Thursday, January 15, 2015

Bingo Blitz: "Better than reality TV"

That's what a player said tonight while I was killing time and cool points on another bingo collection.

And she's completely right! Bingo Blitz, I've admitted to myself, has become my guilty pleasure. Not because I'm wasting hours of my life playing a virtual game that will leave me absolutely NOTHING to show for my time a decade from now, but because it's become my new Jerry Springer show.

I actually watch the chat to remind myself that there are people out in the world who are more screwed up than I am.

So what set me off on this random tangent tonight? Allow me to set the stage...

I'm in a bingo room for the newest collection to be introduced to BB.  This means there are around 1000 players working on the same collection, which typically breaks down to around 250 people allocated to the same chat room/game table per room. Of course, the DAY that a new collection opens you can pretty well expect there to be 6,000-7,000 people at any one time, but that was last week so it's not as quite as crowded tonight.

Think about how many words can be produced by a mere two or three people and how fast those words breed in a matter of minutes.  Now think about that in terms of 200 or so people. The chat window that is shared by these 200-250 players is about two inches wide and four inches tall and is constantly scrolling to allow for new text to appear. Got this image firmly in place?

Now follow all that text while you're looking for rapidly called numbers on 4 different cards.

Tonight, we were all happily going through these motions, pretending we were actually accomplishing something by getting a bit closer to completing a pixelated collection of goodies we'll forget about an hour after we get them all and switch to the next obsess-- collection.  A bingo game ends in a rush of last second calls and frantic daubs.  We all click the pretty gold buttons to see what the treasure chests have inside them.  We all click the pretty gold buttons to see our game reward summaries.  We all click the game cards we want to pay for in the next feeble attempt to get something worthwhile.  We all let our eyes wander over to the chat window for the ten seconds we have left before the next round begins.

We all see:

"Well thank you so much, everyone, for the non-response to my entering the room.  Guess I'll go find another room where everyone isn't so mean." (Because I'm a wannabe Grammar Nazi, I corrected a few typos. The original wasn't nearly that intelligent sounding.)

And then the line of text, along with a hundred or so other lines of text, immediately scrolls down out of the 2 inch x 4 inch window and essentially out of existence.

We assume the person who typed this also clicked the "Return to Lobby" button in what she imagined was an amazingly dramatic, huffy, and Academy Award worthy stormout... complete with the angry heel clicking and deafening door slamming.  All the while, still being parked unceremoniously on her backside like the rest of us.

Seriously? You're so important to the Bingo Blitz world that our devices should trumpet alert sounds to notify us that you've logged in? Whenever you type something, the text from other players should all just disappear so we all see only the words your entitled, delicate little fingers produced? When you have something to say, no matter what it might be, we are all expected to drop what we're doing to respond immediately?

Well, it got a response.  Probably not the desired response.  But it got a response.

My writer's block stormed out right alongside her.

Suddenly I was writing down all the ridiculous things BB players say that just drive everyone else playing at the same time absolutely batty.  And I was getting suggestions from other players to add to the list.

~~"This room has been open an hour and I haven't gotten the whole collection yet.  It's rigged!"

Yup. You're totally right. The whole thing is rigged. It's just not right that BB might actually want you to have something to work toward while they brainstorm and put together another collection for you to get angry about.

~~"I completed that last collection an hour ago. Why haven't they released a new room yet???"

Yup. You're totally right. It's just not right that there isn't a BB moderator watching your every keystroke and waiting with bated breath to notify the programming staff that YOU are now bored and must be entertained. Everyone else still trying to complete collections obviously just aren't as dedicated and committed as you are and therefore don't deserve to finish.

~~"So this room opened three and a half minutes ago? Awesome! Anyone got some items they can give me?"

Yup. We were all waiting just for you to enter the room so we could all chip in and complete your collection for you. After all, we wouldn't dream of you using any of YOUR credits or coins. Please! Let us use up all of ours! We weren't gonna use them anyway. Honest.

~~"So this room is set up exactly the same way as all the other rooms that have opened in the last two years? Cool. Which ones are the Hard To Gets and the ones we can't trade?"

You do realize that in the time you spent typing out that question and then waiting impatiently for someone to stop what they're doing to give you the same information you've seen over and over for years you could have clicked on that handy-dandy "Inventory" window and read all the pertinent information for yourself, right? Too much work? Gotcha.  Okay then. Let us stop what we're doing and give you the same information you've seen over and over for years. Can't remember what the answer was? No worries! That same question will get asked again 847 more times in the next couple of hours.

