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Snow is beautiful. The landscape is peaceful and serene as I gaze out from my cozy home. There is a severe downside though. The roads become dangerous. People don’t leave home or if they do it’s only to run to the store to gather the bare necessities. It also means that garbage pickup is either delayed or cancelled. We are going on two weeks with no garbage pickup. We ran out of room in our trash bin last weekend and all of our cans are full. Since we’ve had the heat up, it has also been smelly. We’d put it outside but I don’t want dogs or raccoons dragging my leftover chinese food all over the carport. Do we have raccoons here? Yes. We’ve seen them.

Garbage pickup is scheduled for Saturday. Please Lord let them come get our trash.

Danny and I got a free sample of this while we were walking around Vancouver tonight. He ate his. I took a bite and bleagthh. It was more the milk chocolate than the popping candy part. It is weird but not bad…if I liked milk chocolate. Anyway, it is just too weird. Try it!

After listening to the activities taking place in the parking lot by our apartment, I wonder if my gut reactions mean that I’m “old” or just “wiser and more mature.”

Example A: There is a party at one of the apartments nearby. The drunk yelling lasted until 2am.

My gut reaction: go to bed so we can sleep!

If I were 22: I love Saturday night, whoohoo!

Example B: The car stereo is thumping and buzzing.

My gut reaction: *sigh* Jesus Christ shut UP!

If I were 22: Cool. I guess more people are here.

Example 3: Someone is violently puking somewhere nearby.

My gut reaction: I hope they are not puking on my car and that I hope they leave soon.

If I were 22: Wow, sounds like someone had a fun night.

Last night, I was feeling quite industrious. I decided to vacuum at 11pm. I know that that’s late, but since I’d stayed up until 4am the night before and had subsequently slept in that morning, it was only about 6pm my time.

Anyway, I was vacuuming and feeling pretty good about how well my new little canister vacuum could suck when I heard two loud knocks at the door. I went and peeked out the peephole and saw nothing. Danny came downstairs to ask what it was, and I told him I didn’t know. We left our porch light on and hung out for a few more hours before going to bed.

When we woke up today, I opened the door to find eggshells and runny egg yolks running down our door and onto the doormat. Shit. That sucks. At least they weren’t rotten eggs, but it really pissed me off. Who could I have angered in the short time we’ve been here? There are tons of crappy little unsupervised kids running around our parking lot, so it could have been anyone of them. On our way out today, we looked around to see if any other doors had been defiled, but we didn’t notice anything out of the peeling-paint, shitty facade ordinary we’re used to seeing.

When we got home tonight, we got a bowl of soapy water and some sponges and cleaned off the egg. It wasn’t too gross but it was annoying. We can’t wait to move out of our complex. At least we got a six month lease. Even if we have to move out in the freezing, wet-cold of January, I think it will be worth it. This place sucks.

So how do I know I’m back in school? Crappy neighbors: check. Cheap apartments: check. Little kids shrieking and screaming from sunup to sundown: check. I guess at UT, Danny had more drunken frat dudes to listen to late at night, but I’d almost prefer them over the crappy kids in our complex. Yes, I hate children. It’s that simple. Wait. I actually hate the no good, worthless, crappy, preoccupied parents who let their little brats run around the parking lot at all hours of the day.

I feel old. Get off my lawn or I’ll take a switch to yer hide!

I was out of cream or milk this morning so I thought I’d try some plain yogurt in my coffee. Know what that got me? Yogurt chunks at the bottom of my cup. Ughh….gross.

Throughout my life, I’ve been happy, even grateful at times, to have a simple, boring name. There are drawbacks though. Tonight, at midnight (of course!), I received this in my email.

Ummmm…okay? If you know me, I can appreciate this as a good joke. This is not from someone I know. It is for some other Sarah. I really don’t think it’s spam either. It’s just….weird. I mean, what?

For more weirdness, check out bible ball. Of course! Combine the most boring sport with the most boring subject matter ever! I essentially failed Sunday school, so no, bible ball does not appeal to me.

My cats are kinda dumb. Okay, poor little Boomer is kinda dumb or, as someone at dinner the other night so eloquently put it, “a few plywood sheets short of a shed.”

Anyway, Boomer loves to play with and chew on plastic, paper, and anything with adhesive on it. The other night, I got down the Christmas decorations. To get to them, I pulled out a small plastic grocery bag containing a spool of red ribbon and set it on the floor. Boomer was on it. One of his favorite things is to stick his head through the handles of grocery bags and then become entangled. I have to make sure that all bags are put away or trashed so I don’t come home to a suffocated pet. I pointed out to Danny that Boomer was doing his favorite dumb trick. Danny looked over at the cat and said “hey kitty!” This scared the crap out of boomer who raced out of the room with the bag in tow. It was kindo of like a big plastic parachute tied around his neck. His speed increased as the bag bonked against other things he passed such as chairs and walls. Poor little thing was scared to death. He also scared Boris who started racing around the house trying to get away from boomer and his scary bag-cape.

Boomer got under the futon and I managed to reach under there, grab a hold of the bag, and let boomer extricate himself. He wasn’t hurt at all, just very spooked. I would feel sorry for him, but this is not the first time he’s done this. I figured that Boris was under our bed hiding.

After thirty minutes, Boomer came out from hiding but I hadn’t seen Boris. Danny was lying on the bed, so I went in to talk to him and find Boris. I plopped down and noticed that there was a kitty-shaped lump up by my pillow. I smiled and pulled back the covers expecting to find a cozy kitten taking advantage of the heat from our electric blanket. Instead, I found a scared kitty surrounded by small bloodstains. He hopped off the bed and left a little trail of red spots. “Oh no,” I thought. He’s hurt.

