Tag Archives: sports

Cat-wars and roadtrips and sports follies: a day of random goodness, part two

Welcome back, friends! And enemies, I suppose, but I hope none of you are enemies. How distressing would THAT be? I don’t want my enemies reading this. ENEMIES! Be OFF with you!

Yesterday we discussed SOME things, today we will discuss MORE things. I know. I have lots of things to tell you. What can I say, I live a life of excitement and mystery. Except since I tell you all about it, there’s not so much “mystery” as there is “no mystery at all.”

World War Flea

Update on the Newcat/Dumbcat situation: Newcat continually attacks Dumbcat. Dumbcat used to just cower in the corner and make pathetic noises that made my whole heart ache, but he apparently is tired of that, so now he’s standing up for himself and HISSING and SPITTING and BATTING HIS LITTLE ARMS IN RESPONSE. Then I break it up because I’m afraid someone’s going to get hurt. Newcat still loves me and follows me around like a little smitten kitten. The other night, the cats decided to play King of the Mountain. Guess what was the mountain? My hip. Under the covers. In bed. First Dumbcat wanted to sleep with me. Then Newcat decided SHE wanted to sleep with me. So she leapt into the bed. MUCH FIGHTING MUCH HISSING MUCH SPITTING! And I was half-asleep so I said “mrph stop cut it out so tired” and then whoever lost tumbled off the bed and whoever won settled in. It was dark, I’m not sure who was the victor. Then like an hour later, THE LOSER DECIDED TO CHALLENGE THE WINNER TO A REMATCH! So another leap! MORE SPITTING AND MORE HISSING! More me saying “why is what is this stop no please what?” This happened pretty much hourly all night long. Luckily they seem to have discovered a victor because it didn’t happen again the next night.

This obviously exhausts Dumbcat. What a tough life, aw. (Also, that FACE! Isn't he so squishable?)

This obviously exhausts Dumbcat. What a tough life, aw. (Also, that FACE! Isn’t he so squishable?)

Then today I got home from work and they’d knocked everything off the end table and unplugged all the cords for all the things I had plugged in, so apparently they worked together to save electricity or something. I’m not quite sure what happened there. Thanks? I think? Maybe?


Dad’s on his annual pilgrimage to Florida as we speak. He just arrived. He took off Saturday night and arrived this morning. (Well, MONDAY morning for you. I’m writing this days ago. Sorry to break your brain.) He bought a total old-man car for the trip. He’s been driving a really old car that pieces fall off of for the longest time, and FINALLY listened to his daughter and got a new car. Well, it’s not NEW, it’s a little old, but it’s totally a huge silver Buick. I have been picking on him about this for DAYS. “Dad, you have to drive down the middle white line with a car like that at 30 miles per hour on the highway, that’s the rule for cars like that,” I tell him. “NOT FUNNY I AM NOT OLD,” he says.

I found this photo on something called "Classy Cars." Hee! Classy = OLD PERSON CAR.

I found this photo on something called “Classy Cars.” Hee! Classy = OLD PERSON CAR.

Now he is in his condo for the next month. Apparently this condo is decorated in the best of 60s chic and the walls are all mirrored and he said that was scary and when he wakes up in the middle of the night to pee he’s going to think there’s a robber in the house but it’ll really be him. “You could put a positive spin on it and think you’re having a party,” I said. “I HATE PARTIES,” he grumbled.

Not Dad's condo. But probably similar. Look out for robbers!

Not Dad’s condo. But probably similar. Look out for robbers, Dad!

He also told me this story. Background: his brother and his sister-in-law are staying in the next condo (my godparents, Uncle D. and Aunt M.), and his sister and his brother-in-law are staying in the OTHER next condo (my aunt G. and uncle P.) They all went out to happy hour, so I think they might have all been a little tipsy.

Dad: So P. and I went over to get D. and knocked on the door, but no one answered.
Me: OK. Maybe they went out.
Dad: They did not. Their car was in the lot.
Me: Maybe they went for a walk on the beach.
Dad: No. I tried the door and it was unlocked.
Me: Sheesh, homebreaker, way to barge in.
Dad: P. said, “I bet they’re doing it.”
Me: DAD. I do not need to hear about my godparents DOING it.
Dad: People still do it when they’re godparents, Amy.
Dad: That’s not very many times. Why two?
Me: They have two children. Two times. Done done done.
Dad: People who are married do it.
Dad: So when P. said “I bet they’re doing it” we ran away and also were laughing.
Me: You ran away giggling like teenagers?
Dad: Not GIGGLING. We’re not young GIRLS. We were LAUGHING. Like grown-up MEN.
Me: This story makes me laugh. Maybe Aunt M. was in the shower and Uncle D. was out on the patio looking at the ocean.
Dad: Stop pretending they weren’t doing it.

