First, look at this.  I found it in the pool yesterday right before I jumped in.  By the way it’s not a leaf next to the arachnid but another object approximately the size of a cruise ship.  I took the picture from my helicopter.

And I guess, really, that’s all.  I’m very busy. 

A.’s (my) niece has 564 Friends. 

I have .64 cents in late fees at MovieTime video.

I’m writing about Elvis, the monkey at Alf’s and you could help me a LOT if you know him and tell me stuff about him here.

Don suggested flushing the bees down the loo.  I can see that, why not?  Less ghoulish than the disposal. 

I think I’ve kicked my block, I thought you’d like to know.  It took a moth.  Well, a moth and some Amazon sample chapters of writing books. 

But mostly the moth, there was a pretty dead moth on the floor (it’s a morbid house) and the rest is history.  Well it’s actually present right now, but it will be history when I tell the story in 10 years.  Or even next week.  Not much of a story, though, I doubt I’ll tell it.

Also, I forgot to tell ML that her favorite advisor had a barfy wedding story in the Times.  Here it is, ML, read it and knit.

Ba-dump ching. 

I need your advice.  

I left the iced tea out again, only this time outside.  Drinking it is no longer in question, it’s now what to do with the bees.  We have a yellow thing that hangs from a hook and we bought it at Lowe’s to trap the bees.  I know that’s mean, in our defense we only put it up Saturday.  There were little girls at our house and they cry when they see bees.  No, crying won’t kill them; still.  We killed the bees, let it go.  Well, actually, that’s the problem, we didn’t.  Stay with me.  The bee-killing trap doesn’t interest them.  It’s the iced tea, it turns out, that’s their downfall, the tea.  (I make a killer – ha ha – iced tea!)

So here’s where you come in.  I have a pitcher of tea, now, no longer iced, and there are bee bodies floating inside it.  How do I dispose of the bees? 

I would normally dump the tea down the sink – not on the garbage disposal side, but the other.  In this case, if I dumped the tea down the sink, the strainer would catch the bees and it would look creepy.  I don’t want to see it.  I could choose the garbage disposal side, but it seems disrespectful.  It’s likely at least one of their families wants a viewing.  The last thing, then, I can think of is to dump the tea outside.  I don’t know if it’s organic tea.  There’s fake mint and herbs and some green in it, is it safe for the ground?  And then I have the bee body issue still, that leaves me a pile of them.  Will Scruffy try to eat them and hurt his tongue?

As you can see I’m struggling.  Many of you have probably encountered this sort of thing before.  If you have thoughts, please type them in.  Then, of course, hit “Send.” 

[For your trouble, here are some "Old Creepy Ads."  Check out the pig cutting himself into sausage.]

Um, okay so this … is not me.  And it’s not my sister-in-law (”Theresa DiFalco”) either.  What’s with all the Teresa DiFalcos?  I am not her.  I’m me.  And, also, I was never “furious.”

Remember those two things, they haunt me. Even though she is probably perfectly nice, and someone maybe ought to have been furious, still, neither thing captures me at all.

Well, whatever, I’m tired.  I made peach salsa from the peaches my mother picked off her tree.  I served the peach salsa tonight with scallops.  The scallops were so-so.  I’m on a salsa kick, I made some regular tomato salsa yesterday.  A big giant bowl of it.  I have tomatoes, that’s why, I have about a million.  And also, I like salsa.  So in those particular conditions, what the heck would you do.  Huh? 

I’m terribly bored and I’m trying to write and I’m not managing either thing well, you can see that I’m sure.  I should take Scruffy for a walk, will you come with me?

Speaking of Scruffy.  A friend of mine should be Scruffy’s doctor, but he isn’t.  I didn’t know him when I got Scruffy, and well, Scruffy’s delicate, very sensitive to change.  But besides that, this potential Scruffy doctor — let’s call him ”Vet” for simplicity – did the most amazing thing Saturday night.  He went to dinner with me and A.  That’s not the amazing part, though.  Nor are the cigars and martinis and wine and pasta and swervy back roads.  No.  The amazing part is that we kept Very Tall Vet up until late in the morning, after 2.  And on his way home, long after A. and I were both soundly passed out, he stopped at his office to treat a diabetic dog.

Seriously. 

I don’t know.  I think he’s a hero, an unsung one.  Next time he comes over I will sing.  That’s all I’m saying.  Well that and my job totally sucks this week.  I’m in the lurch.  Loo-de-doo. 

M-III has yet to Friend me like he promised.

I upped my usual dose of coffee this morning and am now onto Coke.  (Diet.  You know I don’t like sweet.)

My laptop is hot, it flashed a snide little note about temperature and then shut itself down, I’m not pleased.  I could work on A.’s laptop, I suppose.  I mean I am, already, I’m doing it now, but there are inconveniences. 

I could write in my head from the pool but there are leaves in the pool and remember?  I’m tired.  I don’t have what it takes to get them out.  Moxie, it would take.  Some sort of zest for life that this morning I’m missing. 

There are foul-smelling things in the refrigerator, I put a note up for the other employees.

There are foul-smelling things in the litter box, and also there are bees.  Everywhere.  I’m not sure how they relate to the smells.

I’d like gardenia-scented candles for Christmas if you don’t mind.  And a cooler laptop.  And a tall dark man (hint, “A.”) to sweep the leaves from the pool.

Man’s really good slightly more than best friend.

You know what they say … behind every good goat .. heh, heh.

… Mickey Rooney has a special place in my heart, because at 86 he’s probably the hardest-working guy in “the business” and because he played the Elgin theater and stayed at the Buffalo Motel, and because Janis got (hit link and scroll down) this great snapshot of him when he was cranky and yelling at his younger/bigger/taller wife to “stop talking to these people so we can get out of here!”

Also because he still makes Page Six.

Loves the Mick. [Wedded Bliss]

The girl mice are screwing like bunnies.

Turns out when you mess with a girl mouse’s voremonasal organ, thrilling results occur. According to a very scientific report from Reuters:

” … the females pursued cage mates aggressively, sniffing their rears and mounting them. They turned to other male mating behaviors, such as pelvic thrusts, while eschewing typically female roles like nesting and nursing.

‘You feel sorry for the males, you imagine they’re confused,’ said one particularly dense scientist in a telephone interview.”

In other groundbreaking news, our White Oak floors are almost in, and A. remembered to pick up coffee.

Because I can’t remember anything, and the house is still torn up like A.’s knee, and I can’t even find a piece of paper, I’ll put it here. I want to pick up this, and this, they’re at the library. (Note to self: don’t forget.)

Saw on old friend Saturday, then went to a party, then went to cub scout camp on Monday. In that order. Friend, party, scouts. Hmm, I have little to say.

On Friday I watched The Graduate (second time, but it’s been years), and was delighted with the ambivalent look Mike Nichols allowed Katherine Ross from her back seat of the bus in the last scene.  A. and I argued over that, he wanted smiles.

That’s seriously all I have. Just checking in.

A., pick up coffee.