Those flowers were supposed to say, "We love you, we're sorry," not "You're dead, let's disco!"

I made it back to Arlington from Denton yesterday afternoon. My dad sent me an article telling me to be glad I no longer lived in Austin, as traffic south of Waco was jammed for 15 miles (undoubtedly in either direction since no one has anything better to do than look) because a tractor trailer went over and then the crane that was sent out to right the trailer also fell over. Ah, what fun traffic shenanigans.

I did manage to have my own fun, however, thanks to Bourdain the not-really-a-kitten-anymore. He yakked up as planned, though as I may have mentioned, finding a gas station on 35W around Fort Worth is frustrating to say the least. But I pulled off at the Texas Motor Speedway (sign #65 I really love my cat), as its signs promised to be positively teeming with them. I pulled off to find dick. My side of the service road was so deserted, infact, that with one quick glance around, I opened the passenger door and essentially chunked really wet cat barf onto the lawn of the Texas Motor Speedway. I'm not saying I got a ton of satisfaction out of it, but laughing derisively and flipping off that NASCAR monstrosity may very well have made it look that way. Anyhoo, having done my part to beautify the Texas highways, I drove on.

Bourdain then alternated from the eardrum-shattering meows about halfway in, resorting instead to the ever-pitiful heart-wrenching little mews, which are infact, more effective. But I certainly didn't have a whole lot to offer him in the way of choices, so we drove on. After a little ways, I noticed an odor, but dismissed it. Surely that wasn't the odor of a completely different misadventure. Alas, as I discovered at home, it was. My little cat not only barfed up for me, he shat himself. Ah, Thanksgiving.

But on the hugely plus side, after D got home we bought a Christmas tree! I have to say, Alex, those Blue Spruces look prettier every year. But the one I liked best was 8-9' tall and about $65. So we got a 7-8' Douglas Fir, which was quite nice, too. We named her Jenni-fir Connel-tree. Buh-dum-ching. We agreed before we started to put her up that anything said to each other during said work just didn't count. Amazingly, it took about ten minutes to trim her and put her up, no fight or resistance whatsoever. That means next year is gonna blow.

But I did have a very happy smug moment as a married woman, watching D wrestle Jenni-fir from the the trunk, knowing I neither had to trim her down nor carry her in. That was clearly marked under 'husband' in the wedding agreement. And now I totally have one of those!

Now I am all giddy about putting lights and whatnot on her tonight after work. D has to hit the Home Depot for a surge-protecting-uber-power-strip for the entertainment system (and now the tree), so I am hoping to charm a couple strands of bubble lights out of him as well. Bubble lights make the world go round.

And yes, Bourdain already tried to eat the tree (no one said he was bright, just cute), but luckily he spat her out once she stuck him.

And lastly, as far as films, I only saw one yesterday. As much as I may like most of his other films, my advice would be to stay far away from Louis Malle's Lacombe Lucien. Unless you like tedious, annoying and vaguely depressing films. Total shit.