7.07.2006
ah, that old rockstar life
I know, I know, the blog has been dead, and I swear up and down I'm not resureccting it just to get the chance to shout this to the interweb, but here goes: M and I just figured out that the night of the next big show (not to be confused with the next small show) for Steel Tigers of Death is the same night that the Raconteurs are playing and he and Mike, meaning he and his lovely wife and Mike, are supposed to go to and meet the band. Ok, I don't really know that we're supposed to the meet the band, and I really don't care becuase although I've heard that Jack White is supposed to be a very nice guy, and the music isn't half bad, I seriously don't want to wade through the crowd at a Raconteurs show because I'm an old lady and I don't like the crowds so much anymore if they don't spread for me magically when I walk through, clearing the way for my beer that eventually will spill on myself and everyone else before I get back to my seat. So yeah, the whole rockstar thing is pretty cool. Or funny, depends on how you look at it I suppose.
Speaking of rockstars, while M has been busy recording and mixing and playing the first STD show (yes, they thought of the acronym long, long ago), inbetween long, sweaty bouts of coding for the new Scissor Sisters site, I have been starring in a bit of the rock if I do say so myself. Well, you have replace the word "rock" with "kittens", and "starring" with "squishing", but you get the idea. I got a promotion at work, and now I am the official Foster Care Coordinator, a.k.a. professional kitten squisher. Mostly it means that I get babies out into homes until they are old enough to be spayed or neutered and then adopted. I think this model should serioulsy be considered for the human race, but I think I've got a supporting party of 3 on that one, and the other 2 are on their way over for margeritas and darts this evening, so maybe we're not so smart after all...
The good part about his job is obviously the kittens. There are puppies too, but mostly it's kittens, and I share my office with several of them. They are terrible at filing and god forbid you should ask them to actually write a phone message down, instead of "remembering" it 4 hours later when the whole point it moot, sheesh. But I love them, which would explain why I let them off the hook and stay an hour or two late every day to finish up. God, I'm such a softie!
We also welcomed our newest family member into our home this month, Saffron the dog. She's a big, fat, stinky right now from running through the fountain, bundle of joy, and we love her so much it's disgusting. I know people say that a lot, the disgusting thing, but seriously, strangers on the street vomit spontaneously when they see us loving this dog, so I'm not exaggerating you see. Anyhoo, it appears I'm having a veritable love affair with the comma here, not to be outdone by my love affair with tequila, which is awaiting a sweet, tangy, copulation with some hand-squeezed limes. comma.
:: Shericat 5:43 PM [+] :: speak
1 comments
1 Comments:
I wish I shared an office with kittens, rather than French women. The kittens are probably better about taking messages. Really.
I saw the STD post, and felt nostalgic for Xs for Eyes ... Sigh.
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