Fur Purse

August 18, 2011

Note: Huge, huge thanks to Handsome, who worked his tail off today so that I could steal a few minutes in front of the computer before it’s disassembled and we are rendered internetless. (sob!)

Lucky me, I got to take Peach shopping to look for a new purse! And I came across the most disturbing thing I’ve seen since I cleaned under my stove. And it is my expert opinion that ALF died under there. About 12 years ago.

Anyway. I found this. These. Furry purses. More than several.

And now, I can’t stop saying the words “fur purse” in my head. Which totally sounds like a euphemism. But in this case it’s not. I don’t know if that’s better or worse. Let’s leave that alone, shall we? (You’re welcome.)

This one looks like a jaguar enchillada. AUGH! Euphemisms are everywhere! Run away!

And this one felt the need to clarify that its fur was faux. But I’m not at all convinced that this one isn’t ALF’s second cousin, Doug.

And if fur isn’t your thing, here’s one to carry your rainbow space cats!

Wait. Unless the furry ones are for cats?? Which purse do I buy if I don’t have any cats?

Nevermind. The moral of this story is purse shopping sucks. Unless you’re a hooker.

The End.

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A moving story.

August 17, 2011

I hate moving. HateHateHateHateHate it. The chaos, the losing of things, the needing of things that are in one of 200 boxes, the lifting (31 boxes of books, folks.), the shoving, the accidental breaking and damaging of Nice Things, the sweating (why is moving always an August activity?), the swearing, the contemplation of moving to a monestary, the unpacking and finding NEW places for things, and then the months of only being able to remember where something went in the last house.

Thus, it is with no small amount of emotion in my voice that I declare: We are moving! We are going to live somewhere different very soon. Peach is about to move into her third house. She’s 15 months old. Because we are moving to a NEW! HOUSE! It’s kind of a lot similar to our current house… And it’s…

 

Across. The. Street.

 

Oh, yes. We are moving across the street. Which I think should come with a little card that drops down from the heavens on a string and says “You’ve qualified for a free divorce! My, that was quick!” Of course, I’m really quite fond of my husband, so I would probably just laugh and kiss him on the cheek and then repin my chignon and adjust my apron before I fix him a cocktail. But I might also tuck it in my pocket because WE’RE MOVING!

So last week, I was a bit harried. Not sleeping much. A tad frazzled. I was racing around, trying to pack boxes, pick up paint for the painters, clean the new house, on top of all the other things on my normal to-do list (laundry, facebook, groceries, facebook, housework, facebook, inserting or removing objects from Peach’s oral cavity, facebook, TUMBLR!, facebook). You get the picture. I was busy.

I must have left my purse in the car, the doors wide open and a big lighted arrow pointing to a sign that announced “FREE! TAKE ONE! SUPPLIES LIMITED!” because my purse and our GPS gadget have vaporized. And consequently, I have learned a LOT this week. For instance:

You know what you need to set up utilities? A credit card.

You know what you need to find the utility company? The GPS!

You know what you need to have something notarized? Picture ID.

You know what you need to buy food? Yer wallet.

You know what you need to buy a really big bottle of wine? YOUR DAMN WALLET.

But! The best part? You know what you need to get a new Driver’s License at the DMV?

GuessGuessGuessGuess!!!

 

TWO FORMS OF ID, BITCHES.

And finally, you know what you need to report the theft of your license to the DMV? Two forms of ID.

And $10.