I figured it was his paw since his face and body looked normal when he hopped down. Danny reached under the bed and dragged him out and we took him into the bathroom for a look. After examining his paws, we saw that one of his front claws had broken and that’s where he was bleeding. We had clipped his claws a week earlier, but Danny made sure not to get to close to the nailbed. My guess is that he got his claw snagged on the carpet as he was trying to get away from Boomer.

After determining that the cat was no longer bleeding, we decided to wait until morning and see how Boris was feeling.

The next morning, Boris acted fine and wasn’t even limping. Still, I made a vet appointment for that afternoon. I’m an overprotective kitty mama and I didn’t want to run the risk of his foot getting infected.

The vet said that he would be fine and wouldn’t need antibiotics unless he started limping or licking the wound excessively. She cleaned his foot and clipped the raggedy edges of the nail. Boris was very good during the vet visit and didn’t make a peep until the drive home. Poor little thing was so scared that he didn’t want to exit the cat carrier when the vet wanted to examine him. He was a trooper though and didn’t try to scratch me once. This morning, he was super friendly and wanted lots of attention as I was getting ready for work. Maybe he’s trying to suck up so that I take Boomer next time.

My nails are yellow. I ate yellow curry at lunch today and now the nails on my right hand are a lovely yellow. It isnt crayola yellow but more of a powder paint yellow like the kind used in sunday/bible school. It looks kind of nasty. In fact, it reminds me of that commercial for, what was it? Oh yeah, lamisil tablets. I remember this distinctly because, when I lived in Austin, the early-bird in me would jack my ass out of bed at 6:30 am so I could get to the gym and run on the elliptical before dashing home to shower and get ready for work.

Anyway, so there I was, getting my heart rate up to acceptable levels and watching headline news. Having headline news to watch was cool, but the commercials they run on that channel are the absolute worst (don’t get me started on the horrible credit card couple that squeals HAWAII). Usually, I tried to tune out the commercials and just focus on keeping my speed constant but there was one commercial I had to watch every time. It was wonderful and repulsive and grotesque and fascinating all at the same time. It starts out with a little yellow demon introducing himself as some sort of fungus. As he’s doing this, he wanders over to someone’s big toe. Then, it happens. He lifts the toenail like he’s lifting the hood of a car and wriggles in underneath. So. Fucking. Nasty. Oh, but it gets worse. Now we’re under the toenail with him and his buddies as they scratch around on the pink flesh making it crusty and yellow like them. Oh, my god it’s horrifying! I can’t stand to have a grain of dirt under my nail. Imagine what it would be like for those little boogers to have a field day in my soft, moist, pink toe flesh.

So anyway, the nails on my right hand look yellow and crusty like that commercial. It’s nasty, but at least I know it was caused by something tasty instead of something fungal. Evil thought: next summer, I should let my toenails get nice and long and then cover my feet in yellow curry for a few minutes. After my nails reach the appropriate shade of yellow, I should put on some white sandals and go shoe shopping. Hee.

As disgusting as it is, I’m getting a big kick out of the Wendy’s finger-in-the-chili saga. I mean, it’s gross but not enough to make me quit going to Wendys. I don’t go there often, but occasionally I get a craving for a frosty or a spicy chicken sandwich.

Anyway….

I just read on fark that Wendys is giving away free small frosties in the Bay area all weekend. Score! Nothing like a free finger-free frosty to get the weekend started.

I also plan to eat supper there tonight *gasp*. I do believe that the woman who found the finger in her chili planted it there. I also know that the employees make the chili from leftover hamburger patties that have sat on the grill for too long. Therefore, there is no big “corporate chili plant” where someone fell into the chopper or some other unfortunate instance occurred. Plus, I don’t even EAT the chili.

I’ve obviously thought about this too much already, but consider this: coming from Texas, I ate a lot of Mexican food growing up. I still eat it. I think it tastes great. What’s it made out of? I really don’t want to know. In fact, I do know and I choose to ignore it to an extent. I don’t eat nearly as many processed foods as I once did, but there comes a point where you decide to either eat all organic veggies or meat from happy and humanely raised animals, or you just suck it up and eat the fast food burger, erm, or chili.

Now that I have your attention, let me explain. Lately, I’ve been keeping track of what I eat. I’ve found a cool website that has almost every kind of food imaginable listed along with its fat and overall caloric content. I’m trying to stay within a certain calorie range and this gives me a general idea of which foods are really fatty/carby, and which ones aren’t as bad for me as I had originally thought.

As for buffalo milk, I came across this when I was looking up the ingredients in a salad I ate last night at Chili’s. They have a salad that has a sliced, fried chicken breast on top with a little buffalo wing sauce. I look up all of the ingredients and, when I get to the sauce, I look up the word “buffalo.” This is what I get:

Milk, indian buffalo, fluid
Game meat, buffalo

Ewwww…Ok, I can handle buffalo meat, but buffalo milk? Yuck. Now, I realize that a cow isn’t that different from a buffalo and that I actually DO like goat milk, but seriously, buffalo milk? I might as go out and milk a deer or something. That idea is just so foreign to me.

Now that I’ve grossed you out, I can tell you that I went to the Chili’s website to find the caloric content of that salad, but since that salad is not part of their “low-calorie options” it was not listed. Whatever. It’s not a big deal. And now I get to imagine back in the day, American Indians roaming the plains searching for a nice, fat buffalo to milk and make some cheese or perhaps a milkshake. Mmmm…and yes, you knew it was coming….

GOT MILK?