2019/11/28

Happy Turkey Day!

Da Goddess @ 00:07

Monica with the turkey

2019/11/01

Oh Lawdy!

Da Goddess @ 12:57

I just woke up from a crazy ass dream. I was pregnant at 53 with no oven in which my bun could bake. The father was a now-deceased man who was remarkably still alive, but having his genitals burned off (not because of the baby, but because he felt he could do more “Good Works” without them). My best friend and also geriatric preggo was confined to bed with me in the desert, stuck between two worlds…like more desert or non-desert-but-still-desert-like. Bunches of other things are happening, some of which are in a restaurant. We’re being filmed for a TV show. I don’t even understand the insanity around me. Suddenly, I’m holding my baby, a baby who can’t really hear, while narrating my work in the hospital as a nurse who functions more like a waitress or a waitress who functions as a nurse. I really can’t tell. But I know I’m here only because this is where geriatric preggos go to get the best care.

After I awaken from this madness, I go to the bathroom — because needs must, natch — and sit down on a damp toilet seat. The seat is damp because WHY THE FUCK NOT?! This actually happens a few times a week (sometimes a few times a day) when weather conditions are perfect for these sort of (I’m guessing) ghostly hijinks. The inside of the lid is also full of condensation and I’m eternally grateful I’ve had no need to lean back against it because it would be COLD and I don’t need cold and damp against my skin. Especially not cold and damp against my skin from a toilet.

I’ve never had this happen with a toilet before. I’m beginning to give serious weight to the ghost argument at this point. I think it’s the same ghost pretending to be the creaky moany-groany weathervane on the roof above. The same ghost who doesn’t allow me to finish the house in any way, shape, or form.

What do you think I should offer this magnificent but mischievous spectral doer of shenanigans?

2019/10/12

Teeny Tiny Teeth

Da Goddess @ 02:36

I can’t help but love Fletch’s teeny tiny, itty bitty teeth. They look so precious and delicate and I just want to touch them! Actually, I have touched them when he’s in a very deep sleep. I wouldn’t be able to do that while he’s awake.

Most people only think of cats with sharp…pointy…teeth*. I was that way, too. It’s what catches the eye and that’s usually enough. But with my little ginger monster…sigh. I just…and it’s so…because…sigh.

Being on my own with only Fletch at my side, I have a lot of time to simply look at and study him. There’s much to be said for examining your pet. It’s a fun, inexpensive pastime. I recommend it to everyone.

But, seriously, it’s really enjoyable for me to study my little gingersnap and commit my findings to memory and sometimes with a camera. Even if it’s a camera phone.

Don’t look at me that way. It’s a low impact, gentle, quiet, and harmless activity. Plus, it’s free. If you want more from me, you’ll need to hit my PayPal account and help finance another activity.

Oh, hey! There’s an idea! PayPal me $10 or more and give me one idea per donation and I’ll do it (documenting the activity with photos and maybe even a video). The donation should equal the average cost of whatever you chose. And don’t forget, my body is broken and I have to avoid activities that would break it further.

Eh. Probably not, huh? Yeah, I should stick with the cat thing.

* bonus points if you get that reference.

2019/07/11

Hunting License

Da Goddess @ 13:32

The spiders have been going crazy in this warmer weather and it’s been difficult to keep after them. Just when I think I have the situation under control, I’m inundated with the offspring of all the arachnids I’ve destroyed.

I can’t spray for them because of Fletch, so I’m left with physically hunting them and killing them myself. Well, Fletch does help. Unfortunately, his help is limited by his interest level, which is as consistent as that of a toddler. Again, this means it’s up to me to keep the spider population in the house to the bare minimum.

The other night, I found a rather large almost translucent whitish spider. When I smooshed it with a paper towel, there was a quite audible POP. There was also an inordinate amount of humours that issued forth from this creature. They seeped through the paper towel and it was only then that I shuddered and gagged. It was just too gross, especially couple with the POP I’d just heard.

As I dragged the body to the trash, I wondered if it was even possible for the thing to fit in the bin. Fortunately, it did. Just barely. After ten minutes of vigorous hand washing, I grabbed a spare pair of heavy duty gloves and cleaned up the carnage in the bedroom. Then I washed my hands again for another ten minutes.

It was only the next day that I learned I needed a hunting license to kill something the size of that spider. Seeing as how my downstairs neighbor and the landlords are the only ones who could’ve heard, I think I might get away with it. You won’t tell anyone else, will you? Cool cool cool.

2019/05/21

Grumble Grumble

Da Goddess @ 20:20

burnt pizza

I burnt my cheap frozen pizza. I’m still eating it, but it’s not as yummy as it should be.

