You guys are making me really happy that Romeo is my porch cat (and has no interest in being in my house or near my dogs for more than 5 minutes - I've tried!).

Yeah, Hec, back off!

From my standard that people should pick up their pet excreta?

Nope.

I will not kill my mother. I will not kill my mother. I will not kill my mother.

She didn't want to move the can of paint, to paint the door frame, for fear of spilling paint. But she did manage to *drip* paint on my new floor while carrying a loaded paintbrush 10' across the room. Twice. Sigh. She did wipe it up right away, but it's par for mom, to avoid one problem and create another. She also was taping the baseboards, and not doing any overlap, but leaving a hint of a gap between pieces of blue tape...and not pressing it in so it keeps paint off the wall/floor. Because she wanted to make sure it was easy to peel off, and not damage the paint job of the walls. Sigh. She means well, it's just very frustrating. Must focus on the things that she has been very helpful on.

Mini pizza

For the record, I over did it today. That, plus they are looking at hole in floor at 2pm... I'm taking a sick day. Ouch. Ibuprofen, please kick in!!

Hil, did you get any relief?

Zen, you feeling better?

Thanks for the appliance cleaning tip. Need to do to new washer.

I'm feeling better, omnis, except for being awake since 3am. 3 hrs sleep ain't gonna do for me today.

Yeah, I've been up for hours also. Not particularly happy about it.

Harumph.

From my standard that people should pick up their pet excreta?

Nope.

What I find interesting is that some of your friends were having a commiserating-type discussion about how they feel overwhelmed and inadequate and depressed and even the simplest things seem impossible sometimes, and you chimed in brightly that you can't believe they are doing something so gross!!!!

Yeah, dude. I know it's gross. It's super gross. Every time I walk by, I think "good lord, I can't believe I still haven't dealt with that." And then I feel bad about myself, and then I forget or just decide to do one of the other more pressing things like wash dishes or sleep or maybe just fuck off on the internet.

So, way to miss the point of the discussion ENTIRELY. I know I SHOULD deal with it. I mean, DUH. Was there anything in what I said or anyone else said that suggested that this is an awesome thing? No.

And if you're considering telling me that I could have dealt with it in the time it took to post this, please don't.

I'm not flouncing, but I probably won't be on again until after work tonight.

Dried hoark can totally wait, it is the lowest priority of all animal waste issues. Sorry about the pee though, that's my least favorite. I had a very unpleasant episode of "where's that smell coming from???" last week where I checked the boxes, then all the usual spots. Found nothing and assumed it was just really rank gas. Then as I went to turn down the covers for bed...yep. Big pile on the bed, next to my pillow. I hate doing emergency laundry when I want to be sleeping.

What I find interesting is that some of your friends were having a commiserating-type discussion about how they feel overwhelmed and inadequate and depressed and even the simplest things seem impossible sometimes, and you chimed in brightly that you can't believe they are doing something so gross!!!!

Swap "interesting" out for "smug and privileged" and I co-sign.

Seriously, Hec. Sense the tone. I mean, really. Congrats on being the awesomest guy who ever awesomed. Now, can you try to be sympathetic (or at least not shove your disdain in people's faces) to those of us who may not have the flexibilty in our days that you have, a caring partner to shoulder responsibility with, and the lack of depression you seem to have?

Dried hoark can totally wait, it is the lowest priority of all animal waste issues.

Would hairballs be classified as a subset of vomit? I've always wondered that. Because -- yeah, once a hairball is dried, it's not a high priority to clean up. (Although I do have bushels of sympathy for our petsitter -- who has never owned a cat himself -- who was first introduced to hairballs by getting up in the middle of the night and stepping on a fresh one in his bare feet. I guess we forgot to tell him [1] about hairballs, and [2] to wear shoes in the house. That's pretty damn revolting.)