~~"Hey, remember how you Friended me 8 months, 12 days, 11 hours, and 3 minutes ago so we could trade? No? That's alright. I remember! And I was looking through your inventory (since you showed me that nifty "Inventory" button) and saw that you have some stuff I don't have. You won't mind giving them all to me, right? Right? Buddy? We're friends, ya know..."

Sure! We don't mind you rifling through our inventory like it's your own personal donation site. We weren't planning to use those items as trades for future collections or anything. And did we mention that we just LOVE being put on the spot and being forced to play the part of Scrooge if we'd really rather not just give up every item we've got? TOTALLY love it! We live for that stuff!!

~~"I said I needed this shadow and you bingoed anyway. MEANIE! I called dibbs!"

Yup. You're totally right. All 200 of us were completely out of line for playing the cards we paid for. Everyone knows our collections aren't nearly as cosmically important as yours is. We would all like to take this opportunity to offer our most humble apologies and we will now put ourselves in Time Out to think about our bad choices.

~~"You said you had an item I don't have and you won't just give it to me. MEANIE!"

Yup. You're totally right. We should not be permitted to keep extras in the event an appealing trade opportunity turns up for us. Everyone knows our collections aren't nearly as cosmically important as yours is. We would all like to take this opportunity to offer our most humble apologies and we will now put ourselves in Time Out to think about our bad choices.

~~"I told you guys that's not how you should play bingo. You're all idiots and selfish and now you're screwing it up for me! MEANIES!"

Yup. You're totally right. All 200 of us were completely out of line for playing bingo in a manner that would benefit us as opposed to you. Everyone knows our collections aren't nearly as cosmically important as yours is. We would all like to take this opportunity to offer our most humble apologies and we will now put ourselves in Time Out to think about our bad choices.

~~"Every time I log in to play this game, I lose credits and coins and don't ever win anything and I can't get bingos or items or finish collections and it's just not fair! BB hates me!! MEANIES!"

Yup. You're totally right. You are so important that BB has made it their mission statement that YOU and YOU ALONE must be brought down and destroyed. It is imperative that you must never reach your true potential and destiny of winning an online game. You're not paranoid. They really ARE out to get you. As a matter of fact, WE are all on their payroll and it is in our job description to keep YOU from ever succeeding in the bingo world.

Like I said... it's the new Jerry Springer show.

Don't get me wrong. We love all the people who fall into these scenarios. Without them, our online time would be much less entertaining.

And people like me would have to find some other way to put sarcasm to good use.

(If you enjoyed this post, please consider visiting my other BB post Bingo Blitz is Going to Get Someone Killed.)

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

It's a new year, new slate, new ME! *cough*

Yay! New year! Time to start over with a clean slate!

Okay, so it's time to start over with a smudged, stained, and slightly warped slate. But hey! It's my slate and it's unique.

Today is the first day the kids are back in school which is why I'm able to sit down and try to concentrate on busting through my blogger's block. So far it's not going so well.

I find myself glancing around my house and listening to the sounds of no one being home to fight over computers, television remotes, Christmas presents, chocolate, cats, "my side of the room"s, ...oxygen in general... and try to picture what a normal family's home looks like.

You know... clean, organized, dusted, uncluttered, properly decorated and coordinated to each season. Everything my house is not.  Oh I have plenty of delusions of tidiness! It's just that whenever I start to move in that direction something always seems to get in my way.  

Usually me.

For example:

It's the new year!  First order of business is to take the Christmas tree and decor down and neatly pack it away for safe keeping until Thanksgiving.  For the normal person that would mean retrieving boxes, putting said decorations into the boxes, and putting the boxes away. A good pass with the vacuum cleaner and you're all set to begin stocking up on Valentine's Day chocolate.

Yeah. That's not how it works here.

