Awash as we all are in spanking content, I’ve been compelled to talk/write/think about *other* things – occasionally – of late. (Yes, Virginia, there are Other Things.) So, rather than talk to myself, or put a complete stop to Michael’s progress by talking his head off, I’ve decided to begin sharing rather mundane things here more often.
Anyone with any sense, or anything at ALL better to do, will choose to turn their attentions elsewhere right about now.
Still with me? (Bored, huh?)
Let’s start off with a little home improvement update..
..is the current state of my house. As you can see, it’s a bit like an episode of Dexter. (And no, VBB, I haven’t found someone whose blood splashes farther than yours.) What started as an ongoing water line issue has turned into an all-out Major Pain in the Ass, replete with fully-plastic-ed living area and garage-accessible bathroom.
I’m not kidding. They removed the WALL downstairs, between the garage and water closet. Over the course of the next week, there’ll be about a dozen sweaty men parading around my living room. About average, come to think of it..
Since I’m sure you’re dying to know what the cats think about all this commotion : they think it sucks.
In other news, we almost went on a short vacation last week. About seventeen miles outside of Las Vegas proper, my car decided that it’d rather stop at a little biker bar on the side of the road in the middle of the desert. (Which, in retrospect, was better than nothing. They had a nice shady porch.) Something about the transmission, according to the nice man in the triple a tow truck. So the car is undergoing some medical intervention and I’m driving a rental, which is, in my opinion, ugly.
All this fun stuff would drive some people nuts. Lucky for us, we thrive on a Good Challenge. So, the place will be getting a new coat of paint and the car will be getting a new tummy or something, and we will be getting lots of spanking done in the meantime…upstairs.
In other parts of the world: My family are having a mini-reunion of sorts. In the South, a family reunion includes Actual Family, as well as in-laws, out-laws, and people who nobody’s really related to but are still referenced as “Aunt Sue”, “Uncle Bill”, or “Cousin Andy”, because their daddy and your daddy worked together in the oil fields and they’re Like Family. Or the kids went to school together and they all started calling you “Mom” because they figured out that that was the way to get you to feed and house them every weekend, and now, twenty-plus years later, they still won’t go away.
I won’t be attending the get-together. I’d love to, mostly, but between spanking and remodeling I’m bound to Las Vegas for the remainder of the summer. I’ve requested that they stand out in the rain (it’s always raining there) in my stead. Of course, when it rains you have to look out (even more) for snakes, but it’s a small price to pay for the moisture. My auntie calls up to tell me all about how her flowers are in raging full bloom and the grass needs cutting every five days or so and the tomatoes are as big as your head, and it’s so humid you can cut the air with a butter knife. She’s bragging, in her Southern auntie way, and it works – until I remind her that we don’t have mosquitoes here. Since where I come from you can practically saddle those things and ride them, that usually trumps all. I miss the flowers, and the food, but I do NOT miss the bugs, or the snakes, or the overly-familiar raccoons.
Now I will entertain you with what is, in my estimation, one of the cutest things ever. (It’s cats.)
(Try to ignore the not-so-subliminal message to purchase the advertised brand of cat food. It’s bad for your kitties.)
There’s something in the water here.
It’s dirt, for the most part. There’s also the remains of a small town at the bottom of the lake, which is now, technically, also the top of the lake.
Lake Mead used to be this big giant body of water, all held back steadfastly by wondrous Hoover Dam, supplying life-giving water to not only the Las Vegas Valley but large parts of central and southern California. Now that damn dam is holding back a muddy puddle. We still get our water from there, and we still send some to California, too, but it’s getting sketchy. Something about not enough rain and/or snow in the Colorado Rockies for several years in a row. And something else about Harrison Ford growing almonds (or was it avocados?) in the desert. Mostly it’s just humans. Lots and lots of us, living in places that are lush with greenery and dripping with cement ponds that are, in fact, meant to be covered in sand, scrub, and skinny snakes.
Most people think that it’s all those glittery casinos on the Strip that cause Las Vegas to be one of the most heinous energy abusers in the country, but in the case of water they’re pretty benign, making up only about four percent of the city’s annual usage. Most of the gnarly water waste goes on at the dozens of golf courses surrounding the valley, and in our very own front yards. There’s something about living in the middle of the Mojave that makes folks want to grow pears and figs and water lilies, for some reason. My neighbors have pomegranate trees and as green a gigantic-pool-surrounding-backyard as you can grow any wet place in the country. It’s a little silly when you think about it, considering how much room (and water, and grass) there is in, say, Idaho for instance.
Why do so many people want to live here? Why are there nearly 2 million people squeezed into a valley that used to be home to a handful of tribes?
It’s not the mild climate, that’s for sure.
Yes, it’s hotter than hades here again. We hit a seizure-inducing 112 a couple days ago; that was the same day the air conditioning went out. Luckily, homes here are built with two separate cooling units (see above reference to energy abusers) so that if one goes out the place doesn’t turn into one giant EasyBake oven. Still, the best prescription for this is to hold very still and drink more iced tea…so I’m fine, crisis averted, and the nice man came today and made it all better. He had to climb onto the roof in order to fix whatever was un-fixed, where I’m sure the temperature was around 125 in the roof’s reflection of the afternoon sun. I felt a little bad that he had to get so hot in order to make us cool again, but the cats are creatures of leisure and sacrifices must be made.
Speaking of the cats, Mister Pancakes is still feeling pretty crummy and would like everyone to leave him alone. This includes the other cats, who are trying to figure out why he’s getting extra stuff in his mouth all the time (medicine). They’re doing hardcore kitty research by following him everywhere he goes and meowing in his face a lot. This would piss anyone off, and he is duly offended.
The humans in charge of putting things in cat’s mouths (and the dog, too, but they don’t really care about him) are thoroughly enjoying this summer’s Advanced At-Home Mojito-Making Classes, held weekly in the kitchen, as well as occasional trips to the supermarket for more cat food (and other stuff they don’t care about). It’s nice to sit still sometimes and, as much as I miss seeing a bunch of my spanko buddies, I’m having a ball sleeping in my own bed every night. It may just be that you’ll all have to come and visit me here, in Las Vegas.
Bratty Kay Gets the Belt