And I don't recall the rest of the line, but if you're an old-time rocker and correctly guess where that line comes from, you'll be entered into the drawing for a rubber cookie and perhaps even an Irrelephant T-shirt.
I offer fair warning since I woke up this morning with a not-suprisingly empty skull, so there's no telling where this one is going.
My morning's plans were to get outside and do some of the basic motorcycle maintenance that needs to be done, relatively simple things, but right now a) it's too dark, b) it's too foggy, and c) I'm conveniently already dressed for work so d) it's not going to get done this morning. Nothing hardcore, and nothing life-threatening, just tires needing a little air and a chain that needs to be cleaned, oiled, and tightened, in that order. She's getting a little wallowy (what a word!) in hard cornering, and shifting is getting a little sticky, both of which point to the maintenance needed.
I keep thinking of the guy my brother works with who, having more money than brains, bought a motorcycle on a whim. Speaking to him through the brother I diagnosed several maintenance issues that needed taking care of that the new buyer was completely unaware of. It sounds to me like the previous owner rode the bike without doing ANY maintenance for the first 15,000 miles and, instead of doing things like changing the oil and tightening the chain he simply sold it to the first unsuspecting rube to come down the pike. I would have spoken at great length to him about what might need to be done to the bike to make it truly road-worthy, but my brother tells me that the guy is a real jerk, so no info for you. *s* Sad, I know, but sometimes life has it's little rewards.
Vulgar Wizard is gone for the rest of the week, and that's going to make work a less fun place. She's supposed to be out of her apartment by the 30th to move into her new house with the future husband, but the builder keeps sliding the Done Date further and further back, and so now she's going to spend today through the weekend moving in, sans carpet and some other basics. The important thing is that she has A/C and a good view, so I think they'll do fine. The suck thing is that I'll have no-one to throw paperclips at, and no focus for my unrestrained foolishness while I'm supposed to be doing important things at work like ordering medical supplies and logging important physician's orders. Aren't you glad you don't have home health right now?
Of course, there's always Adrenaline Junkie and his office and his new stereo, which is out of my throwing range being down the hall and to the left, but I'm sure I can go bother him a lot today. That's always fun.
Cats, I'm told by a reliable source, can produce upwards of 100 different vocalisations. Dogs, on the other paw, can produce about 8, half of which involve expulsion of gas. Sometimes this can be cool, sometimes it can be annoying. Like this morning. I'm sure at some point I mentioned Delilah,
our calico with the very small head and the very large rest of her. Dee is far and away the most vocal of all our kitties. She's got sounds for varying degrees of happiness, anger, sadness, hunger, boredom, and wanting to go out on the patio to stare at hummingbirds. She has sounds implying that she'd rather the Ocean Fish flavoured Pouch for breakfast rather than the Chicken Medley, and she has sounds for wanting to catch one of the four wee orange foster kitties so she can chew them to see if they squeak.
She also has sounds she makes when she's walking back and forth across my lap, keyboard, and desk while demanding attention, like she's doing right now. For example, it's taken me ten minutes to write one and a half paragraphs, because of her insistent noises implying that I am failing to render the proper amount of attention. She vocalises so much she even does it while purring. Silly me, I always thought two kinds of purrs were enough--the steady one for happy, and the broken one for really happy. No, Dee has to subdivide those even further, adding in her own trills and chirps and warbles to each purr, thereby rendering what was a way to send two distinct messages into a way to send seventeen very vague ones.
My desire is to say "Just like a woman" here, but in respect to my reading public, most of whom are women, I'll just stay silent.