I Must Have Tacos, Or My Head Will Explode. It Does That Sometimes.
So, two days ago I ran out of dry cat food, and Los Gatos have been acting like they have NEVER BEEN FED IN THEIR ENTIRE LIVES.
I fed them wet food twice a day, but they still howled and sat in the kitchen all day. In the morning, they circled me on the bed like loud, furry sharks, smacking me with their paws, and trying to sit on my head.
Then I got their dry food, put it out in bowls and they promptly ignored it.
I do not always like my cats.
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So, I sold my books, and got a great price for some of them, and a not very good at all price for the rest. And I am totally fine with that, because the point was to get rid of stuff. The money is just a bonus. You know, for tacos.
I like tacos.
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Grant sent me healing popcorn this week, because I read on WebMD that the cure for all my illnesses was bacon and cheddar popcorn, and everyone knows that they don’t put stuff on the internet that isn’t true.
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In other news, I have decided that my totally inability to be healthy in any sense of the word is no longer going to prevent me from dating. There are a lot of people in this world, fully half of them are men, and of those there is bound to be at least one who can not only handle my freakshow of medical issues but love me because of that.
I mean, statistically, it should work, right?
