Seldom at a loss for words.

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Abode: Nine Forward
Interests: Writing, Singing, Working Out

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A selection of words from my vast vocabulary, including the ubiquitous "the," the always versatile "and," and the more obscure "incontrovertible," arranged in frequently meaningful, sometimes profound, yet often pedestrian sentences and statements, designed with one goal in mind-- that being, to communicate; keeping in mind the oft-used bromide, "Never use two words when one will do the same job as two or more words would have done, unless you just want to take up space and sound important," which is, I must concede, too often a secret objective of mine indeed. And yet, now, the secret is out.

Who ARE these women?

© MMX Mattquist. Some Rights Reserved

Sunday, December 11, 2005

Deck the Halls With Boughs of Folly

I got the tree up last night and went to put on the ornaments, but in my haste to exit Wal-Mart yesterday I realized that I had FAILED to purchase those little paper clip-like hangers for the balls. Why, in all seriousness, to they sell the balls without the hangers? I KNEW that this was normal practice, and yet somehow in the far reaches of my mind I guess I was hoping that the Christmas Ornament Retailing Association (CORA) had finally gotten it's proverbial act together and encouraged its members to ACTUALLY INCLUDE the hangers with the bulbs.

But no.

So the decorating had to wait until today. But, as you can see by the pix, the wait was well worth it. I'm calling my tree Rudolph; and I hope, upon closer examination (click on the pix), you will see why. The stockings on the mantle (hung with care) are for Wilma and Seven. The felines refuse to appear in a picture together, so their stockings will have to suffice.

Speaking of the cats, I awoke at 6:00 Saturday morning to a cat fight. It was real. It was loud. It was startling. And it was on the floor at the foot of my bed. I don't know what precipitated the confrontation (as I was asleep at the time) but I would put my money on Wilma being the instigator. She's turned into a real witch, spelled with a "B." However, Seven, being less than half Wilma's age, being a man (physically stronger, you know), and being a fine catfighter, had the upper hand, I think. After I got done swinging my bathrobe at them to get them to separate (oh, it was WICKED!), the hair left on my rug was all Wilma's. Of course her hair has all those mats in it, so I think Seven must have dislodged a few of them in the fracas. I laid back down and went back to sleep.

link | posted by Matt Norquist at 12/11/2005 04:04:00 PM |


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