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June 16, 2005

Really, it was funny.

I had this funny story here all written up about this funny thing that happened that one time, when we were at that place, and then the computer flipped me off and died and when it came back to life the goodness was all gone.

Too exhausted to re-type, and also maybe mad, and kind of hating the techmology, I refuse to redo the whole thing, so here's a little conversation. Me and my dad on the phone.

My dad: They found a CIVIL WAR cannonball right HERE in Hernando Beach. Isn't THAT something? (Author's note: Everyone in my family has this way of talking in ALL CAPS for emphasis. Genetics or something.)

Me: They found a cannonball in Florida? Because, um, since when was the Civil War fought in FLORIDA?

Dad: (insert here a sigh of deep sadness that me, his college-educated child, has to be explained the STILL RELEVANT TO THIS DAY history of the War Of Northern Agression.) Well, as you should know, the Northerners, the, you know... the Yankees ... had taken up residence at Pine Island. Illegally, of course. And the Southern soldiers, as you should know, our people, shot at them from ships in the gulf. But, ah, they missed. A little. Because a cannonball was found here in Hernando Beach.

Me: Well you know they were my people, then! They missed! Like, "I'm gonna shoot you Pine Island, Florida and kill you! But, whoops, looky there... we missed! Hello, Europe! Sorry 'bout the cannonball. How's it going?"

Dad: So, they found a CIVIL WAR cannonball right HERE in Hernando Beach. Isn't THAT something?

(Also, my dad totally has selective hearing. He hears what he wants, when he want. Love you, dad! Just kidding! Don't disown me! Hi!)

Me: Where exactly did they find the cannonball? In someone's yard?

Dad: No, no, it was near the road, you know, the main road. In the ditch. They were doing some roadside cleanup.

Me: No one had cleaned the roadside since the Civil War? And they just finally sent some people in orange vests out? And hot damn, ya'll, it's a cannonball?

Dad: (patiently) No, of course they clean the roads. We pay taxes. But these things are covered up sometimes. Conditions change.

Me: Conditions change? Like trash pickup day, finally, since 1862? (torturing my very patient father is challenging, but I sometimes succeed) (because I am a horrible, evil child.)

Dad: I have to go make the cornbread. Do you want to speak to anyone else?


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Oh! There's more. While I was cleaning house (ha! more like "when I was thumbing through old photos and pretending to dust...") I found this baby picture of my little Sobakowa from when she was just a wee kitten. That's her real name, I just I call her Chairman Meow because even though she is a little bitty thing she is mean as sin and rules the house with an iron paw.

sobakowa-baby.jpg


Seeing this tiny picture of the soon-to-be Chairman Meow all helful up on my sketch pad made me want another baby so badly (if by "baby" ya'll know I mean "kitten") but they grow up so fast. Then you're stuck with a bunch of pooping cats. So anyway, it's a good thing I have pictures of kittens, since I cannot under any circumstances get another animal. They'd have to call the Jaws of Life to pry me out from under the cat hair.

In the comments section here once I wrote up the story of Soba, but ya'll know. It's too good not to share.

Right after we got married, Mr. X and I went in to a shelter place -- that was HORRIBLE and in a mall and later the lady who ran it was in the paper for being CRUEL and went to jail -- and anyway we didn't know all that yet, but we wanted to rescue one older cat.

So we found Roy, all sad and caged up and missing clumps of hair, and had decided on him immediately. I mean, no way was Roy spending another night with anyone but ME. The end.

Then as we were filling out the paperwork, someone at the shelter handed me this little handful of matted ugly fur and said, "No one will take this one. It's too ugly. All the others in its litter got adopted right away." It was covered in food and it snuggled up under my hair and kind of smelled. A little.

And so ya'll know. I immediately said I WILL TAKE THIS UGLY PIECE OF FUR YOU CALL A CAT. I will love it and love it all day long.

And that is the story of Soba, who we named after an infomercial, and also who I think is the prettiest thing ever. And mean as shit. Love you, Chairman Meow!


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Not bad for a "Hell no I will not type anymore on this damn computer" entry. Heh.

Posted by laurie at June 16, 2005 12:16 AM