blah blah blah mmmmmkay

     I was awake until 3 am last night painting a version of a drawing I did while I had insomnia years ago. I am really pleased how it turned out. It was  my first serious use of acrylic paint which has many advantages over oils. The largest advantage is the drying period is only an hour or so.  I didn't have to wait to add colors or worry about smearing my arm across the canvas.  Also, the canvas is now completely dry, no drying period of up to six weeks depending upon the thickness of the paint. The thing I missed the most about oils was the smell. Acrylics have no friendly smell. They, in fact, have pretty much NO smell.  But I am pleased with the result.  However, I do not want to sell or give away this painting. I want to keep it. Sigh.  I need to paint something I don't like and see if anyone else likes it so I can sell it. Silly me.
  
     I think my friend Ruth and I need to find a House Elf  to time-share.  I should clean cobwebs off the walls and ceiling fans, and sweep floors and all manner of things I have no intention of doing today.  This is where a House Elf would come in handy.  Also, for folding the heaps of laundry that live pretty much permanently on top of my dryer.  Oh well. If you can't deal with a moderately messy house then you don't need to come to my house, I suppose.  (Ruth, can you spawn a magical House Elf?)

      Pointless store meeting last night. Pointless.  The Fearless Leader says "We are going to be busy for the Holiday Season, blah blah blah, mmmmkay.."   The Poodle says "Feeds...they are tasty for animals...any questions?"  Spurr Girl says "Welders. We have them" Or that's what I got out of the stuff she said.  And Jason didn't get to teach heating because the Fearless Leader blathered on for over an hour about the Holiday Season, and how Big Brother is ever more present in our computer system, and how none of us can remember the mission statement and values. I, after working for the Nazis for 4 years couldn't give a fuck about the mission statement or values.  I have my own ethics and so far, so good. Fuck you Tennessee Nazis!  If you pay me $15 an hour I will learn the fucking mission statement verbatim. Pay me enough to live on and you might be amazed at the results.  I guarantee I'm not the only one who would care more.

There was a noise

     Then another noise.  Jon went to investigate. There was a small, fat Chihuahua in our backyard.  Pretty certain it belonged to our neighbors, Jon knocked on their door but they weren't home. So we kept it. Then, knocked on their door once they came home. It was their dog. And the neighbors were happy.

      Thinking things had worked out okay, we sat back down to watch television and eat smoothies. Which, I apparently don't much like. I think I'll just eat my strawberries whole, thank you very much. It's the texture I don't like...and the neighbor knocks on the front door.  Their other dog, the male one, is missing as well. We haven't seen him. Jon and the neighbor check the backyard, no sign of him. So now Jon and the neighbors are all out scouring the neighborhood for a slightly larger Chihuahua than the one we found. Not as old, either, which may be why the first one was easy to catch.  I hope they find him.

    I know, I know, I've bitched a lot about the annoying, yappy neighbor dogs but I really didn't want any harm to come to them, just for them to shut up. Fingers crossed everyone.

      I am tired of things being my fault. 

      I really don't believe that it is my fault for washing a wallet on the average of once or twice a month.  Really. My husband knows I have this problem, yet still he persists in leaving his wallet in a pair of cast off dirty pants/shorts which he leaves in a pile on the bedroom/living room floor for me to pick up and throw in the washing machine before we both run out of wearable garments.  It doesn't occur to me to check pockets simply because before I take off my pants, I take all the crap out of the pockets and put it on a table.  This seems like a reasonable argument to me, at least. I am NEVER going to consistently check pockets. It is not in my nature, the same as list-making is not in my nature, or anything particularly anal is in my nature.

      Of course, all I usually wash is an ID and a list he uses for job applications. List can be replenished, and the ID is wonderfully made out of plastic.  (Except for that one time I washed a cell phone.)  But I've been washing his stupid wallet for 3 years so this is definitely not going to change.  Today, for some reason, his mom calls and wants to know where her proof of insurance is to her car. Of course she would be the only person on the face of the earth who would hand her proof of insurance over to him when he borrowed her car once so he could go apply for jobs.  He has insurance. If he were to be pulled over, the cops would just find out if he had her permission to be driving her car. Simple as that.  I keep mine in my glove box.  Apparently, her usual storage medium is her wallet?  Weird. So guess what? I washed her proof of insurance.  It's fine. A little rumpled, but okay, legible and all that and had to listen to the "I'm tired of you washing my wallet" diatribe.  To which I used my argument: "I picked up the pile of laundry. It was large. How should I know there are wallets in it?" I knew his phone wasn't in the pants, it had been ringing and he was talking on it. So I figured I was safe.

     Otherwise, Vincent has no love of the vacuum cleaner.  Jon got to hold him whilst I cleaned his habitat and apparently bunny was shaking and scared. But, upon a zoomy inspection, room appeared no worse for the wear and bunny settled back down to do what bunnies do best, which is look cute, hop, and eat, and occasionally nibble on a card board box. 

     Emma and Doggles held their morning version of Wrestlemania, and are now both curled up next to me on the couch. So cute.  Later versions of Wrestlemania will follow with noisiness and thumping and growling.