For me, putting Christmas away looks alot like this:

~Look around the house to determine all the rooms Christmas danglies got hung in.
~Distract the cat who just got reminded there are dozens of sparkly danglies hanging around the house.
~Head toward Christmas storage closet to retrieve the designated boxes.
~Discover that all of the required boxes have been stacked behind present wrapping materials.
~Clear children's toys and the cat off the nearest furniture.
~Empty Christmas storage closet of pretty much EVERYTHING in quest to reach designated boxes.
~Look around the house to remind myself which boxes were the original goal of entering Christmas storage closet in the first place.
~Dig through piles of storage boxes until finding the required boxes.
~Move through house removing sparkly Christmas danglies one at a time while fending off overly interested cat.
~Remove other cat from storage box before packing danglie and going back for another.
~Chase original cat down and rescue sparkly danglie that was too close to where the step stool was left.
~Remove other cat from storage box before packing danglie and going back for another.
~Wash, rinse, repeat until all sparkly Christmas danglies are packed safely into their boxes.
~Take boxes back to Christmas storage closet.
~Stare back and forth from empty Christmas storage closet to piles of Christmas decoration boxes while strategizing how to pack everything away so next year's unpacking and redecorating will be efficient.
~Evict cats from piles of Christmas decoration boxes.
~Pack most of the boxes into Christmas storage closet.
~Remember that the Christmas tree, its lights, and ornaments have not been packed away yet.
~Remove several boxes from Christmas storage closet until finding the designated lights and ornaments boxes.
~Evict cats from Christmas storage closet.
~Remove one ornament from Christmas tree and tuck carefully into storage box.
~Chase cat down and steal back ornament.
~Pack ornament into box.
~Gingerly reach into Christmas tree at about shoulder level and detach cat from branches, one paw and a tail at a time.
~Remove one ornament from Christmas tree and tuck carefully into storage box.
~Wash, rinse, repeat until all ornaments have been removed from the tree.
~Pull cat out of ornament box.
~Crawl under Christmas tree to get hold of one end of a string of Christmas tree lights.
~Tweak back and neck trying to crawl backwards without getting hair tangled in low hanging branches or crushing cat limbs under knees that suddenly seem as big as elephant feet.
~Make myself dizzy walking in slow circles around the tree while winding light cords around my arm.
~Gingerly reach into Christmas tree at about shoulder level and detach cat from branches, one paw and a tail at a time.
~Retrieve ornaments that were missed the first time and stolen by other cat.
~Wash, rinse, repeat until all light strings have been removed from the tree, bound up, and stuffed into the bottom of a box somewhere.
~Wait for the room to stop spinning.
~Haul remaining Christmas decoration boxes back to Christmas storage closet and unceremoniously cram the whole shooting match inside while muttering "Stay!" and glaring threateningly at what has become an impressive Jenga sculpture.
~Slam Christmas storage closet doors closed and give serious consideration to getting chains and padlocks to make sure they stay closed.
~Head over to main storage room and discover that the corner where the Christmas tree will be carefully packed away has been buried and blocked off by two months worth of shoving things out of the way in preparation for my annual "Gotta organize this house!" fit.
~Evict cats from storage room while threatening all eighteen of their lives at once as nervous breakdown starts.
~Remove everything from the storage room that blocks the path to where Christmas tree will be packed away.
~Evict cats from storage room while threatening all eighteen of their lives.
~Consider powerful medications and just how bad could all those side effects really be?? I mean, if they were so terrible they wouldn't be allowed to sell the stuff right?  RIGHT???
~Take Christmas tree apart and begin packing it into its protective bag.
~Unpack Christmas tree and chase cat out of protective bag.
~Repack Christmas tree into its protective bag with one hand while pinning both cats down with the other hand.
~Unlock front door and grudgingly allow children into the house.
~Drag protective bag loaded down with what suddenly feels like a four ton Christmas tree upstairs and into storage room corner where it will be carefully packed away for the next year.
~Pointedly ignore children who are now howling at the top of their lungs that they didn't WANT the tree put away.
~Evict cats... and kids... from storage room without uttering a syllable.
~Close storage room door.
~Climb over and around everything that had been pulled out of the storage room to clear a path for the Christmas tree.

You know what?

Clean, organized, dusted, uncluttered, properly decorated and coordinated to each season houses are totally overrated.  And there's always next year to start over, right??


Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Where exactly do our oddball sayings come from?

No, seriously. I gotta ask this.

Yes, it's almost midnight and I really should be going to bed, but that's a different track of insanity I really don't wanna follow right now.

I just happened to announce in passing to my husband that I needed to use the household facilities.  As I bolted out of the room at warp speed in a race against my biological functions, of course, I mentioned this in as ladylike a manner as I possibly could...

Me: "Look out! I gotta pee like a race horse!"
Steve: "No, it's 'I gotta pee like a Russian race horse'.  Get it right."
Me: "Wouldn't that leave an awful lot of yellow icicles hanging around in odd places?"

Once the necessities were handled... shush, you... we found ourselves wondering just where this term originated and why.  So, like the expert researchers we are, Steve loaded up Google and went to town.

