Pull my finger

I have been looking for a dumb book to read lately (a page-turner that isn't terribly thought provoking) and mistakenly picked a Dean Koonst (don't get me started Freddy, you were right) novel. I have read a couple before, and liked them well enough, however this one is just awful. Not one to dismiss a book I've opened (Andrew: Nelson Mandela's biography doesn't count, since I do intend to finish it, but want to give it the attention it deserves...and besides, my wrists can't support it's weight when I read in bed) I try to continue. I had nightmares about a murderous monkey troop after reading some of it. It's not well written enough to give me nightmares. This pisses me off.

Yesterday at work I wore a really cute, brand new skirt. When I went to the ladies room the back of it dipped in the toilet as I sat down. There, I admitted it. It's public. I have toilet germs on my new skirt. It doesn't even bother me that much. Fortunately no one was in the ladies room to hear me laugh maniacally when I realized what happened.

I want a pet. I am torn between a cat and a dog. I see benefits to having both, but Andrew says 1 only. We'll see where this goes...didn't he just get his dream vacation recently? We currently have a fish that is left over from Andrew's fish phase - stage one of a multi-stage plan to eventually own a living salt water reef that would contain more water than a large bathtub. He's over that, but one lone Tetra remains. Since it was his idea I have, for the most part, left the fish alone for him to take care of - with the exception of miscellaneous feedings. We had four fish a couple years ago, then 3, now one. The little guy just wants to live. Even when the tank was too filthy to see into, you'd catch a glimpse of him happily swimming around. I was waiting for him to die so I could throw out the putrid tank. BUT, while in Europe, Andrew's mom looked after our house. She took pity on the sad conditions the fish was coping with, and with compassion unparalleled, even on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, she took him out of his tank and cleaned it (with an SOS pad, nonetheless). The fact that he survived the industrial strength cleanser residue is a testament to his will to live. I have taken an interest in him again. We've named him Rasputin, who also was hard to kill.