Planty has a sister

Dear diary:

I like Ally now. She was happy to see me come home tonight, which in turn made me happy to see her. She is not a house pest anymore, although she does stink a little bit. But I can just breathe out of my mouth, that's no problem. As long as her tail wags when she sees me, I don't care how bad she smells.

Yours truly,

Ms. Deconstructionist

Can you spot Planty, my REAL pet?

I have a house pest this weekend. Her name is Ally and she's a Hurricane Rita evacuee from Houston.

She's Big C's brother's dog and she's staying with us while he weathers the storm elsewhere.

I'm not a dog person. My only experience living with a dog was when I was six. After begging my parents to get a dog, they finally got one, which I named "Chiquita" and she was very sick so we had to keep her in the bathroom and that's where she stayed for the three weeks that we kept her...for three weeks I was afraid to go to the bathroom because every time I went, Chiquita would bark at me, which was really frustrating because sometimes you just want to shit in peace, even if you're a little kid. The end.

Big C convinced a reluctant T & M that Ally would not be a bother; that she's a good dog; that we wouldn't even notice her. And he was right.

For example, Big C is at the mall interviewing for a weekend job. Although he didn't take Ally with him, I don't notice her hanging around -- because she's downstairs waiting for him to get back. This is Ally before she went downstairs to get away from the paparazzi.







She has a one-track mind, this one.

And the storm party is canceled. It's not even raining. So I'm gonna go with plan B and lay on the couch and watch "The Graduate" or something. I may even invite Ally to watch with me.

The weekend after Labor Day -- highlights and photos

It's actually quiet this morning -- which is rare these days.

One thing I have had to get used to in this new apartment is the constant noise: the squeaky outside gate, tires going over the gate rails, honk-happy drivers, the hum of the nearby highway... I suppose it is all vehicle-related noise and with gas prices rising, maybe these people will stop using their vehicles. Or maybe they'll drive more angrily, vexing me further.

Despite the noise, I now feel comfortable in my new apartment. After being here two weeks, it feels like a home and I have now located practically all of my things. It sounds trite, but there's this box that I have that's full of old papers, school work, journals from when I was 13 and really chatty and every day was a 5-page entry, even though I had no life because I was 13. I couldn't find this box when we lived in small-town-north-of-Dallas in Big C's old apartment for the six weeks that we were there mostly because everything else was in boxes and everything looked the same and well, who wants to dig through boxes for the sake of nostalgia? So, I've located it and now I feel complete.

I did laundry for the first time in this new place. It's always a little weird to do familiar chores but have to come up with a new routine to do them. For example, usually I'd load the washer, wander over to the kitchen, wash dishes, prep dinner or something, and wait for the rinse cycle to put in the fabric softener. Then some more bumbling around until the clothes have to go in the dryer. Now that my washer and dryer live upstairs, it's somewhat awkward -- either I feel I have to stay upstairs to keep an eye on every cycle or run up and down the stairs checking to see "is it on rinse? Is it???" Ay.

And there's kind of a plumbing problem here, too. Whenever I pull the magical stick on the spout that turns bath water into shower water, I never know what's going to happen. Either the water stays in faucet limbo, making a constipated hissing noise, or the water flows triumphiantly. Whenever I get water on the first try, I feel like I won at the slot machines. Plus, the water pressure is excellent, so I'm a big winner.

Big C has been out of town this weekend, so my man M and I had the place to ourselves. When left to our own devices, we can get pretty crazy...



My plate of yummy filth.



Dessert. (That's right, C -- we smoked inside. It was Friday night and we were paralyzed by the yummy filth! Resistance was futile...)

Three cheers for romantic dinners with the one you love and Barbershop!

The butterflies in my stomach tell me that I need to stop procrastinating and get more sleep.

I'm back and in a much better mood, thank you very much to a long weekend, a house-warming-slash-Labor Day-slash-we have a garage now barbeque and the presence of luverly friends.

I have to say that I'm pleased at the moment, even though I woke up way too early and am dressed quite dreadfully today. I'm also agonizing over the fact that I still have ten thousand things to do and still haven't done them. Instead I'm bouncing between "blogging" and staring out the window, sighing every now and then because I'm a sleepy procrastinator. Who's dressed badly.

My man M should get word today on whether or not he gets this job. Oh the butterflies in my stomach!