All Your 'Stans Are Belong to Me
Feb. 26th, 2011 09:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
timerippleMy posting this month has been more sparse than usual NOT because I am hopelessly lazy but because I have been Improving My Mind. Yes. That is to say, I have become thoroughly addicted to Sporcle quizzes. I have drastically improved my world geography score (from a pathetic 94 to averaging somewhere in the mid-170s, barring a few pesky European and African countries, and most of Oceania) and am working on the periodic table. (I find it hilarious that Gallium and Germanium are right next to each other. What?)
...
My dentist appointment today went as well as could be expected.
HYGIENIST: Do you know how much plaque I scraped off?
ME: Nrgahh?
HYGIENIST: You have NO PLAQUE in your entire mouth.
ME: Nrghh...
HYGIENIST: And, because you have no plaque for me to scrape off and we moved your appointment up by two hours, we can all go home and enjoy a Saturday afternoon to ourselves! Yay!
ME: Nrghhyay!
Go me?
...
A few weeks ago while![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cadragongirl was on retreat having wild crazy church parties, I was heading out the front door to go to work (as you do, when you are employed). As I reached for the foyer door, from the other side of the glass a pair of cat eyes stared soulfully up at me. “Mrrrow,” they said pathetically.
Oh noez! It is a kitteh! A poor, lost kitteh, wandering in the cold, who has taken shelter in our porch! What to do?
Well, the second I inched open the door, the poor, lost kitteh was through like a shot. What to do? He had a rabies tag and an address but (unhelpfully) no phone number.
His name was Oskar. With a “k”.
Of course it was.
The long and short of it was, Oskar-with-a-k wound up napping smugly on my giant inappropriately pink chair while I called his rabies shot hospital (closed until later that day), the number Google gave me for his address, and about five different animal control numbers before I finally got the one for the right town.
ANIMAL CONTROL NO. 1: If he’s an outdoor cat, he’s probably trying to get home and you’re preventing him by holding him.
ME: I get what you're saying, but trust me, he’s not trying to go anywhere right now.
ANIMAL CONTROL NO. 2: Uh, nope, you should call the number for his town.
ME: Do you... have that number? ‘Cause the internet doesn’t seem to.
ANIMAL CONTROL NO. 2: Uh... nope.
[15 minutes later]
ME: Hello, is this Animal Control for B----?
ANIMAL CONTROL NO. 5: Yes.
ME: This cat followed me into my apartment, um, I dunno if he’s lost or intrudes on people’s homes regularly or what, but...
ANIMAL CONTROL NO. 4: Does he have a name and address?
ME: Yes! *reels off address*
ANIMAL CONTROL NO. 4: Oh, yes. We’re very familiar with this cat. You can put him back outside again, he wanders all over the city.
ME: Hear that, Oskar, you enormous fuzzy faker? Out you go. I’m going to work, finally.
OSKAR: *stink-eye*
ME: See you ‘round.
OSKAR: *wanders off in search of some other naive person to try his poor-lost-kitteh wiles on*
ME: Bus! Bus!
Luckily half my co-workers are cat-lovers.
...
My dentist appointment today went as well as could be expected.
HYGIENIST: Do you know how much plaque I scraped off?
ME: Nrgahh?
HYGIENIST: You have NO PLAQUE in your entire mouth.
ME: Nrghh...
HYGIENIST: And, because you have no plaque for me to scrape off and we moved your appointment up by two hours, we can all go home and enjoy a Saturday afternoon to ourselves! Yay!
ME: Nrghhyay!
Go me?
...
A few weeks ago while
cadragongirl was on retreat having wild crazy church parties, I was heading out the front door to go to work (as you do, when you are employed). As I reached for the foyer door, from the other side of the glass a pair of cat eyes stared soulfully up at me. “Mrrrow,” they said pathetically. Oh noez! It is a kitteh! A poor, lost kitteh, wandering in the cold, who has taken shelter in our porch! What to do?
Well, the second I inched open the door, the poor, lost kitteh was through like a shot. What to do? He had a rabies tag and an address but (unhelpfully) no phone number.
His name was Oskar. With a “k”.
Of course it was.
The long and short of it was, Oskar-with-a-k wound up napping smugly on my giant inappropriately pink chair while I called his rabies shot hospital (closed until later that day), the number Google gave me for his address, and about five different animal control numbers before I finally got the one for the right town.
ANIMAL CONTROL NO. 1: If he’s an outdoor cat, he’s probably trying to get home and you’re preventing him by holding him.
ME: I get what you're saying, but trust me, he’s not trying to go anywhere right now.
ANIMAL CONTROL NO. 2: Uh, nope, you should call the number for his town.
ME: Do you... have that number? ‘Cause the internet doesn’t seem to.
ANIMAL CONTROL NO. 2: Uh... nope.
[15 minutes later]
ME: Hello, is this Animal Control for B----?
ANIMAL CONTROL NO. 5: Yes.
ME: This cat followed me into my apartment, um, I dunno if he’s lost or intrudes on people’s homes regularly or what, but...
ANIMAL CONTROL NO. 4: Does he have a name and address?
ME: Yes! *reels off address*
ANIMAL CONTROL NO. 4: Oh, yes. We’re very familiar with this cat. You can put him back outside again, he wanders all over the city.
ME: Hear that, Oskar, you enormous fuzzy faker? Out you go. I’m going to work, finally.
OSKAR: *stink-eye*
ME: See you ‘round.
OSKAR: *wanders off in search of some other naive person to try his poor-lost-kitteh wiles on*
ME: Bus! Bus!
Luckily half my co-workers are cat-lovers.
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