Actually, i am not listening to the Clientele. I would be, but my amp for my turntable is on the outs. The Germans call it "kaput". The Germans also call 'sick', "Krank". I imagine at some point my amp gasped, "Ich bin furchtbar krank". It meant it.
Anyway, I write this blog under the hospices of two working xanax and a glass of white wine- white wine that was found in the back of the fridge. It tastes like ginger ale. it tastes better than the old black beans smell, as I discovered them even further back in the "icebox". Beans uneaten just turn into farts anyway. Human digestion has little to do with it.
Also of note is that I just binged on a package of plain rice cakes that I found on a pantry shelf. If the tag reads correctly, they were 'Best if used by ___ 2001.' Really, though, who am I to turn up my perfect little nose to available food.
In other news, my cat's in heat. She's fixed and in heat. A paradox. Some pet doctor in a rush left some tissue in the lovely miss Dora that triggers hormone changes and sends her in a week long frenzy of howling and what I call the "Boot Scoot". I'm not a cat pervert, but my way of testing for her estrus is to stick my foot under her backside and if she backs up on it i know I'm up for a few days of screeching and writhing. My cat turns Lohan.
This was all just a little something something to keep me in the blogosphere.
Good evening.
