MONSOON!!

Holy buckets of Hell, Batman!
I've not seen a summer storm like this one in years. Pouring, torrential rain, wind, lightning, thunder. Sky that dark metallic grey that does not bode well. Hail. I love it. When it started I fixed a nice glass of kahlua and milk, sat back, and watched the show. It seems to be over for the moment. I hope we get more.
And if anyone is keeping score. No one has breached the top of the cat tree yet. The storm hit and they all went running like the sissy la-la's they are.

a tree

So my printer is not a printer, and the tree is not a tree. . .
Today, my cheap, all in one printer fax copier machine thingy died a mechanical death. It was old, waaaay past its prime, and not worth defibrillating. It will get its proper burial, soon. A new, sleeker, more friendly one is taking its place.
The true story of the house that has everyone a twitter is a new, tree shaped, er, cat tree for the furries. Celtic Rose was with me, and it its just what they need. Its very nice, three spots to sleep on, shaped like a tree, brown and green. Of course, right now, they are all circling it like hungry sharks. Waiting to see who is going to be the first one up to the top. The two black furries are having a stare down at the base. Audrey will probably win, because she is lazy and can lay there and stare at Jack, forever. Jack has the attention span of a gnat. Angus, smart boy that he is, realized that this new attraction gave him free ticket to the food bowl, unmolested. See, Jack just gave up. Audrey is the winner. Lets see if she will hike her fat behind to the top, now. . . doubtful. Yet. I predict,in the middle of the night, she will try, and get carried away, and the tree will fall over, and wake up my downstairs neighbor. It is inevitable. Oh well.

Summer Vacation

Its already June. It has been six months since New Years, five months since my oft repeated 29th birthday, its June. Why, and how did we get here so damn quickly?
It seems like the older I get, the faster the years just kind of zip by. As a kid, I used to think it would NEVER be summer, the glorious stretch of time where I could sleep as I wanted to (most of the time) and not have people picking at my brain, trying to force usless information into it. June, in its brightness, was always the beginning of that stretch. We'd usually finish school the first week into it, and go back the last week of August. (Always on a Wednesday, for some odd reason.)
Part of me thinks time moves faster because, for me, there is really no such thing as summer vacation anymore. I don't get millions of days off to sleep the way I want to, and waste time. At the beginnings of summer vacation, as a kid, try as I might, I just could not stretch my mind out to touch the first day of school, again. I didn't have to!
Don't get me wrong, I actually was one of those freaks who liked school, even high school, though I'll admit my freshman year was dicey. But I loved summer's off.
Anyhow. I feel kind of at a loss today. Time is moving too quick, and I kind of miss the summer vacation. But the pesky, adult world, and my starving cats chime in, with RESPONSIBILTY! And, being a grown up, I will smile, continue forward, and sleep when I can. . .

and now, for the rest of the story

I'm really starting to get pissed off at the Dutch. Not all off them. Just a few particular ones.
It turns out, that whole reality TV show Kidney giving away stupid idea?
A hoax.
The woman with the "brain tumor" is a healthy actress. The presenters of the show were trying to pressure the government into reforming the donor laws. The three recepiants are actually in need of a kidney, still, but the presenters claim they were in on the joke.
This puts a whole new spin on it for me. I still think this is pretty trashy. Even worse, actually, because now its a total manipulation. If you want new donor laws, round up everyone in Holland who needs a transplant and have them show up at the capital, and sit there. Have them send postcards every day, have their families show up too. I don't know. But not this. It was a stupid stunt. I'm glad that this is not actually going to happen, but still, its smarmy.

Wish they had this while I was there

I just read this great article. For two weeks, they have installed an above the ground, heated pool, beneath the Eiffel Tower. They are giving Scuba lessons in it. You can dive in this pool, which is fairly shallow, and look up at the underside of the Eiffel tower. Of course, when I was there I stood beneath it and look up, but how cool would it have been to say I went scuba diving under it? The French are kind of crazy, but they do have some novel ideas. A few years ago, on the first level, they made an ice rink, too. I would have enjoyed that, as well. Oh well, maybe the next time I go to Europe, they will have thought of something better, like Jello wrestling in the middle of the Champs Elysee. . .

Curse the animal planet!

I should know better than to watch it. But, I needed background noise for while I was reading. Of course, I got distracted by the baby Hyena's named Homer and Marge. Marge, being the bitch she is, dominated Homer completely, and wouldn't let him drink milk from their Mommy, Uno. Meanwhile, another hyena was going to have a baby. She did, and Uno, the original bitch, killed it. I should have turned it off right there, but No, I had to keep watching. So, they take Homer out of the habitat, because Marge, being her mother's daughter would surely kill him. They hand raise him, and let him play with little lion cubs for fun (how's that for irony) and initially the little guy refuses to eat meat. Just as he catches on to the fact that meat is good, at six months old, Homer eats poison and dies! AAAAAAArgh sucky animal planet! Now, the hyena specialist is having trouble connecting to the other cubs, Bongo and Tika. Since he hasn't provided discipline, Bongo and Tika are bossing around the lion cubs. That won't last long. So, of course, this being the animal planet of happily ever after, the specialist takes the hyena cubs in hand, and introduces them to the "misfits" of the hyena clan, three older males that got picked on too much. So, Tika and Bongo find a new family, and all ends well. Except for poor Homer, that is.

Mistress Mayhem sends her greetings

Good Morrow to all of ye in Blog-land. Perchance, ye are wondering who I am, and what have I done with Mielikki? Do not worry overmuch, she is fyne. I am Mistress Mayhem, her Renaissance Faire alter ego.
I must first address the subject of the "meat dude". In Elizabethan times, (which, happenstance I live in), we are obligated, nay, forced to get our meat from stalls in the open air market. So, why you silly modern people are fussy about your meat, I shall never know. I have yet to convince Mielikki that this is a perfectly fyne idea. She is a bit stubborn.
I also wonder about those large, steel contraptions that ye fynd it so amusing to travel in. I have grown accustomed to them myself, since Mielikki, in her stubborn-ness, hath refused to ride a horse to the Renaissance Faire's. (Tis unfair, I tell you now! The girl is entirely TOO stubborn! Fie on her!). A good horse hath value. It needith not this 'gasoline' that I hear all you silly modern people bleat on and on about like sheep. Mayhap, ye like to spend your hard earned coin on useless fuel that destroyeth your atmosphere. In my day, the coin is better spent on spirits, ribbons, fyne clothing, and shoes!
Lastly, I implore you all to grow some hair! I cannot fathom how short ye silly, modern people let the butcher's cut it! Including the men! Mielikki is just as stubborn when it comes to this. While we are at the Renaissance Faire, I plan on telling people that she has had 'the fever', thus, we have shorn our locks. Mayhap, they will believe me.
And now, I shall bid thee fyne readers fare thee well, and leave ye with a few tips on visiting my era, should any of ye be planning on a visit to a Ren faire any time soon.
Ladies, if ye can breathe, the bodyce is not tight enough.
Privies are a priviledge. Unclean, yes, but still a priveledge. Try going out of doors, and see what kind of audience ye get.
Turkey legs make a good meal, and a good weapon.
Always have a blade hidden somewhere
Gentlemen, Do not 'cleavage dive' on your first visit to the shire. And if ye do, do not go about taking pictures of it. Tis foolish. Like as not, the fruit has been in her sweaty cleavage all the day, anyhow, and will taste foul.
If the fyne gentleman at the sword-fighting area offers you a wee taste from his flask, TAKE IT! For the sword-fighters are known for their excellent brews!
Grammarcy for thy attention, mayhap we shall meet again.
Mistress Mayhem