He found something.. somewhere on the internet... that explained something or other about horses, particularly show and race horses being uncomfortable piddling outside their stalls, thus the sense of urgency to suddenly get back to a stall for private time.

Personally, I think it's more along the lines of wanting to be in first place in a horse race, so you don't suddenly find yourself running through a rain shower that wasn't scheduled by Mother Nature.

But there are other phrases I hear that make me stop and wonder just where on God's green earth someone came up with such a saying, and more to the point, why in the world do we REPEAT them???

For example...

~~~"Best foot forward."

Errmmm...  Am I the only one who hasn't found myself sitting around staring at my feet to see which one is better looking than the other?  I suppose I could take the time to see if my left foot pulls off the stiletto look better than the right foot, but I think I'd get some pretty strange looks if I ask the sales clerk to "only sell me the left shoe because the right shoe just looks awkward in that style".

~~~"Bite the bullet."

No thank you.  You bite the bullet. I'm not that hungry.  I'll take a chunk out of that chocolate bar. K. Thanks.

~~~"Bury the hatchet"

Awesome.  We're gonna be buddies because you buried your hatchet.  I'll be more inclined to believe that when you bury your crossbow, knives, ax, rifle, flamethrower.... oh and your shovel just to prove you're not gonna dig all that stuff back up while I'm sleeping.

~~~"Break a leg!"

This one really confuses me.  I realize that it means to wish someone in the acting world good luck on their performance, but you would have to be one helluvan actor to make breaking ANY limb seem like a positive thing.

