My littlest cat Ellie thinks she is a squirrel. I don’t know if it’s the likeness of the bushy tail or what, but this cat thinks that squirrels are her folk.

We installed a bird feeder, staked to the ground, outside the front window last weekend.

And the squirrels have come. And the cat is sooo happy.

When I was a kid, there were squirrels who would come up to our kitchen door and eat cheetos and peanut butter out of our hands. My sister and I loved it, and we named a cute one who came often Ringer, a nod to the white ring of fur that circled his left eye.

Sadly, one summer our neighbors across the street decided that there were too many squirrels and started a “catch and release” program with traps. (We know, they killed them. Don’t rub it in.)

Ringer never came back.

I think I’ll hold off on naming Ellie’s new friend for now.

I swear.

Go watch his little short movie and I promise you’ll laugh.

You know you’ve reached that point in your relationship when discussing bodily functions becomes commonplace.

The Porkchop and I had dinner at a new restaurant on Tuesday. His dish, while quite tasty, had fresh cayenne pepper flakes and roasted whole cloves of garlic.

I just got a detailed description of the burning butt that occurred this morning.

Oddly enough, I actually ate his leftovers and did not have that problem, but the Porkchop has a very sensitive (read: wussy) stomach.

lol

Update: The Porkchop just read this, and aside from being so insulted, lol, he wants to know what “that point is.”

I respond, “you know, that point.”

To which he says, “That point where I’m going to dump you for writing this, is that that point?”

hehe

This past week the Porkchop and I were in NYC for several days.

There was work, good food, Canal Street (the Chop, once again, was very sad) and… my sister, who was in NYC with her boyfriend, on a little vacation.

Her boyfriend, who, I might add, does not understand the Northeast winters and had to purchase ear muffs and gloves the second day in town. lol

We partied, got drunk, ate at Craft (Tom Colicchio’s restaurant… you know, Chef Tom from Top Chef) —which was fantastic, except for the veal cheeks (which the sister ordered), shopped Canal (you got about 10 purses, right sis?), um got drunk again and sucked down a tasty frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity.

Now, we’re home, mostly recuperated, and debating a move into a very cute little cottage in a town closer to our friends.

I’ve hesitated writing about this place, after the last time I wanted a really cute little cottage by the water and it was given to a more deserving person… this one is right on the water, complete with patio, washer and dryer, space for a dog, attic and basement, gorgeous hardwood floors, cathedral ceilings and a dishwasher.

We find out tomorrow or Friday if we get it, or if it goes to someone else.

The waiting game is excruciating.

I work in a very suburban-ish area, in the sense that it’s not a big city, but there are other businesses nearby.

One is a mid-sized building, shorter than ours, that I can see from my window.

And hear.

They’ve been doing some sort of construction on it and I swear to god, it feels like we’re in the middle of a battlezone. There is a constant percussion of noise, something akin to bombs dropping a few miles away, and our building shakes ever so often, causing Mickey and I to grouse.

Our IT guy just came up to finish installing a new computer. When the building shook yet again, he looked over at me, winked, and said, “My, my, you rock my world.”

And then he chortled.

I don’t know whose expression was more dismayed and disgusted, mine or Mickey’s (he truly loathes the IT guy).

(The IT guy, you see, is well into his 40s, quite unattractive and highly irritating. Seeing as how this is a building full of women, he fancies himself a “ladies man” and attempts to flirt with all of us, and therefore has an irrational need to one-up Mickey whenever he can.)

He grinned at Mickey, who simply responded.

Dude…. Seriously?

And shook his head.

My dad just called in a panic.

My Ipod is frozen. There’s a little lock symbol in the top corner and I’ve tried all the buttons I’d normally use and it’s not working and…

Dad, just look at the top, where the headphone jack is? There’s a button up there, move it to the other side.

Well that’s just… yeah, OK. I feel pretty stupid right now.

Um… you in the OR [Operating Room] or something?

Yeah, getting ready to be.

Don’t let them hear that you feel stupid right now, OK?

Cute.

Yeah, I get that a lot.

Seriously, my favorite phone calls are the panicked ones I get from my dad when he thinks he’s broken his iPod and he’s about to go in to surgery with NOTHING TO ENTERTAIN HIM.

I get that from his side. 😉

hehehehe.

Sometime last week I heard a piece on NPR about the Oxford English Dictionary, and how they publishers put out an appeal every year for help dating certain slang words.

The list is quite long, but includes such gems as “arsey” and “as if!”

My new favorite?

“Gordon Bennett!”

As in, “Gordon Bennett! I slammed my finger in the door!” or “Gordon Bennett, a GIANT bug just fell on my desk!”

Yes, Gordon Bennett is apparently a word you should feel free to use to replace all manner of curse words, like “shit,” “damn” and “fuck monkey.”

In all honesty, I should point out that up until I just heard the piece again, I thought it was “Gordon Elliott!,” not “Gordon Bennett!,” and the Porkchop and I have been saying “Gordon Elliott!” all week.

And since it’s so much fun, I think we should ALL say “Gordon Elliott!” and get it into the vernacular.

Who’s with me?

“You’re driving me insane and I will NEVER give you a URL of a site I’m working on again. Seriously.”

“No, I’m not kidding, a two-drink maximum? How is that a party?”

“If you don’t quit poking around on the site, I’m going to block your IP address permanently.”

“Would it help if I talked slower?”

“Have you seen the new Mac commercial? The one where PC gives Mac a GUI C++ Book? I’m NOT PC. I don’t do heavy-duty programming. Think of me as a Mac, but wearing the suit of PC and dating PC’s cousin, Web Developer Dude.”

Ah, the joys of morning meetings.

Did I mention that working for my boss is like working for a slightly slow puppy dog?

Nine purses, two wallets, two pairs of sunglasses and one completely dead Porkchop… that is what I accomplished this morning on Canal Street.

We walked the 40 or so blocks down, but cabbed back. Which was necessary, but kinda sad since the cab drove by a restaurant called “Burgers and Cupcakes,” and it had a giant, pink-frosted cupcake on the awning.

Fortunately for the no-longer-fully-functioning-Porkchop, it wasn’t “Sushi and Cupcakes,” so I didn’t make the cabbie stop.

Fortunate also for me, since he might’ve disowned me at that point, lol.

The Chop and I got a Christmas tree yesterday.

It’s kinda short, but perfect for the size of our apartment.

Sadly, it’s also a little bare, as somehow I forgot I have very little ornaments… eight, to be exact (and one is a glass octopus with two legs broken off).

See, last year I had a couple dozen white, gold and silver glass balls that covered my tiny little, pre-lit tabletop tree.

And then, one night, Ellie knocked that tree off the table and onto the hard floor and the next morning, I had four little glass balls left.

So this year, after we put up the lights, I hung those four little balls, the octopus, two snowmen and the tiara (on the top), and realized that our tree was pathetic.

Then I added the candy canes I don’t like (JellyBelly makes a cotton candy one, but it comes in a pack with cherry cherry and pear, so there are 16 to hang) and voila! it almost looks like a real tree.

A little.

The tiara is a little weird; I need to go to a store, lol.