Dogs, Books and Catastrophes

Bank statements, man. I know it’s supposed to be “Point Of Sale” but I always read POS as “Piece Of Shit.”

So I’m doing my annual re-listen of the HP series, and I get to the part in PoA where they’re facing the boggart in DADA, where Harry’s thinking for a minute it might turn into Lord Voldemort for him. So I start thinking, how could you make Voldemort look amusing so you could defeat the boggart? And then I pictured him with a red rubber clown nose where his real nose should he and honestly it’s two days later and I can’t stop giggling about it.

M: How did you sleep? Me: Pretty good. Except for when those fireworks went off and I had to let the dogs in. Oh, and then Sirius kept kicking me because apparently he was having a dream about bounding across a field or something. Me: ...so, actually not that great, come to think of it.

The new foaming ear cleaner the vet sold me for the dog works great, but it tastes absolutely terrible.

Me: You having fun playing outside? Henry: Yeah. Me: I’m glad. I like being outside with you. Henry: I like diesel trains! Me: 😐

This thing where suburbanites decorate with realistic Canada geese is troubling. I didn’t exactly grow up country, but rural enough that seeing one of those fuckers instantly activates my fight-or-flight response.

So I must have had a dream or something where The Rock and I were all buddy-buddy, because now every time he gets mentioned I have to stop myself from being like, “Oh, Dwayne! I know him!” because I’m overcome with this sort of certain knowledge that we’re friends? And then I have to talk myself down like, no, honey, you don’t know The Rock. You might wish you did, but you really don’t.

The tiniest little baby bunny just hopped across my lawn and I was honestly too full of squee to get a picture 🤦‍♀️

Tfw you cut your hair and you really like it, but no one—NO ONE—notices, and so you wonder if a) it’s actually so bad no one wants to say anything, or b) people just...don’t really care.