Manic Monday Rambling

Creature Doormat? Moi? Nein, non, no!

The other morning, after bringing our feral porch visitor cats their breakfast of tuna and Fancy Feast, I stepped out to refill the water bowls (by the way, the cats leave crap tips, lemme just tell you -- I feel all unappreciated here and shit). It was 4 AM and I wasn’t fully awake yet -- that’s my excuse for not seeing Flower our skunk friend. He was trying to horn in on Rocco’s Frühstück. Rocco, for once, was having none of it. Normally he just steps aside -- generosity of manner being better than being all stinkified. Not this particular morning. I’m guessing (since obviously I didn’t hear it!) he hissed nastily at Flower who jumped up and back BUT DID NOT SPRAY! What a good skunk! Of course I had to reward him for that.

Yes, I went inside and made Flower his own special plate. I then watched from the front door while Rocco, Gaston and Flower peacefully all breakfasted. Jesus, it was balm to the spirit.
 ___________________________________________
OK, I’m double plus sure I’ve waxed rhapsodic about The Fat Cat (AKA The Obese Kitten) before but day-um, it deserves a shout out every single time I go there.

First, they’ve a barkeep who looks JUST like Daniel Craig. Mind you, prior to seeing the flick Cowboys and Aliens (oh yeah, I’ve got WAY deep artistic sensibilities -- oh mama yes!) I was all ‘Daniel Craig -- who? The hell? Dude’s just SO blond.’ Now? After watching him climb a rock in C&A?  Oh dear -- the boy is utterly, fully, totally fucking sponge worthy 

Next -- the barmaid who looks JUST like Cameron Diaz...only pretty. No lie, no hyperbole there -- for reals. The babe must think, on nights when she gets the bed all to her self ‘AWESOME, I got lucky tonight!’

You know what else, besides extreme exquisiteness, these two grand mas, stone beauties have in common? They’re both surprisingly, stunningly warm, open, genuine and mega competent at their gigs.

Yep, I go there for the Limoncello ‘Martinis’ and the drool factor.

OK, they also have a fabola publican who’s a dead ringer for Jack Black only ginger haired -- wonderful, funny guy
_________________________________________

While there we, Jen and I, caught some of the Little League World’s Series on the TV. ????? Isn’t 8 and 10 years of age a wee bit young to be carrying this much stress, such weight and performance pressure? I would’ve ensured that my wee bairn got music, dance, art lessons as well as classes in any other crapoly they were interested in, sure. I would have been wicked reluctant to have them involved in competitions more suited to the already stress filled world of adultishness. Aren't we all here too fast as it is?

What about just having some goddamned fun, huh? Isn’t that cool anymore?

Nope, no Tiger Mothers here.
_________________________

I believe ALL of August should be -- should always be -- official, nationally recognized, employer paid vaca month. Can’t we just shut down the damn country for a month and all hit the beach? You know, plan ahead -- stock up on groceries, harvest your garden, go fishing. Take a book or 50 out of the library, kick back, watch the sun glint on the water, check out the sound of the smallest wave lapping the shore. Go all Doc Edgerton with your Canon Sure Shot.

Chill, babies, chill.

The Bangles -- Manic Monday