There’s something wonderfully ironic in that Hurricane Katrina is rolling out the red carpet to greet Abby, her dad and The Putz as they pull up in the limp-a-long U-Haul. This bodes well, I think. Snort, snort. She just called, laughing and giggling and said, "I’m SO excited!" That’s my girl- headed straight for BIG weather.
When Abby was a toddler her favorite book was called Noisy Nora by Rosemary Wells. Nora is a little rodent who is tired of waiting for attention so she crashes and bangs and makes all kinds of commotion but she only really gets attention when she leaves and the silence is deafening. A wonderful book- brings back great memories.
I believe I have a little blogroll cleaning to do. There are some people I would like to add because I have found them or they have found me and I need to make them a permanent fixture around here. And there are a few who just have to go because I have my limits. It’s not pretty being easy and I’m already one of the easiest girls in the neighborhood so I’m raising the bar. There are a few listed over there who wouldn’t know me if I fell on them and even if I might want to read them occasionally- like Dooce, for example- well,I know how to find her and I certainly don’t need to be leading you away from here to her door, where the writing is better and saucier to boot. And there’s Princess over at Diary of a Lesbian Guinea Pig. She’s history. I mean, even she got bored writing about pellets, coprohagia and incest in an 18 by 14 inch cage. This was Millie’s one blog and now she’s going to be disappointed but, hey, I gotta make room. This is a picture of our Millie, who is older than any guinea pig (aka, whistle pig) on record. She’s real old. She’s deaf and has cataracts and she’s dumb as a post but the good Lord has not created a more endearing joke. Scary Depths Meeta is being wiped out by her own volition as she’s too busy to blog and back in graduate school. It’s just as well because I might have erased her for treason, switching from The University to the veterinary college down the road. Either I have NEVER been Michele Agnew’s Site of the Day, which I could understand since I sometimes poke at her three docs, or I was but NOBODY came and everyone goes to Michele’s anyway so I might sulk and pull her off. Quick- somebody go ask her to make me Site of the Day.
PsychoKitty is in my blog Hall of Fame so he’s on my list for ever and for good. Even though Max has yet to comment or reciprocate with an autographed picture of himself for Sophie. That’s just typical cat stuff, to be expected and he’s always a hoot. Plus I like reading his woman, too. My tribe, those of you "in the hood" so to speak- ya, you all stay.
But I need to make room for about 10 new blogs. 3 or 4 I already know I’m adding; there’s no excuse because I read them daily. That leaves about a half dozen spaces. Or 20. Or more. Is there a blog you think I might like, knowing I enjoy big weather, fine writing, a large raft of otters, gardening, good hearts, witty repartee? (Remember, I caught Rich on Match.com before they went all sleazy.) One you read and think, hmm, Vicki should check this out? Let me tell her about it! Please do- just tack it in the comments and I PROMISE I will go by there tomorrow, comment and see what I think. Even if it’s you and you just want proof that I’m still reading. Or if you think I SHOULD be reading you. Tomorrow I answer ALL comments.
Now I figure, between using the word copraphagia and stirring the blogroll tempest I should get some hits. Right? We’ll see.
Speaking of Match.com, I don’t recommend it. It’s just another addiction, little long-term payoff with only very few exceptions. Rich was actually Heaven sent so I don’t consider him a match.com success story- in fact, I was signing on to quit so biker dudes would stop hounding me when Rich came flitting momentarily across my screen "looking just for me." Really. I thought it was a pick up line, too, but it wasn’t. I have friends who have been on match.com forever and they just keep running into the same 43 yr. old engineers with 4 sullen teenage boys and a shrew of an ex they have yet to be rid of. One of my friends calls them "dates with her match boys." Another friend joined, to the tune of 5,000.00, "Just Lunch" – a matchmaking business that supposedly custom matches you with guaranteed success. She calls it, "Just Hurl."
Speaking of match.com and passion and sex and true love, THIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT AND I NEED HELP. Or at least reassurance until I can find help. When Comcast and I came to blows last week my Eudora pop mail server program blew up. I downloaded the next version but it can’t find my old settings which include my address book (wondering why you haven’t gotten any mail? Write and I’ll write back), sent mail and most importantly a mailbox labeled "RicHearted" that contains all of-yup, you guessed it. Tell me it’s in this computer somewhere. And that some genius will come along and help me find it. I think I’ve already searched and pursued all the obvious folders and locations…
I need these love letters. They help when he’s on the road or we’re having a little spat.
Tomorrow I’ll be busy answering comments and visiting new blogs so there will only be a brief post here discussing egg teeth and explaining a raft of otters. Unless something big comes up. Like they find Olivia Newton John’s boyfriend. Which I doubt.