The only way I see this being a happy phrase is if you work for the mafia and just got sent on a high paying job to maim someone.

~~~"Nothing to sneeze at."

Hrmmph.  As if our noses actually need a target to suddenly discharge every ounce of mucus our bodies have stored up since the last time our faces exploded in a usually public place that guarantees everyone in the vicinity is going to turn to stare at us while we use our bare hands to try to defy gravity and a mini Niagara Falls impersonation all at once.

Has anyone else noticed that most of our sayings revolve around gross bodily functions?

Sophisticated we ain't.

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Conversations you can NEVER unhear.

Last week was our anniversary, so we went out with a dozen or so friends to a local eatery and had quite a fun time.

I spend most of my time in groups listening to other conversations and am usually thoroughly entertained in this manner for hours.  Other times, I feel a bit on the mentally violated side.

This night offered several opportunities for the latter option and because I'm who I am, I volunteered for more.  How could I possibly pass up this much fodder for an otherwise neglected and forlorn blog??

Here is just a tiny sample of topics discussed at the meal.

"Butt Calling a Booty Call"
This is a prime example of why someone should clear their contacts out of their phone and start over once they get married.  Especially if said someone is prone to drinking more than he should while out with buddies.
It cuts down on the early morning rude awakenings by angry boyfriends when you're far too hungover to remember a one-night stand from years ago you didn't realize you'd dialed up and treated to the muffled sounds of drunken karaoke at 3am.

This is also a prime example of a conversation one does NOT want one's spouse made aware of.  Especially when it's the spouse who answers the door after that rude awakening.

"You're Pretty."
Granted, this particular conversation was short in and of itself.  The reactions, on the other hand, were loud and highly entertaining.

Guy #1: "Why do you wear your makeup like that?"
Girl #1: "You're just not used to seeing this much beauty in one place."
Guy #1: "People only say you're pretty cuz they wanna get into your bed."
Girl #1: *pause to consider response*
Guys #2,3,4,5....: *almost in unison* "You're pretty."

"I Can Be Manly.  In a Girly Way."
This is cringeworthy enough when it's a woman speaking.  When it's a pack of men discussing how to make this apply...

No amount of "we were just giving her advice about how this is done!" could salvage the image damage done here.  Especially not once it was discovered just how naturally the lisping came to these guys...

...and they started lisping at the servers.

We may never be allowed back into that eatery again.  Ever.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Flattery will get you nowhere. Violent threats, however...

Seriously.  That's why I'm blogging again.  My friends are getting a smidgen on the we-know-where-you-live-we-know-how-to-torture-you-we-know-how-to-get-rid-of-a-body-and-we-will-alibi-each-other-til-Doomsday side.

I can take a hint.  Especially hints as subtle as 20 pound sledgehammers.

Who is actually surprised that it's been 6 months since my last post here?  Anyone?

What have I been doing that's keeping me away from my blog?



We went to Guatemala and helped build a Bottle School.  That was mildly AMAZING!
We stayed at the Venetian-Palazzo in Las Vegas for a week.  That was pretty mind blowing, too.
We met up with and played with a few thousand friends just outside of Atlanta for a weekend.
I hung out with a pack of absolutely BATTY friends for a long weekend in Dallas.
I took over the volunteer end of the FUEL program at the church I attend.
I've been working with my husband to build a business we both love and believe in.
I agreed to let my two youngest children join Girl Scouts and Tiger Scouts.
I agreed to let my older daughter add "a few" extracurricular activities to her schedule. *twitch*
I stitched a few things.
I read a book or two.
I managed to not strangle any of my offspring.
I managed to not strangle any of my furbabies.
I managed to avoid being strangled by my husband.

What time has been left over has either been obliterated on Facebook games or spent diving headfirst into the world of Supernatural and Criminal Minds courtesy of Netflix.

Oh, don't get me wrong! I have all sorts of delusions of accomplishment in the near future!!

I'm working on learning some semblance of the Spanish language for our next trip to Guatemala.
I'm working on ambushing some poor soul to teach me how to write code for a virtual scrapbook that can be loaded onto a CD or DVD and installed onto another computer with functional links to this image or that page, etc etc.
I'm working on getting my house to look like a home instead of the aftermath of a tornado ravaging a Goodwill warehouse.
I'm working on making my flowerbed flood proof and making my weedbed extinct.
I'm working on convincing my scale and my reflection that I really-honestly-truly-swear-to-God weigh 105 pounds and wear size 3 clothes.
I'm working on convincing my body that the daily exercise is not in violation of any of the Geneva Convention and will continue until my scale and reflection believe that I do, in fact, weigh 105 pounds and wear size 3 clothes.  (Yes, I do realize I'll be exercising until the day I keel over and drown in my own sweat. Thank you for pointing this out.  Again.)

So you see, I've been keeping myself occupied pretty steadily in hopes of keeping myself out of trouble.

Well, at least out of trouble that could land me on the 6:00 news.

Here's the thing...

You know that person you can just look at and immediately tell that spending any time at all with them is going to result in a whole bunch of the above mentioned trouble?

That person that every normal member of society shakes their collective heads at and often wonders which mental institution they escaped from and just how many different kinds of happy pills they're supposed to be taking?

Yeah.  That person.

Well, I surround myself with as many of them as I can find.

For several reasons:

~They're fun.
~They can laugh at themselves because they understand that everyone gets laughed at and they might as well get some enjoyment out of the mockery too!
~They can't be bothered with being Politically Correct because, honestly, who has the energy to be offended by every syllable uttered by every other living creature in the cosmos??
~They find humor in just about any situation because no matter how serious you take life you're not getting out of it alive, anyway.
~They're nearly impossible to offend in any way, shape, or form.
~They make me seem minutely normal.  Sorta.  Once in awhile.

But mostly I surround myself with these people because no one else will let me hang out with them!

