Happy Thanksgiving!

(girdle girdle)

Man, peripheral people in my life have been very difficult to me lately. I actually told a grown-up woman to bite me in front of a group today. She had it coming -whoa did she- but still. I think I was raised better.

Wasn't I? Dr. Y?

People are difficult.

Of course, so are bunnies. The other day, Mr. Darcy chewed up the cover of Captured by Helen Kirkman. It is a sleazy romance novel. Mr. Darcy nibbled right up to the hero's rippling abs, and just barely missed the "m" in "Love is the only freedom."

It was a library book. It cost $11 and all of my dignity.

I'm not gay or anything, but Amelia Earhart looks REALLY hot in this picture.










I'd hit it. (Shout out to W!)

A few weeks ago, an old friend asked me why I hate men. I didn't know how to answer at the time ('cause I really don't hate men. For example, my male readership rocks hard core. So do my male relatives and the male I play gin with and the male who makes me coffee in the morning. Plus, old dudes are almost universally cool). But I have since been to WAL-MART, and here is why I HATE some men:

1.) An early thirties guy was trying to pick up his late teens cashier with this line: I used to work at CVS. You get a lot a repeat customers and you learn a lot about people's lives, you know...This was at 8:00 AM on a SUNDAY MORNING. (Aside: Right after the guy left, the girl followed him, and I was like "oh, no! It worked." But then when I left I saw she'd just taken a smoke break. Order in the universe was restored.)

2.) As I left Wal-mart, I saw a guy in a blue truck with a pair of those rubber "balls/testicles" that are so big nowadays, hanging from his tailgate. The balls were blue. This guy gave his truck BLUE BALLS.

3.) (Non-Wal-mart related.) Some guy just seriously told me that in a relationship, he expects the woman to be the "neck" and let him be the "head."

Heh, heh. Head.

Anyway, I've just informed Mr. Darcy that he is the neck in this relationship, and I am the head. He replied, "Move in the direction of the kitchen and look into getting me more parsley."

He's such a neanderthal.

Well, not much going on these days in the Petard-i-verse. I was in a meeting on Thursday, and I had a hypoglycemic episode. (I get them occassionally.) Usually, I eat something and I'm fine, but I was stuck in this meeting, listening to a big wig. First, black spots appeared in my vision, then the spots turned shimmery like the highway in summer. Then, it looked like ceiling fan shadows were edging the periphery of my vision. At that point, the big wig told us to break into groups. I turned toward the lady next to me and said, "My eyes just got blurry."

And she said, "Yeah, me too." Heh, heh.

But I'm all better now. I'm busy plotting ways to keep Mr. Darcy's litter box in its Jean Luc approved area. (He's taken to pushing it into the middle of the cage so he can squeeze into the corner and aim his pee as far outside the cage as he can manage.) So...I went to Home Depot and bought some C clamps ($1.79 each) and clamped the litter box in position. Then, I lectured Mr. Darcy on the superiority of the human intellect, and how all the wiles of rabbitdom can never hope to equal our own.

Then, Mr. Darcy said, "More cilantro." And I gave him some. Because I am the superior animal. Not the one who spends lots of time trying to manage bunny poo.