TH13: Pet Names I Have Called the Hubster (besides Hubster)
Thursday, Sept. 25, 2008 at 7:52 a.m.
1. Honey
2. Honey-Bear
3. Honey-Boo
4. Honey-Beary-Boo
5. Fuzzy-Wuzzy
6. Fuzzy-Wuzzy-Beary-Boo
7. Honey-Beluga-Bear
8. Sweetie-Pootie-Pie
9. Schnicker-Doodle
10. Slinky-Dog
11. Furry-Bear
12. Olaf
13. Throbbing-Crotch-Rocket-Of-Love
So yeah, who needs some insulin now? Geez, how disgusting. And yeah, he is kind of hairy. I have to keep checking his back. Not that he has hair there. Yet. But the chest hair is creeping towards the shoulders and I have to keep monitoring its progress. He’s definitely hairier since I started having sex with him. He also has the really hairy nipple thing happening for him and it’s kind of weird to me. I keep threatening to pluck him but he gets all squeamish.
And I have no intention of explaining the whole “Olaf” thing, but I think you can gather the origins of the “Throbbing” et.al. I have also called him “Roger”, to which he responds by calling me “Betty” (in fact, Betty and Roger are our bowling names) and I’ve also called him the “Thunder Down Under” but then he really starts getting full of himself and swaggering about the house, at which point I begin chasing him with tweezers and screaming, “I’m gonna pluck you!!”
And he has the beginnings of those crazy old-man eyebrows, you know, the ones that extend out from the head about an inch. Ewww. What is it with men and hair in freakish places? What’s wrong with the top of the head? Design flaw, if you ask me. Or even further proof that God has a sense of humour.
Anyhoo, how are you guys? Me, I’m galumphing along. I went to Curves yesterday and found out that I’m not working out nearly hard enough – this of course was prompted by my whining that I was bored with the routine (so smart, I am) – because the girl there followed me around and proceeded to kick my ass. Thanks, Kim. I could break you in half, you little skinny thing. But I’ll let you kiss my ass for now.
Work is still the same, although I had to get another desk fish, as Spike had an untimely death due to the lousy tap water that comes through the pipes of this building. It’s full of sulfur. I came in one Monday to see poor Spike nose down in the gravel, and my cube stunk like devilled eggs. Now, I love me some devilled eggs, and I was wondering who would have left me such an odd gift when I saw the fish. So I now I use the water cooler water and I got me a new new fish:
This is Spot. He’s a lovely salmon-pink with a blue iridescence and he has spots. Hence his name. (Sometimes I’m not too original.) I was tempted to name him Twink after the office Twink, about whom you can read in my friend and co-worker’s blog, I Miss My Sanity. Twink’s quite a character. She’s 19 and about as clueless as an Amish kid who’s been dropped kicked into Mardi Gras in New Orleans. I think, though, my next car will be named Twink. Or my next cat. Or both. I’m not above name multiple things the same name, much like George Foreman’s kids. Right now, my car, cell phone, and two different iPods are named Trixie.
Well, I think that’s enough for now, as my next movie’s kind of loaded onto Netflix on my computer. However, I did recently watch the 1973 movie Silent Night, Bloody Night and it actually was pretty good. For 1973. Hell, it had John Carradine, for heaven’s sakes. And half of Andy Warhol’s entourage (although, thankfully, for the most part, most of them didn’t speak). I think a double feature with Black Christmas would be in order! Next up on the Netflix queue - The Devil’s Daughter. Oh yeah. Satanism on a celluloid plate! Woot!