Monday, May 19, 2014

My baby is gonna be six tomorrow!

Wow.  Six years old.  Hunter. My youngest child.

I'm getting old.


I'm told I should be mourning how fast he is growing and how brief his baby and toddler years were.

I'm supposed to be sad that he's past the stage of infancy where every time someone took a step near him to coo and gush over how adorable he was I went into Maniacal Ninja Guard Mom mode and sized each person up to see how fast I could break every bone I could reach if my baby so much as whimpered.

I should be missing those weeks of never getting a full night's sleep because he woke up squalling for food every four hours or, if he didn't wake up squalling for food every four hours, I panicked and woke him up to see what dire medical emergency was ensuring he slept soundly for a few more hours.

It should be breaking my heart that he is beyond the point of giving me repeated mini-strokes each time he stumbled, tripped, stubbed an adorable little toe, face-planted, or DEAR GAWD HE'S BLEEDING!!!! in his quest for personal evolution and bipedal status.

I should be missing the days... weeks... MONTHS! when the only words he pronounced clearly were "Why?" and "NO!"

I'm supposed to be melancholy and mopey that he has developed past the period in his life where he was perfecting his artistic techniques and leaving poo murals and crop circles all over the house in our misguided attempts to potty train him.

I should get teary-eyed and runny-nosed when I reminisce about dropping him off for his first day of school and watching him bolt toward those big double doors with so much excitement about finally being a big boy before I went home to an empty house and had my first HOT meal in 5 years and I didn't have to share it!!

I should be thinking back and getting depressed that all those experiences are behind me and I can never get them back no matter how many times or how tightly I hug my little boy while he squirms and whines about not being able to breath.

I can't bring myself to do that. I have never been that kind of mom and often joke that I'm missing a Mommy Gene somewhere.

Instead I find myself anxiously looking forward to watching him over the next few years as his interests and passions take real form. I'm fascinated by how quickly he becomes enamored with movie heroes and how well he mimics them.  It's particularly entertaining to see him destroy a perfectly clean playroom in a matter of minutes when he's unable to choose if he's going to be Thor with the mighty hammer, Hawkeye with the "AWESOME!" bow, Captain America with the "totally cool" shield, or just go mean and green and "HULK SMASH!"... so he grabs the whole shooting match and tosses on Superman's cape for good measure and transforms into my own personal Sharknado of chaos.
Now that he's seen Kellan's Lutz's "Hercules" and his "new best movie!!" "Godzilla", things are bound to get REALLY interesting!

I can't wait to watch him excel in the math he seems to love so much and try to dodge the reading he thinks he isn't any good at, despite him still being able to read faster and better than his peers, especially if the book in front of him is something he's interested in.  I have to admit I'm a little apprehensive about future science projects.  He is his father's son after all.  SOMETHING is going to explode at some point.  Likely intentionally.  Highly entertaining but most assuredly messy...

He wants to play baseball, soccer, football, and hockey.
He wants to run track, rollerskate, skateboard, ice skate.  He hasn't even mentioned riding a bike yet but since he's getting one tomorrow we'll see how long it takes him to decide he's going to win the Tour de France someday.  I can't wait to see which sport he'll decide he wants to play most or if he'll just play them all.

I can't wait to watch his personality really take shape and reveal whether or not he's going to be a straight-laced, what you see is what you get young man.  Or maybe he's going to be the class clown who never runs out of pranks and surprises to keep everyone hopping and laughing.

There's so much to look forward to, so many achievements waiting for him, so many doors he still gets to open and so many paths he has yet to run down.

I can't be sad and miss the days when he was a baby.
Because, honestly, every time I hug him and hold him tight...

He's my baby all over again.

Friday, April 25, 2014

Another month gone by...

...and I'm just now blogging again.  Figures, right?  Hey, at least I'm still sneaking in at the once a month pace!

I have no idea what to blog about.  Steve says to write about the Easter egg hunt we did last week, or Hunter's announcement that he is definitely allergic to direct sunlight, or Sarah's bizarre costume she wore to a cosplay convention in Nashville, or some idiocy my cats have gotten up to, or the new flowers that finally got put into the flower bed, or my latest race to the death with a stitching deadline I'm pretending doesn't exist.

All decent ideas.  Nothing coming to mind about how to word any of that to be even remotely entertaining to anyone else.

Zippy is sitting in my lap demanding attention.  It'd be cute as all get out if I didn't think she was secretly plotting how to sink her teeth into my jugular in retaliation for yet another vet visit.  She's been having urination issues the last month or so.  The issue being that she's urinating on our bed which is waaaay out of character for one of the most well-behaved cats I've ever known.

Took her to the vet to get her checked for what I was sure was a UTI, but they couldn't get a sample out of her no matter what they tried.  They were completely in love with her about twenty seconds after taking her out of my arms though.  See, Zippy hugs.  Tightly.  Especially when she's frightened.  So the doctor thought it was just adorable that he peeled her off of my neck only to have her flip around, wrap both front legs around his neck, and press her head up under his chin.

Then she started squeezing.
And pushing her head harder.
And squeezing some more.
And nuzzling.

And the doc's eyes got wide.
And his face got red.
And his mouth opened slightly.
And his face got purple.

And the tech and I had to remove the growth from him.

Zippy is the sweetest, cutest, furriest boa constrictor you'll ever meet.

But after they were forced to resort to using a needle to get a urine sample directly out of her bladder and then cram the first of many pills down her throat to combat the massive bacterial infection she has, I'm a little concerned about my wellbeing for the next couple of days.  Well, that and I keep checking to see if she's piddled on my pillow in revenge yet.

"Wow, Kiri!  Your shampoo has a ... unique ... scent to it.  What brand are you using?"
"I believe it's called Salon de Take-me-to-the-vet-again-and-I'll-eat-your-eyes-while-you-sleep."


Sleep is totally overrated anyhow, right?