April 15, 2007

I should just walk away from this diary right now. I can't top that last entry. It's not often that a gift like waiting-to-be-framed penile implants lands on your lap. And for free!

Do you think I'll get any Penile Implant Lap Dancing google hits now?

Scooter, the little imprisoned kitty, remains in her very plush jail cell this weekend. She sounds too snotty to be released into the rest of the house. I figure that she'll have been on an antibiotic for a week by Tuesday and then I'll begin the Getting To Know Your Bitch Big Buddy portion of the new kitty fun.

Yoda continues to walk by the room and hiss. Even when no kitty is in site.

Seriously, she's just making me itch to open that door up and let the little kitty run free. Is that mean?

More mean than I normally am, I mean?

Big weekend for me starting right about now. There's a Gem Show in town. Right by the Maul. It starts today and goes through tomorrow. My goal is to not go today because the first day, being on a Sunday, brings out all the amateurs. And me? I am nothing but a professional. Or an amateur who frickin' hates throngs of amateurs getting in my way.

I've got Chalk Turquoise to hunt for, people! And Marcasite pendants! Out of the way you little elastic stringers with your alphabet letter bracelets!

I'm a gal on a mission. Let no one stand between me and the Marcasite!

Okay. Maybe if I go at 3:00 this afternoon the amateurs will all be gone. Well, the Serious Amateurs. I'm just an amateur Amateur.

I think it's funny how I pretend that I'm going to go and buy only two things. Oh, just the chalk turquoise and some marcasite. And then I'll ladedadeda go home, content.

When we all know that if you were to spy on me, I'd be the one with my hands full of stuff I'll never get around to using. Just like every time I go to the Gem Shows. It's the power of Wholesale Prices at the Not-For-The-Public sales that gets me every time.

I sure wish Buzz wasn't such a Germ Sponge right now so she could go with me. She's good at helping me pick out stuff I wouldn't normally pick out. Stuff I actually use. Alas, all those amateurs would sneeze on Buzz and put her right back into that damn hospital. Damn amateurs. Where'd they get those tax ID numbers from, anyway. There ought to be a law keeping the strip-mall craft table people from getting tax ID numbers.

Hmmm. Wasn't I just talking about how Yoda is such a bitch? I guess I'll just end this now and sit outside of Scooter's prison and hiss.

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