THEY SAY IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY

THEY SAY IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY!

I’m celebrating my birthday today over here at Artichoke Heart Headquarters!

I’m not telling you which one, but suffice it to say . . . I’m getting kind of old. Well, not old old, but geez, old in a baffled, “I don’t know how I got to be thirty-(fill-in-the-blank) years old already when I don’t really feel that much different from when I was twenty-(fill-in-the-blank) years old” kind of old.

I also wish to formally object to the scheduling of less-than-scintillating administrative-type committee meetings at 8:30 a.m. on my birthdays. There really should be some sort of rule.

In fact, I shouldn’t be blogging right now. I’m going to be tardy. Ugh.

In fact, it’s 7:50 a.m. and I just poured myself another cup of coffee and I’m still stumbling about in my pajamas. Blogging at this very moment constitutes what I would refer to as a Rather Poor Life Choice. Particularly as I’m just realizing that salient materials for this meeting are, in fact, located in my office, which means I need to stop over and pick then up a priori.

Fuckitty fuck-fuck-fuck.

Hmm . . . 7:55 a.m. Tardier and now even more fucked.

Bad Artichoke Heart! Bad-Tardy-Fucked Artichoke Heart!!

7:59 a.m. Still fucked. Hee.

Did I mention that it’s my birthday?

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UPDATE TO PUMPKIN UPDATE

UPDATE TO PUMPKIN UPDATE

Behold the glory of the irrationally- and hugely-coveted Albino Pumpkin! It’s albino-ness, in tandem with its pumpkin-ness, have left me beside myself with happiness. When I snagged it out of the parking-lot pumpkin display at the Hy-Vee this week, I wandered through the aisles in a blissful haze (which, okay, may have been partially exacerbated by general lack of sleep and aggressive over-caffeination), and I wanted to hold up my Albino Pumpkin and show it off to passers-by: See? Look at my Albino Pumpkin. Isn’t it marvelous? But I didn’t. Because that would have been dorky.

So I’ll just post pictures of my Albino Pumpkin for everyone to admire on the internet, instead. (Which, realistically, may even escalate the Dorkage Factor, I realize, but you know what? Too fucking bad!)

Thoughtful readers have kindly taken the time to notice that The Bean Bean has plumped up rather nicely from the tiny, sickly smidge of an abandoned kitten that he was upon his arrival at the Artichoke Heart House. He was so tiny and wispy and frail that I nicknamed him The Beansprout, which later became The Bean Bean. Of course, now that he’s filling out so nicely, perhaps he’s turning into a veritable Garbanzo Bean?

I know, I know . . . I’ve been Cat and Pumpkin Blogging for three straight entries now. What can I say? The semester’s been kicking me in the ass a little bit these past few weeks. Which seems to cause, well . . . obsessive Cat and Pumpkin Blogging.

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PUMPKIN UPDATE

PUMPKIN UPDATE

Having since learned that the Albino Pumpkins referenced below are also tasty, I was bound and determined to Get Me Some of That the next time I stopped by the grocery store. Sadly, though, all the Albino Pumpkins were gone today! Needless to say, I am bitterly, bitterly disappointed. Even a little bit depressed, to tell the truth.

As I write this, Yuki and The Bean Bean are leisurely circling around the apartment, idly playing with rubber super balls. This is how they play: they carry around the balls in their mouths and wander around with these disconcertingly large balls in their jaws. Periodically, they drop the balls on the floor, so that they bounce, and their heads bobble up and down as they track the waning bounce of the ball. When the balls are through bouncing, they pick them back up in their mouths and wander around some more. There is something oddly hypnotic about the sound of rubber bouncing against the hardwood floors.

All throughout the day today there were ladybugs thumbtacked to the ceilings and studding the window panes. I find their carcasses limning the sills and floorboards of the apartment, floating in the kitchen drain. They have a sharp, fresh scent–like grass clippings, only with the hint of something more bitter. I wonder where they all go at night?

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ALBINO PUMPKIN

ALBINO PUMPKINS

It’s an achingly beautiful, sun-dappled October day, particularly in contrast to some of the gray, damp days here earlier this week. On Thursday, after being overcast throughout much of the day, night was tucked in with a soft, cool sheet of threadbare fog. Today, though, is perfect.

Somehow, over the course of the week, there’s been a Domestic Breakdown that’s taken place behind my back. A coup d’etat bringing to power a new regime of Domestic Sluttiness has seemingly transpired. Furthermore, all efforts at Domestic Reconaissance have been rapidly shot down by guerilla sniper fire.

In short, it’s really revolting and I feel as though I really ought to do something about it, but I’m not going to until I get a satisfactory chunk of writing done today. Unless, of course, it’s too revolting for me to be able to write (a distinct possibility, in fact), in which case I’ll have to get on it right away.

After being sleep-deprived all week, I feel a lot more sane and a lot more capable now that I’ve had two nights of solid eight-hour sleep. Well, okay, “solid” is an exaggeration. There’s usually a point in the night (usually around 4:00 or 5:00 a.m.) where The Bean Bean insists on vigorously grooming my head, frantically pawing through my hair like a gerbil on a treadmill, and/or obsessively gnawing on my scalp and hair. When this becomes too disruptive, I sometimes have to put The Bean Bean out of the room. When this happens, he rounds up all of the fat crinkly cat toys and, one by one, shoves them underneath the slat below the bedroom door as Compensatory Offerings. I can hear their fat crinkly cat toy bodies crinkling and crunching away as he pushes them through. After he’s slid one underneath the door, he puts his head low to the ground, and mournfully peers in at me from underneath the door. I can see his eyes glowing in the small space of the slat while he looks at me. By the time morning arrives, there’s a row of crinkly toys lined up in front of my bedroom door.

When I was at the grocery store the other night, I saw an employee pulling on large blankets over the pumpkin display out front, as if to tuck them all in and keep them warm for the night. I also noticed that in the midst of the orange pumpkins there were three large albino pumpkins. They were white, with an oddly bluish undertone.

Secretly, I desperately, desperately covet one of these albino pumpkins for my very own.

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