Another Week And This Is All I Have To Show For It

Last Saturday, we finally got to see Blade Runner: The Final Cut. I bought it with my Christmas money, for some reason I feel I need to explain how I'm allowed to have nice things, and this thing...it's nice. The movie was so clear I felt like I never saw it before. Fabulous.

The U.S. National Figure Skating Championships were on all weekend, and that's one of the two skating events I still try to catch when it's on. Nice to see we've got some good skaters coming up, even though I only recognized about five of them and event hough two of the three female medalists can't go to the Worlds because they're too young to skate internationally or something. Would Mahai Nagasu spread the cute? Is that a danger? NBC has stolen the coverage from ABC Sports, and as a result they've now got ten different commentators, and Bob Costas, who keeps breaking into baseball jokes in a desperate attempt to stay macho. I wish I could laugh, but all I wondered was who would come out alive if Bob Costas and Robert Osbourne were locked in a room for three years.

Monday mum had her Unna Boot changed, and we all know how that went (seriously, scroll down to an earlier post).

Tuesday we realized it had been five days since The Puppy ate willingly, and she'd been having a runny bottom, so we made an appointment with her doctor. This may or may not have contributed to my total major crack-up that had me wanting to drink caustic things or take more than the recommended dosage of allergy pills. Either that or it was the fact that I don't like being yelled at by people who should have more sense than me. (WARNING: hey kids, don't drink caustic things or take more than the recommended dosage of any kind of pills. You probably won't die at first, but it will make you wish you had.)

Rudy Guiliani dropped out of the presidential race. My soaring joy over this was cut short as John Edwards also dropped out. So while we won't have President 9/11, we also will have to put up with those increasingly horrid drug ads. It doesn't matter now, John...someday. Someday.*

*EDIT FROM THE FUTURE: No, John, never.

The night before taking Miss Poopsalot to be checked out, we left on a movie called S.S. Doomtrooper. It's...not Band of Brothers as much as Altered Beast meets Call of Duty. Or something. It was hilarious, if the Nazis making mutant monsters on top of being Nazis can be hilarious.

At the beginning of the week, I was dreading Friday, merely because the past two times I've taken Mum around to the shops on a Friday, bad things have happened to me. By Wednesday, I sort of hoped I'd be happy to see Saturday, provided we all weren't dead or anything. By Thursday night, I was over the moon with glee because all was right with the world again and I was once again reminded that I chose a fabulous vet. The Puppy began eating and stopped pooping a lot, and the world was a delightful and sparkling place...until The Fluffy One developed a runny bottom on Friday.

Also on Friday, it rained. A lot. It rained and warmed up and the crocuses began to poke through the ground and it was cloudy and there is no way in hell a groundhog or a snake or The Virgin Mary or Brigid saw shadows in the state of New York. Winter never even began. The euonymus scale is still all over the leaves, there are little leaves showing up all over the trees, I've been waking up after two hours of useless sleep, but the Cailleach, that's still asleep. SPRINGTIME IS NOW.

Stay tuned next week when my weather forecasting abilities will be buried under ten inches of snow. (See, now either way the weather goes, I win.)

Another Week And This Is All I Have To Show For It