The Shrub, The Scott, C-SPAN and Boogers

It's a comfy 66° in the holler this morning. A nice breeze is finding it's way to town, wafting down the river. The sky is peppered with thick, billowing clouds, the kind that make you wish you could crawl inside them and curl up in their cottony fluffiness for a nap.

It's going to be a good day.

The hiker celebration was a success yesterday, or so I heard. I stepped outside only once, when Ozzy's excited barking alerted me to the fact that he'd flipped his empty water bucket over. He learned the trick when he was a young pup. He had to for survival. When you have as many animals as we do, they have to learn to speak up when they need something or get lost in the shuffle. I'll leave ya'll to excite your mind's eye with the visual of me stepping through the poopy-turd mine field that is the dog lot, hauling a bucket, stylin' and profilin' in my "cows jumping over the moon" night shirt and coffee stained cotton robe.

Other than that, I spent most of my time washing dishes, blowing my nose and snorting my own nasal spray concoction. Thankfully I don't have the yacking chest phlegm of Bossman and PG, it's just a little head cold, probably allergies.

I will live in spite of my whining.

~*~

My DVR is still borked.

I dunno what the sam hill shit is going on with the stupid thing. I was starting to think that the Universe was trying to tell me something. I mean, when circumstances make it that difficult for me to accomplish something, eventually I start to believe that it isn't meant to be.

Seriously. Everything happens for a reason. I believe that, but honestly, how could it possibly benefit the Universe that I be denied drooling over Craig Ferguson in the early morning hours? I think the Universe and I need to have a little sit down out behind the barn.

I woke up from a deep, antihistamine induced sleep on the couch Friday night, JUST in time to catch Letterman introducing the Fergburger as his next guest. How's that for timing? I didn't know he was going to be on, so I got a double dose of Fergiliciousness.

Be still my heart. Damn near thought I'd have to put 911 on standby.

Of course I caught his stint at the White House Correspondence Dinner on C-SPAN last night too, (my dorkiness has been lifted to an all-time high) the highlight of which occurred when an aide leaned over to explain one of his jokes to The Shrub President Bush, who then let out a loud laugh, moments after the laughter of the audience had subsided.

Cracked my ass right up.

I got up early this morning... well... early for me, on Sunday. I staggered groggily through the house, searching for my nasal spray (I know.. the sexy image that conjures up is more than you can stand..) finally finding it, making the coffee then going back to sleep on the couch. (I'll spare you a description of the copious amounts of bodily fluids and sticky snot goblins that I retrieved from my face.) I don't know what time I woke up and turned the boob tube on, but the moment I did, there he was again.

More Craiggers on the boob tube.

No doubt this weekend, the Universe has seen fit to reward me for some earth shatteringly good deed.

~*~

I'm sitting here watching "The Mummy" with Brendan Fraser for the umpteenjillionth time (don't tell Craiggers I'm lusting after another) and for some reason I suddenly remembered a book I read in my pre-teen (pre-alcohol, pre-promiscuity, pre-head banging obsession) years about a girl who was the reincarnation of an Egyptian princess. I thought for a second, then remembered the title, "Touch Not the Cat," (not the one by Mary Stewart.) It dawned on me that I've heard that phrase before, quite recently. "Touch Not the Cat" is the motto on the crest of the Clan Chattan, which I found while digging through the Scottish side of my family tree.

This entire exchange took place in my head within a few seconds. Only my psycho brain can go from seeing Brendan Fraser half naked in a mummy's tomb to the McPhersons of Inverness.

Do they make medication for that?

Anywho, I've rambled on for long enough. It's almost Monday. Hey.. maybe we'll get those stimulus checks this week. I could really, really, REALLY use some stimulation. I mean money. If we get them, I'm getting my nails done and ... hair. I feel like an old frump and I'm tired of it. Mahala needs to get her hookerlicious, pornstarrific, acrylic talons rockin' those french tips.. then look out Bubba.

*snort*

It's okay, I gross myself out too.

Later Taters!