Stuff, More Stuff, Random Stuff, Stuffity Stuff

Let's see.  Today I shall probably ramble.  Rambling is good for the soul.  I suspect that rambling is a way of dealing with mental issues.  If people could only ramble more we wouldn't need Prozac.  (Just an opinion.)

This doesn't work in my house because they both
talk about it, before, during, and after.

Life with adopted cat.  Cat number 1 thinks that Cat number 2 sucks.  Cat number 1 thinks that he will turn his nose up and slink off.  Cat number 1 also thinks that we suck for adopting Cat number 2.  Cat number 1 decided that he will now sleep on Cressy's bed in protest and never darken our bedroom doorstep again.  Fine by me, I like having my half of the king sized bed to myself.  If you haven't woken up drenched in sweat because a cat is draped over the lower half of your body, well, then you just haven't lived life to the fullest.  (This is also applicable to dogs, who know for a fact that the bed isn't just for humans.)

Not sure what happens when Cat number 1 bodyslams
Cat number 2, but it's like the WWE, cat style.
Sometimes it's like sumo wrestling.
I should really get the camera out next time.

We have inlaws visiting.  Cat number 2 thinks this means his life is over and goes and hides in the garage.  But he can't just hide.

He's not really this fat, but his tummy flaps when he runs.

No, Cat number 2 climbs up into the engine compartment of the 1954 Chevy truck in the garage and takes cover over the engine.  How he managed to get his chubbiness up there, I do not know.  (Don't tell the cat but the vet says he has to loose weight.  Don't tell the vet that I can tell she's looking at me suspiciously.  I can't help it if Cat number 2 hasn't learned that the food will not be yanked away if he doesn't eat it instantaneously.  Totally not my fault.)

I couldn't find one where the cat was in the engine compartment of a car.
Who knew?

HIM, the man to I'm married, went on a motorcycle trip with my FIL.  Cressy went to an overnight funfest with friends.  (I think their parents bit off more than they could chew.)  I watched cheesy horror movies on the Syfy channel all evening and then some The Walking Dead marathon.  (The Governor is cool; did you know he has a British accent in real life?  That didn't come out right.  He's British so he doesn't really talk like the Governor, which messes with my mind.  But then so is Rick and Maggie.  If Daryl had a British accent my mind would be totally blown.)

I love the Simpsons.

But then I also watched the cheesiest movie ever.  Chain Letter.  You remember about ten years ago when everyone emailed all the chain mails we got to everyone we ever knew or would ever know or met briefly at a convention and felt like we should know them?  Well, this movie decided that that still happens.  And the bad guy would keep track of everyone who deleted the chain letter, then go kill them in a horrid, gory fashion.  Well, dah-am.

This is the most messed up movie poster ever.
What the hell does the bar code mean?
I don't know because I fast-forwarded
through too much of the movie.
I would have noticed two chains coming from
the garage and I almost never back up my car,
because basically I can't back up very well.

In the beginning there's this girl all duct taped up and chained in the garage.  She opens her eyes and realizes she chained to...dadadah, the two cars in the driveway, which is bad news because they're pulled in backwards and her parents don't notice that there are chains coming from the rear going into the garage, which is open by about a foot and a half.  So off they drive, turning up their radios, because if they actually noticed anything, the movie would end.  And then I started fast-forwarding through the movie because it was beyond stupid.  It turns out that the girl in the garage is actually the end of the movie and we're forced to go back and see what happened first.  The first kid gets the chain letter, and his sister forwards it, then cinematic mayhem ensues in a bloody fashion and I can't figure out why all of these kids, beautiful, attractive, intelligent, are all alone in their big houses with a guy who likes to use chains.  Furthermore, I can't understand how the guy with the chains can keep up with all the people the chain letter will have been forwarded to.  I think the serial killer would have a mental breakdown because he missed some.  In fact, he probably had to hire an assistant to keep up.  (I'm trying to imagine the advertisement for assistant serial killer.) Anyway, that movie was about 90 minutes long.  It was about 20 minutes when I was done with it.

This doesn't have anything to do with the movie, but I thought it
was funny.

Of course I couldn't sleep in an empty house, not necessarily because I had been watching scary-ass movies all night, but because there was a rumble in the litter box.  Cat number 1 decided to bite Cat number 2's ass.  (He does.)  Cat number 2 takes it for a few minutes, then bites back because it doesn't feel good to have one's ass bitten.  (So I've heard.)  Then the shizz started to happen.  All the way down the stairs, through the living room, out on the porch, back from the porch, back through the living room, and back up the stairs.  Sound effects were included.  (Translation went like this.  "EFF YOU!"  "NO, EFF YOU!"  "NO, EFF YOU AND THE GERBIL YOU RODE IN ON!"  "I'LL NIP YOUR TUSHY!"  Etc.  It went on like that until I was wide awake.  (I think they wore each other out because there wasn't any blood around.)

This segues nicely into wanting ice cream at 2 am.

Then I get up to see if there's any ice cream left in the freezer and remember I can't eat it because I'm not supposed to eat at night at all.  Of course, I eat it anyway.  (It's ice cream, it's in my house, and no one is looking at me.  That's enough of an explanation.)  Then I spend half the night in the recliner watching more The Walking Dead episodes from the last season.  Man, those bitches at Terminus are in big trouble.

Only five hours until season 5.  Whoopee.