4 April 2010
First thing Monday, I'm buying a fucking magnet. Why, you ask, would this become a priority at 12:30am on Easter morning? Well, let me give you a little background . . .
Firstly, Steve is out on a 'ghost hunt' with his group of fellow enthusiasts. And don't ask why on this one - I don't have the first clue. So, not sleeping well, when he's not home, I'm still up in the office building jewelry. (Yes, I got the earrings from hell done, lol.)
Secondly, my desk and all my acres of jewelry making crap, where I'm sitting working on said jewelry are in the office. Also in the office is a closet, where we've removed the shelves and made it kitty potty central. There are three litter boxes in there. My desk is about four feet from that closet, and right in the middle of the litter scatter path. This becomes salient information in just a bit.
Thirdly, Angie (my little 6 month old blue tortie point) never just happens by casually anywhere. Angie ARRIVES. Picture Seilfield reruns with Kramer sliding in the door, hair standing on end, shirt askew and arms akimbo . . . if Kramer were a cat, he'd make an entrance like Angie. A hundred miles an hour with her hair on fire, that's my Angie.
Ergo, the need for the f'n magnet. Reference the above jewelry making. The bracelet I was working on (magnesite and turquoise) requires crimp beads to attach to the clasp. I keep a little plastic container of about 400-500 crimp beads handy. Note: It has a screw top that closes tightly, to keep all these little 2mm wonders securely corraled.
As I've said for years, timing is everything. Unfortunately, MY timing has never been particularly good. Hence the removal of that nice secure screw top from the container of about a gazillion crimp beads at the exact moment Angie decided to come visit, i.e. barrel through on skids, wiping out across the desk and into my hand, holding the now open container of crimp beads. Have I mentioned these suckers are slightly bigger than a grain of friggin' sand? Well, they are. Especially to tired eyes. They went EVERYWHERE. Under the keyboard, in the Kleenex box, in the open bags of beads, rolling merrily every damn place, including off onto the floor, of course.
About half of them landed on Angel (our oldest kitty, and the polar opposite of Angie, the wild child) . . . she's so complacent, I just brushed 'em off her onto some paper. I'm not even sure she really woke up. I guess I got them all. If we ever carry her though an airport metal detector, she may ping - who knows?
The other half-a-billion of them landed on the carpet. So I put my fat ass down there to pick them up . . . a project in and of itself. I found maybe 10 - and picked up about 5,000 grains of kitty litter, which are coincidentally the exact same size and appearance, when you can't see worth a shit to begin with.
They're metal. First thing Monday morning, I'm buying a fucking magnet.