Timelies all!

Happy Birthday Sail!

I'm sorry about your car, ita.

Got the email, JZ, thanks.

I haven't wanted to try and call Deena, because if there are problems I don't want to make them have to cope with intrusions, but there have been no replies to emails, either.

What I find upsetting is the authors who have worked with Drollerie but who don't know Deena and who are now badmouthing her for sloppy business practice etc. I remind myself that all they know is the business, and they're being rightfully protective of their interests, but I want to get on the group email and say vicious things. I've resisted, so far.

I should have known to have more trust in the ability of Buffistas to be reflective and gracious and not tell me to fuck off, Jack.

Are you kidding? Speaking as the person (or one of the people, if Scrappy is willing to share, although I really feel like I'm the one who kicked it off) who started it, *I* deserved some fierce invective, and instead you were gracious and lovely, as always. Better than I deserve.

I do so dearly love this place and these people.

As do I. So much.

But now I have bangs, and I don't know if I really like them.

I think we'll need to see pictures. I know I will.

I'm sorry for contributing too, JZ. I know I had some pent-up frustrations that overwhelmed my judgment.

So, kittens. Kittens are cute.

I think we'll need to see pictures.

Sorry. No working digital cameras in the house.

Me, too, JZ. It really was an atypical kind of convo for the board anyway, and you're right.

Happy birthday, Sail!

ita, ugh that sucks.

Hopkins has accepted him as a patient

That's good news, Maria. Please don't hesitate to give me a call if you need or want anything. really!

In other FUCK CANCER news, I just found out today that a friend in CA has breast cancer. She's not sure at this point what the treatment will be but the doctors think they caught it early. Which is great, of course, but ... jesus.

I'm sitting here listening to my cat munch on something, and I'm wondering if I had any stray chicken wings lying about that the cats could have gotten into, finally turn on the light, and there's my Nunya, nomming away on a chipmunk's head.

crunch crunch crunch

I'ma wait 'til she's done, I'm too close to dry-heaving to shoo her away and toss it in the bushes. Dead body I can handle, this, oh god, the sounds . . .

I think she might be telling me she wants some fucking canned food to fatten her up for winter. She's never eaten a critter inside the apartment. Brought them in as presents, used a poor dead mole as a soccer ball a couple of weeks ago, but never actually eaten them.

blech.

the chipmunk is all gone. No cleanup for me. Nunya is pleased with herself and stole my seat.

I'm glad she doesn't bathe me like Ply does.