Moving On Up

BORING HOUSEKEEPING ENTRY

I've just put together a new blog at our personal website. From now on, I'll post at:

All Hail Suburbia

But I'm going to leave this here for a while until I can get all the posts moved over and links updated and so forth.

Hope you'll come visit me in my new home!

Merry, merry....

Whatever you are celebrating this time of year -- or if you're just having a good day -- merry, merry to you!

Papa heartily agrees.

Abby was more like, "meh". But, then, I did just accidently come too close to her with the office chair. I tried to make it up with a catnip mousie, but. . . meh.

Cheers!

Bride of Frankenkitty and other junk.

This is Abby. Isn't she cute? This is about as close as you want to get to Abby. She sometimes scratches. She'd bite you, but she has very few teeth.

We need to introduce Abby to Papa. They're both maybe 15 (?) years old and pretty set in their ways. Abby's been a solitary housecat for lo these many years and Papa's been out rumbling in the street.

It's like West Side Story!

Wait. Is it? Abby would have to be in a gang too. No, that doesn't work. It's more of a scrappy Romeo and Juliet, if Juliet looked at Romeo like... "fool".

Anyway, Papa is funny. We open the door a crack and let them see each other. He just kind of bats his big blue eyes at her while she hisses and spits, then he turns and ambles away, purring as he goes.

Mr. W thinks Papa might go all Pepé Le Pew on her, so if we catch him painting himself calico, we'll totally know what he's up to. So, right, wish us luck. I think we might need it.

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I like Madonna's new song Hung Up (*dances around empty office*), but what's with the Matrix Rave Scene in the middle of the video?
__________

Seen: Motorcycle cop - 'scuse me - police officer, with a stuffed Grinch doll tied to his seat. That sends a message, does it not?

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I'm excited for Christmas. The Detroit contingent made it out here just fine and we're just going to hang around with people and visit for three days.

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Question of the day: What you gon' do with all that junk inside your trunk?

. . . there. If that doesn't get the keyword searchers here, I'm just going to give up on them.

Want some cake?

I. . . have . . . a . . . husband.

You could knock me over with a feather. In a totally good way.

I think I'll go call my husband now. I need to make sure he saves me some of that leftover cake. Because. . . well, it's cake!

A husband. Dang.

This just in...

We need lots of warm snow-melty vibes directed towards Detroit. Okay? Thanks.

Memememe. Ahem. ME!

So. Mr. Wolf and I are getting married on Saturday. It's kind of strange to have this feeling of the whole world revolving around ME -- I mean US -- for the last couple of weeks. Everything is "wedding, this" and "wedding, that" and "fanny fanny boo boo".

I admit it, I made up that last one to see if you were paying attention.

(Paying attention to MEEEEEE!)

There's also this sort of feeling like we're having a barn raising and then afterwards, the womenfolk will serve apple pie. Well, okay, maybe not so much exactly like that. But it's just that so many people are donating things to help make it go smoothly. . . chafing dishes, space heaters, canopies, dog-sitting services. It's like that time Ned's house burned down and we built him a new one, only it was all tiny inside and the toilet was in the kitchen.

Ohhh, wait, that was an episode of The Simpsons. Never mind.

Blaze of . . . glory?

See this?

This is the home of Trinity Broadcasting Network (TBN). They call this location, in Costa Mesa, CA, "Trinity City International". It boasts a virtual reality theater with a 48-channel sound system, a recreation of the Via Dolorosa, a 15-foot-high statue of Michael the Archangel, a television studio, and Jan Crouch's hair.

Well, she's gotta keep it somewhere.

Anyway, I can usually avoid TBN, insidious as it is, but it's the lights that get to me. One million lights. So garish, so obnoxious, so loud. These things scream, they're so bright. TBN turned on the lights in the late 90's and they've stayed on through looooong Christmas seasons and even through our electricity shortage -- rolling blackouts be damned! I mean, praised! Or something, whatever.

I found a quote from a TBN spokesman on Rick Ross' site that had me rolling: "They barely shine," said TBN spokesman Colby May. "They are simply firefly-in-the-night type of lights."

Barely shine, folks. When I get my camera back, I'm going over there to take a picture that you'll be able to blow up and see just how much one million white lights "barely shine".

TBN, through all its various tentacles, exhorts each and every one of us to send money in the name of Jesus. Lots and lots of money. Obviously people do, many who can least afford it. And this.... THIS monstrosity is what some of it is spent on. This and the velvet couches and marble and luxurious furnishings and houses and cars and jets and fine meals and Jan Crouch's hair.

Anyway. I wish they'd turn down the lights. I think stars in the sky might be a bit more representative of God, but WE CAN'T SEE the stars because of all the light pollution.

Would Jesus Pollute (WJP)?

Would Jesus know what that hideous glare off the 405 was?


The photo is from TBN's site, which you'll have to find on your own.
Don't fret, it's easy.

Frankenkitty

Meet Papa.

Papa's wearing a cone around his neck. Papa is living in our bathroom and wearing a cone around his neck. Papa gets antibotics crushed up and put in his food while he wears a cone around his neck.

Know why? Neither do we, completely, but I suspect that Papa met a possum.

Ready for the graphic photo of Frankenkitty? I'll try to give you some scrolling space. I'll make it a small picture. You'll find it at the bottom of this entry.

Because, yuck.

This cat is THE biggest love. Total lap junkie. He's one of those neighborhood strays that has lived in the Wolf family's neighborhood for well over 12 years. He's always been a bit of a bruiser, but I'd say he met his match recently.

Anyway, we got him stitched up and, like I said, he's living in our bathroom for the next couple of weeks. We're trying to figure out a way to make him an indoor cat for someone. I'm secretly hoping the vet will fall in love with him and take him on as another office cat. I'd take him to my office, but a couple of my co-workers hate cats. Whatever, Grinches.

Okay. Start scrolling. . .















Poor Frankenkitty. I love him.















P.S. Still using a borrowed camera. Sorry for the lousy quality of these.