I was looking for something funny related to doing it and this has NOTHING to do with that, except extraneously, but OMG did this make me laugh like a moron.

I was looking for something funny related to doing it and this has NOTHING to do with that, except extraneously, but OMG did this make me laugh like a moron.

Also, Dad had a very funny joke, courtesy of HIS dad, who I sadly never got to meet but I would have loved so much because he was intelligent and very funny. See, Dad was held up in an accident-related traffic jam on the Virginia-North Carolina border. It was a huge accident. 6 people (I think?) died and 70-some were hospitalized because the highway was foggy and people just kept running into each other.

So Dad and I were talking about how if the weather was really bad, is it better to stop if you can’t see? Or is it better to keep going? Because both ways, you’re probably screwed. You stop, someone hits you. You keep going, someone hits you (or you hit someone. Or go off the road. Or hit a sign. Your options are unlimited, really.)

Dad said, “Did I ever tell you the story my dad told me about driving in really bad weather?”

Dad never tells me stories about his father. They make him too sad. So this was very exciting. No, I said, he hadn’t told me that story.

“Well, Dad said that you’re supposed to always keep an eye on the white line in bad weather, or when it’s dark. So you can stay in your lane. It’s your guide. Well, one night, this guy he knew was in bad weather. So he kept his eye on the white line. Kept his eye on the white line for a long time. Until, BAM, he smashed into the back of a truck. It wasn’t a white line. It was a milk truck that had been leaking.”

The moral of the story is, the white line is a nice guide, but also look up once and a while. Or that milk trucks are leaky, maybe.

The moral of the story is, the white line is a nice guide, but also look up once and a while. Or that milk trucks are leaky, maybe.

I laughed. That was a good story.

“I’m pretty sure Dad made that up. But you didn’t interrupt him when he was telling a story. Because he was the best storyteller in the whole world.” Dad was quiet for a minute. “Until you. Now there’s you.”

Then I got sniffly and blamed seasonal allergies.

You’re welcome, Syracuse fans

So remember we talked about my excellent bracket-picking skillzzzzz? As of this point, my brackets are the most busted. I am in last place in the group I’m in to win a gift card (which might mean I have to buy the gift card for the winner – Dad is quite sure that’s how it works, even though I told him I was pretty sure it’s not) and I’m losing to Dad in our group (but we still could both win – I’ve got Louisville to win the whole thing, and he has Syracuse, so it’s still up in the air. So I might be buying him a McDonald’s meal – or I might be getting one bought for ME! Whoo-hoo! Come on, Louisville!)

Hee, I assume this is one of the coaches, but he looks like an orchestra conductor.

Hee, I assume this is one of the coaches, but he looks like an orchestra conductor.

In Jim‘s group, I’m out (I think I’m third-to-last) and Dad can’t win, although he did better than I did. Jim’s doing pretty well but I don’t know if he can win, either. Dad is VERY DISPLEASED he is losing to the guy who is dead to him.

“I think he’s using cyborgs,” he said.

“Cyborgs? What?” I replied.

“All the people we’re playing against in that group, that are beating us: he made them up. They’re not real. They’re cyborgs.”

“They’re half-human, half-robot people?”

No one told me I'd be playing against cyborgs!

No one told me I’d be playing against cyborgs!

“No. They’re IMAGINARY,” Dad said, exasperated.

“Well, if they’re imaginary, they might be CYBER, but I don’t think they’re CYBORG,” I said.

“You make up a lot of words,” Dad said. “Whatever they are, all I know is, that guy is about fifty times more dead to me than he was when we started this. He’s cheating. CHEATING ON BASKETBALL! With CYBORGS!”

Oh, this is bad, Jim. When you decided you were going to create a half-human, half-robot army to cheat at basketball, I don’t think you understood the can of worms you were going to open. SO! MANY! WORMS! JIM!

Jim asked me on Facebook if HE was a cyborg, and I told him no, of course not, as all my internet people are female truck drivers. “Female CYBORG truck driver,” Jim replied.

Touché, Jim. Touché.

Also, I want to extend my warmest “you’re welcome” to the Syracuse fans out there. Because I didn’t choose your team, they have made it to the final four. If I HAD chosen them, they would have lost. Dreadfully. A long time ago. Possibly while holding up a sign saying “Sorry, Amy, you should have known better.” So, Syracuse fans, you are WELCOME. I will take any thank-you gifts you have to offer, such as chocolate, cute pajamas, or CAT TREETZ. (I didn’t type that last one. I think you can guess who did. His name starts with Dumb and ends with cat. Don’t be taking over my keyboard just to get yourself treats, bub.)

There! Whew! Two days of ALL THE THINGS OF RANDOMNESS! Now it is…Wednesday? Yes. Most assuredly Wednesday. Happiest of Wednesdays to you all. You and you and EVEN YOU.

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