Twiddle dee do da

God dammit... I don't feel like doin' a fucking thing. Not even a post. But...

I hear yelling from the neighbor's daughter upstairs: "I know I was on the phone for almost two hours... I can't help it. I need to talk that long. I just can't help it." Poor little thing. I have conversations like that today. I just can't help it. I need to talk.

And the cat stares at me. Not the Christmas Pussy. Another feline. Sebastian. Re-acquired. He was mine once. Then he moved in with Mom. He was with my Mom when her heart stopped beating. I look into his eyes sometimes to see if he will tell me something about her last moments. He meows. Or "Meeaaaa's" in a strange, very un-catlike fashion.

And it seems like he tells me that everything's okay.

But he's an alien cat... Just look at him.

And everything is okay.

I bought some shoelaces for some shoes I own. I read the package: *36 inches* it reads. And I think to myself, "Jesus, that's 3 feet. Are shoestrings really 3 feet long? That just can't be right. I mean, 3 feet is like, 36 inches." Yeah, I'm a genius. I'm certain that's already evident. So I string them up. And it's a very normal pair of shoes. And I'll be damned if 3 fucking feet of shoelace doesn't fit perfectly on a standard pair of men's shoes. Who'd a thunk? I'm not sure why that's important here.

I feel like I need to tell someone... As I drive on the freeways in Southern California, I recently acknowledged the fact I practice thoughts somewhat out of the ordinary. I think. While I'm driving I scan the shoulders and overpasses. Not for lost luggage. Or bags of money. But for nice secluded spots to call home. You know, just in case things get really bad. I'll say to myself, "hmmm, now that looks like a good spot. Trees. Shrubbery. (good for hiding from the police) And shelter. And it doesn't look like anyone has been there." Then I attempt to spy the best spot in either direction to actually enter the area. I make a quick mental note, and move on.

And since we're on the subject of bugs, we recently made an interesting purchase. The girls and I were standing in line at The Home Depot. Incidentally, for the record, Home Depot quickly melts any manliness I carry within me. I walk in. There's lotsa guys walking around. Wearing tool belts. And walking with such purpose. And there I am. Not shy about wielding a hammer or a screw gun. (can one "wield" a screw gun?) And I'm immediately lost. Don't know where to find anything amidst the purposeful-looking men. So I ask a fella in an orange apron, "where can I find a knob that turns the water on in my shower?" And he asks me a barrage of questions about diameters and code. I hardly answer and am quickly on my way. And I digress. So we're standing in line and I see a weird nut thing in a mesh bag hanging by the register. I read the label and as it turns out, it's a Praying Mantis egg. For aphid elimination. "The organic way." 200 baby Praying Mantises. Holy shit, that's gotta be the greatest thing ever. *If it were to hatch* Miranda loves bugs. Face lights up like it will for a boy someday. (or girl, if that's her thing) And I tell her what it is and we buy it. And today, the little bastards hatched. Over 100 little tiny, turnin' their tiny little heads to look at you, Praying Fucking Mantises. Maybe a few will hang out around the patio for summer. I don't know why that was so important either.

Still don't feel like doing a damn thing. Not even this post.