I has the sad

My friend who's going to Dragoncon this weekend just came down with a cold. To my very estimable credit, my first thought was, aw man, that really sucks for her. Immediately, however, my second thought was CRAP, she can't hug EJO for me now. (Which, loyal friend, she was planning to do.)

He... he just looks so huggable.

So incredibly huggable.

Sniff.

Yep.

And little other care hath she

Gracie decided to take a nap sorta half way under the covers today, which of course made me coo all over the place and take pictures, because I'm a crazy cat lady.

I went to a fiber festival today at a fairground a little south of town. It featured a variety of fibers, fiber-producing animals, hand-made cloth and articles of clothing, as well as dyes, chemicals, looms, shuttles, spindles, and a plethora of other tools I could only begin to imagine how to use. (And of course elephant ears, because that's what makes something a festival.) My weaving teacher was there as well (apparently), and told me later that she had had bought way, way too much, but I personally didn't get anything other than a slush-puppy. Whenever I'm surrounded by pretty, I'm tempted to buy stuff, but today was an exception, seeing as I either didn't have a clue how to use any of it or it was fairly expensive and very nice. I mean, I suppose I could buy homespun, hand-dyed fibre for the next scarf I spend a year occasionally poking at in between other projects, or a hand-made gossamer shawl to keep me warm while I lounge around in my pjs, but... maybe next time.

Speaking of keeping warm, I have to admit it's about this time every year that I start to think favorably about colder weather. Despite swearing oaths on all that is holy every February that I will not be such a damnfool the next time around, cold air, sweaters, leaves, cider, apples, rain, more festivals, and even a little bit of snow start to sound really nice around mid-August. It must be something the tourist buearu puts in the water; I don't even like apples that much. I actually (having resisted the angora gossamer) stopped by Old Navy today and bought sweatpants in anticipation. They were on sale; don't judge me.

Wuh-oh

Guys, I've been photoblogged.

Also, I locked myself out on the balcony again. Maintenance should be coming to fix it tomorrow; until then, I have bright green post-it notes taped over the handle so I can't grab it and pull closed without considering my actions VERY CAREFULLY.

Oh, and chipmunks.

Most people, when they consider dying and going to heaven, look forward to things like: seeing and holding deceased loved ones. Meeting God. Getting answers to longstanding difficult questions. Learning the harp. No more pain.

I, too, look forward to seeing my grandma again and mastering a new stringed instrument, but I also have humbler ambitions.

I am convinced that in heaven I will without reprocussion be able to cuddle the following:

-Wild bunnies
-Tigers, snow leopards, lions (and other big cats)
-Bears
-Small birds
-Red squirrels
-Sharks (maybe.)

Also, remember when you were little and first found out to your great horror and disillusionment that clouds aren't the cottony trampolines and havens of relaxation they appear to be -- that in fact they're much bigger, colder, wetter, insubstantial, and incapable of supporting life than your traitorous eyes had lead you to believe?

It's totally not going to be true. You're all invited to my first sledding/trampoline/napping party when we get there -- I'm putting that out there now.

The cats just sat and watched through the window

I've been meaning to call in a few maintenance requests around the apartment: a little plastic decorative piece fell off one of my bathroom faucet knobs, the sliding glass door's lock is broken and keeps falling into the shut/locked position, Gracie has completely shredded the door jams and they should probably be fixed.

Because cats know how to be obnoxious. Yesterday during my lunch break, I was going to pop home for something to eat before stopping at the bank to make a deposit and heading back to work, but alas, when I walked in and put my purse down, I heard Garfunkel scraping at the carpet ...burying ...something. Not only had Garfunkel defecated in the dining room, as he is wont to do when the litterbox is full, Gracie, it turned out, had also peed on the couch.

I love cats.

Any dreams I'd had of making it to the bank dissipated quickly as I cleaned up after the cats, sprayed both spots with stain remover, then went out on the balcony to water my plants while I waited for the stain remover to sink in.

Whereupon, without thinking, I closed the sliding door behind me and locked myself out on the balcony.

Which is how I discovered that you can call for help all you want in my neighborhood and it'll do you no good if everyone's got their windows closed and their A/C on.

Miraculously, my roommate happened to show up only about 20 minutes later, before I had to decide between lowering myself to the ground and waiting for someone to eventually wander by who could alert the apartment office. I was glad to be back in before I needed, say, a bathroom, but a little disappointed that I didn't get to take an impromptu few hours off work. I've got very straight priorities like that.