I guess the charcoal crust will counteract any enjoyment I might experience during the ingestion of said food product. Is it still considered food? How much char takes it out of the food realm? If I were to leave this out by the rat trap, I’m pretty sure PETA would protest. The ASPCA would take away my cat.

Anyhow, if this is my last entry, I want you to tell my mother I love her so.

2018/07/29

Down the Toilet

Da Goddess @ 08:44

If you’ve read the Secret Squirrel post ( because you know where the password can be found [it hasn’t changed location or the actual word]), then you’ll need to cleanse your palate. I might have just the thing for you.

Why is it that I can sometimes use almost an entire roll of toilet paper in one sitting and have no problem with the flush, but other times I barely use any and the toilet requires double plunging?

I’m sure it has more to do with the crappy (pun intended) plumbing than it does my bathroom needs/habits. But, y’know I had to put the question out there.

2017/04/29

Mr. Mockingbird Goes to Town

Da Goddess @ 00:21

Mr. Mockingbird’s patterns have revealed themselves.

We get the lion’s share of his nightly operatic endeavors, but he does share the love with others, thank God.

Mr. Mockingbird, henceforth known as MMB, now spends time in other trees in our neighborhood. He moves down the street one big tree at a time. Thankfully, some of the trees are slightly further down the street than others, giving me a most fantastic break from his endless racket!

MMB also takes a week off. I’m hoping this time, however, will be a permanent break because — fingers crossed — he’ll have a mate. That’s my wish for him. And for me. Mostly for me. Only slightly for him.

Say a prayer for me MMB that his songs‚Äčand effort have finally paid off for the little guy.

2017/04/11

To Kill a Mockingbird

Da Goddess @ 03:00

Atticus Finch said it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird, but he never met the asshat living in my tree. He also didn’t live during the time of car alarms, which are the preferred call of this particular miscreant.

I won’t actually kill the mockingbird, but I’m not opposed to serving up a big ol’ heap of “shut the fuck up!” on a silver platter.

This mockingbird in our ficus, well, his current occupation is night singing. Every night. Hour after hour, he continues with his nutso shrieking.

In addition to the car alarm impression, he does a particularly annoying crow, parrots, DUCKS(!), and he’s even managed to kind of hit upon meowing.

WTF is with this bird? Why our tree? Look, I get that he’s looking for a mate. And I get that he’s trying to “outsing” the other local males (which can be heard just down the street). I just don’t understand WHY our tree! Yes, our tree is lush and full of other birds, but whyyyyyy us?!?

I have no answers. I have a headache, but no answers. And my patience are running thin.

We’ve tried shaking the branches while he’s mid-song. He stopped singing for 30 seconds. We’ve hissed at him. He trills and squawks back. I’d let Fletch at him but 1) it’s dark and 2) Fletch would likely come away with more damage than the bird.

At this point, I’m open to suggestions from anyone and everyone.

Please. Please help end this nightmare.

2017/02/25

Bathroom Ban

Da Goddess @ 17:31

In my home, there will NEVER be a ban on who may use which bathroom. If you’re in my home, you’re my friend or relative and I love you for just being YOU.

But there is now a ban in place for myself. Why? What? Am I mad? Frankly, yes, but that has nothing to do with the situation at hand.

Henceforth, I am no longer allowed to let Fletch or my cellphone into the bathroom at shower time.

I have to do this. HAVE TO. Because if I don’t, my shower time becomes epic in proportion.

1) Fletch is too entertaining. He climbs into the linen cupboard (second shelf is completely clear just for him) and bats around a hairclip. He’ll bat it around inside and them knock it out for me to pick up and toss back in. We do this for at least 15 minutes. He usually waits until I’m completely naked before he decides to play, so that’s kind of a comedy in and of itself.

2) If my phone is with me, chances are I’m forehead deep in Twitter blackhole. I do a lot of reading on my phone these days (and I’m currently writing this on said phone) and sometimes the best finds come via Twitter. Yeah, yeah, I once said I’d never do Twitter, but that ship sailed back in 2010. Needless to say, it’s just as bad a time suck as anything else, but I’ve been extremely pleased with the vast majority of my Twitter experiences. Because of Twitter, I’ve had conversations with Carrie Fisher (God rest her soul) about hummingbirds. I’ve won some sweeeeet prizes (Black Sails has been very good to me lately!). And I’ve been able to stay in touch with some friends who don’t do much in the way of email/text/blog updating.

The phone is allowed to come to the bathroom with me ONLY if I’m in need of entertainment while my gut isn’t playing nicely or if I’m showering and am expecting an important call. Otherwise, I’m going to abide by the ban.

2016/12/16

True Love

Da Goddess @ 21:20

I laughed myself silly over this.

2016/10/25

How Rude!

Da Goddess @ 12:53

If you go to the National Weather Service site you can find a list of all the names of big storms.

