we listened to primus, and we still suck

05-06-00

Went to Becky and Anna's last night, and again today. Twice. Their apartment is clean and quiet, and they seem to be sort of bored in it. Last night we sat on the balcony and played Scrabble, and tortured Rob a little bit on the phone. First Becky called him on her phone, then Anna beeped in on her phone, and back to Becky, then Anna, then I beeped in, then Anna again, etc. It was actually quite funny at the time.

I went home after that and thought, gee, I'm supposed to meet John in Atlanta tomorrow but I don't know where. I called fifty information numbers and finally managed to track him down at the hotel where he was staying in Marietta, only to find out from his roommate that he'd left for home. John showed up here around 1 am, thinking it would be a nice surprise. It's a damn good thing I'd called the hotel; otherwise I'd have dialed 911 on the bedroom phone the minute John snuck in the front door.

Tonight we went to Becky and Anna's for dinner and general hanging-out-ness. Rob was over there, too, and we meant to do something crazy and fun, like, you know, watch a movie or something. All of us seemed to want to sit on the couch and fall asleep watching TV, but we sincerely made an effort to party. We listened to Primus. Becky and I went out to buy beer. Our intention was to get drunk and either play twister or go swimming. As it turned out, John, Anna and I had one beer each, then John and Rob went out on the balcony to smoke cigars and the rest of us fell asleep on the couches watching Mystery Men.

John and I left and felt like talking, so we stopped by Waffle House. Going to Waffle House once every two months reminds me of why I don't go there more often.

Waffle House Server Guy: Can I take your order?

Betsy: Can I get a pecan waffle and two eggs, over hard?

Waffle House Server Guy: How would you like your eggs?

Betsy: Hard.

Waffle House Server Guy: Does that mean, like, over medium?

Betsy: Uh, yeah. Yes.

I mentioned the other day that Julia had a gigantic hairball. We can only assume it was gigantic, because of course we haven't seen it; and really we're only assuming it's a hairball. Whatever it is, it's causing me no small amount of grief. My cat spent three days gagging and wheezing. She refuses to eat her laxative goo, so I have to force her mouth open and smear it on her tongue. Yesterday she started sneezing like crazy and hasn't stopped. I asked Dr. Figaro about it and he said trying to vomit has probably caused acid from her stomach to irritate her sinuses, and he put her on an antibiotic.

I have a large tube of CatLax. It's meat-flavored, and ordinarily Julia gobbles it up like crazy. This week I've been leaving it on the dining room table for quick access. So this afternoon I saw Fleck pushing the tube around with his nose, and I figured it smelled good to him, but that he'd never be able to unscrew the cap. Later I found the tube with a couple dozen puncture wounds around the top, and foul-smelling feline laxative oozing out onto my dining room floor.

We haven't noticed Fleck having any negative effects from excessive laxative consumption. It was a big party joke, though, when John and Rob insisted on making pitiful meowing noises followed by horrific farting noises. I guess we've graduated from watching guinea pigs hump to poking fun at the cats' litterbox escapades. That's right, folks—we're the new generation. Fear for the future.