http://thelitterpan.com Art, Life & Bitching, But Not a Damn Thing to Do With My Cats... Ms Chica Mon, 08 Sep 2008 02:13:03 +0000 http://backend.userland.com/rss092 en I should be crawling into the Mister's man cave to apologize for hurting his feelings...The thing is, I am not sorry in the least. I should be, but I'm not. Why? I'm not sorry for speaking up this time, because there have been dozens, maybe a hundred, other times I ate ... http://thelitterpan.com/2008/09/07/maybe-later/ Currently, I'm lounging on a sofa sipping coffee, and yawning uncontrollably. Thursday afternoon, kissed the Mister goodbye, before he left for work. Earlier that morning, we hung the dart board in the basement after sharing breakfast. Wednesday, at eight, we sped down the interstate and I narrowly avoided being sucked ... http://thelitterpan.com/2008/09/05/timeline/ It's fun being new enough to an area that you can afford yourself the guilty pleasure of exploring your own city, and yet your updated car tag entitles you to complain about all those damn tourists. Not that were are really the touristy types... Learning the area constitutes more than ... http://thelitterpan.com/2008/08/28/suck-creek/ A friend once told me, "You can't prevent a disaster from running it's natural course." She had four years of sobriety, a bankruptcy, an ex-husband, and a failed greyhound farm behind her. What she didn't discuss, was how frustrating it is to calmly watch things go hell in a hand ... http://thelitterpan.com/2008/08/24/its-easier-to-learn-from-someone-elses-mistakes-than-from-your-own/ In the early days of courtship, the Mister would frequently reach for me, pulling me back into bed, at o'fuck thirty as I tried to slip away and ready myself for work. He would draw me close, uh, demonstrate his need and whisper in my ear jokingly that guys ... http://thelitterpan.com/2008/08/14/limits/ This is a secondary submission for Poetry Friday as sponsored by the lovely Mona. It doesn't belong at the cat's place, so I will store the memory here. The word for Poetry Friday is cut. After the eight grade, the private school I attended closed. My parents enrolled me in public ... http://thelitterpan.com/2008/08/08/gwen/ It crept up silently. The economy of motion was comparable to one fingering a light switch. Even the Mister noticed it and he's a guy. I ran out of words. Not sad, but empty. It was like walking through a vacant warehouse, the only sound is the repetition of your ... http://thelitterpan.com/2008/08/05/momentum/ http://thelitterpan.com/2008/07/31/all-play/ http://thelitterpan.com/2008/07/28/all-work/ I was talking to my sister Friday evening, and she started one of these, "You're never going to believe what grandma said..." conversations. These are typically entertaining forays into the world of octogenarian logic. Wit and wisdom conveniently sprinkled with bitterness and paranoia. The statements are true, but the incidents ... http://thelitterpan.com/2008/07/21/escaping-responsibility/