I�m really enjoying Slayer Slang. Luke looked at it last night and said that �it seems too wordy for [me] to like it� and I proceeded to holler at him about me being too wordy. He explained himself further, saying that I don�t ordinarily read books that involve the usage of footnotes. This is true, largely in part because I ordinarily encounter footnotes in non-memoirish history books and science books which I don�t tend to read often. I prefer that my history and science be from a personal standpoint, thus rendering footnotes useless, as fact and narrative mingle.

We got Purina One for the meowbeast. Luke grabbed a bag of Alley Cat only half in jest and I, being the main feline caregiver vetoed that but quick. Feline friendly experts recommend mixing a little bit of the newer food in with meals of the regular food when switching, which I did when I got home, and apparently, Ghostcat really likes the new stuff. There�s only old stuff left in his bowl. I�ve always known that he wasn�t particularly fond of the food that he�s been easting, but I didn�t know he was that averse to partaking of it. Speaking of him, he�s making the lonely kitty sound for some mysterious reason. He�s clearly not lonely. I�m home for Jebus� sake! Okay, it�s not the lonely sound; he�s just proved that it�s the crazy sound. He�s racing around the apartment and launching himself off of the furniture.

G called and said that he wants us there at 9 tomorrow morning. Luke is totally going to complain about this. Okay, so I�m complainy too. I don�t like to get up that early, particularly if I went to bed at 2 the previous night/morning. Luke gets home late, we stay up to watch The Practice (well, we don�t watch it, we just have it on for noise as we snack, work puzzles on paper, and talk) and ER, and we like to have sex, especially if earlier attempts in the day yield less than climactic results for yours truly. (I wake up stiff and thus have a difficult time being limber enough to contort so as to have an orgasm. Don�t ask. It�s way too complicated to explain. Picture a human pretzel and that�s what I have to become. I know it�s weird; I�ve heard it a thousand times.)

I had some stomach upset earlier, presumably brought on by the beans and rice I helped myself to for lunch. I�m just glad that Pepto Bismol works. Why do I have to have such a sensitive digestive tract? Why can�t I just eat like everyone else? Granted, I�m not all too upset about having to tell people that McDonald�s is not an option, though I would like to have a Big Mac once in a cerulean moon. It�s really harrowing having to make a gamble on whether or not I can eat at such and such a restaurant. Though, my theory proved correct last weekend when we ate at Tutto Pasta and I was completely fine afterward. Chain restaurants are a big no and local, privately owned ones are a screaming yes.

I just realized that I might be a bit miffed with M. She and C are going, G free, to New York City next month on a mini vacation. So, C gets drug charges, a party, a sleeping over girlfriend and, now, a fabulous vacation to a major city while Luke gets squat. Seriously, he got shoes, three crappy t-shirts, and two pairs of pants that he promptly returned. I�m not only irritated by the fact that M keeps driving home that C is the favorite, but that NYC is a mere three or four hour drive from home. My home. Would it kill her to give us a much needed vacation, too? She�d only have to pay airfare. But, no. I hope she knows that she�s picking up the tab for Luke�s portion of the flight to and from for Christmas. I have mine pretty much in the bag, what with all the miles I�ve been collecting from cereal boxes. Go ahead, laugh; I�m making with the Punch-Drunk Love.