Don’t you think it’s kind of rude that they know about the storms so far in advance and don’t give us warning until the storms are practically on our doorsteps?

/Sarcasm

2014/12/04

Be Proud of Me!

Da Goddess @ 01:01

This is going to sound very silly to most of you, but it’s kind of a big deal for me. So, please, be proud of me for accomplishing something amazing: I got my 12 Days of Christmas posts ready! Woo hoo!

I know, I know. You’d think it’d be easy and all that, but it’s NOT. Totally not. And I got on top of it early. Which is kind of impressive considering I’ve been (w)racked with pain (and let’s not even get into the correct spelling of “w/racked”, okay?) since Thanksgiving as the drive down to my sister’s was long and nothing but torture (and sadness because LD was going home to his dad’s). Sitting here on the computer is the last thing I’ve thought of doing lately. Getting these posts done? Major. MAJOR.

I was going to do all 25 days, but I figured I could cram all that goodness into just 12 days. Yeah, yeah. There’ll be days with double posts because I’ll find something I have to share. You won’t mind though, will you? That’s good. I knew you wouldn’t.

So let’s all celebrate my achievement and do a Dance of Joy!

2014/07/12

Caught in a Trap

Da Goddess @ 22:08

Every once in a while, I go into the spare bedroom to grab clothes or put clothes away. Fletch follows me in. Celia is not allowed in there. Fletch is pretty easy to extract. Celia is not. So I do everything possible to keep her out of that room.

While Mojo was here a few weeks ago, we had gone into the spare room and Fletch had followed us. As we were getting ready to leave, Fletch had basically set up camp in a corner where I couldn’t reach him, and from where he chose not to respond when I called him. So Mojo and I walked out of the room and closed the door on him, with me fully intending to go back in a few minutes to let him out. Well, we got to fixing lunch and talking and then began to play games and it wasn’t until probably two hours later that I remembered he was in there. No fuss or anything from him to remind me. Noooo, that would have been too easy! So I go in and expect to see him sitting by the door, giving me the look of disgust for leaving him in there, and I see him, instead, atop the tallest dresser, lounging as if this were the best damn thing he ever thought of. I pick him up and coo my most sincere apologies to him and he really just couldn’t care less. (Although, to be fair, he did give me a couple of little kisses.) Horrifying “locked in a bedroom for hours” ordeal over. You’d figure he’d be wary of the room. Ha!

This morning, just before King Arthur went out, he’d gone back into the room for something, not checking to see who was behind him and not closing the door as he walked into the room. (I know nothing of this at the time, just filling in the audience as a good narrator should.) King Arthur leaves for his lunch meeting with his investment counselor. I’m doing laundry. I get caught up in a show. I eat some lunch, awaiting King Arthur’s return from his lunch, and I wonder where my Fletch could be. I see Celia, but no Fletch. I call for him, look around to see where he might be hiding. Nothing. I hear no distress cry or scratching, so I figure he’s just napping and “vants to be alone” a la Garbo.

Couple hours later, King Arthur returns home and I’m still puttering around the house. No sign yet of the Fletch monster. Finally, after much discussion, it’s determined that he simply has to be in the back room (or perhaps, in the closet in our bedroom, which is another story for another time) and I head back there, open the door, and there he is! King Arthur’s insistent that he’s not been back there for anything. I know I haven’t. And we’re pretty certain Fletch hasn’t learned to open doors quite yet. Turns out, that, yes, King Arthur HAD been back there before he left the house. Ay yi yi! This is about the time I start planning signage for the door along the lines of: “Check for cat before entering room. Shut door before he enters.” “Check for cat before leaving room!” “Check for cat! Always check for cat!”

Once again, Fletch made it out of there sans trauma. In fact, I’m pretty sure he thought it was simply independent play time in the special Fletch playroom.

Silly cat.

Since then, we’ve been playing with bubbles, which he LOVES! He catches the between his paws. He bites at them. He stomps them with his furry little paws. And then he looks up at me, expectantly, awaiting more. Always more. More. More. More. Please, more bubbles! More. Please! I like bubbles!

Best damn 25 cents I even spent at a yard sale.

Maybe the next one will have signs for the bedroom door.

2014/05/06

Rebooting

Da Goddess @ 21:06

I’m so very exhausted and sore from two weekends of faire that I’m declaring the next few days as Reboot days.

Talk amongst yourselves. Enjoy. Topic: Cats. Domestic Lovebugs or Feral Terrorists.

2014/04/25

Your Distraction

Da Goddess @ 00:06

While I’m away, please go forth and enjoy this silly bunch of distractions, particularly the very silly hot guys/cats part, as well as the adorable Prince George gifs and the newly titled Disney movies (based on current movie naming trends).

film izle kalkan otel turkey travel and otels