything? Yeah, that pet.

After that, I’ve been biding my time. Of course, after hearing about the untimely demise of my own dog, Mom immediately went out and found this thing:

What was she thinking with this hideous mop?? All she does allll daaaay long is sit around and look cute, and whine about how cute she is and how hard her life of table-food and filtered water is. Oh, and she’s spoiled. Have I mentioned that? Anyway, I’m still waiting for her to have some pops so I can have my own mini mop-head.

In the meantime, I have these: Land Hermit Crabs aka Clementine and Aberforth.

What possessed you? people ask me. And then they determine That’s so unlike you, and like you at the same time. You see, there’s always this place in an Earthbound store where they have a giant open-air habitat full of hermit crabs. For years I’ve wanted one. Last year, I even came really close! I did a lot of research and decided they were too much trouble for what I was prepared to do (you know, put out some wee pads, cuddle with a cute furball, and give it a stupid name like Lula Pearl).

But, apparently on August 2, 2008, I forgot why I didn’t get hermit crabs last year. Because I was in Earthbound with my friend Cici when this little girl handed me a crab in a little pink shell, and I took it home with me. After getting home and figuring out that this little guy wasn’t going to be the best candidate for the name Clementine, I went back and got another one.

That’s also how I got the band-aid. Girl crabs are crabby. And that’s not even a joke.