Well, if we let gay people get married, obviously that is going to lead to people marrying their cats, and six-year-olds, and inanimate objects…

And if we force pregnant mothers who are alcoholics to go into recovery programs, obviously that is going to lead to us taking away all the rights of all the pregnant ladies ever! No more driving! No more eating ice cream, even if you’re craving it!

And if we hand out condoms in school, OUR KIDS WILL BE HOOKING ON STREET CORNERS!

Really, people? Can we all agree to start laughing at anyone who makes a slippery slope argument? Whether you agree or disagree with the actual viewpoint represented, can’t we all agree that these arguments are just silliness?

As Relatively Dashing Roommate pointed out: how would you know if something nefarious was going on at the Zombie Crawl? Everyone is screaming and growling and pretending to die.

So, this week.

This week has been a week of sleeplessness. I can speculate a little, saying perhaps it is excitement about planning next year’s adventures or maybe it’s feeling overwhelmed or maybe it’s because I sit at a desk a lot and my back hurts…but at the end of the day, I cannot tell you why it is that I can’t get enough sleep.

Nonetheless, I decided to take matters into my own hands and I bought myself a nice massage, ate a filling meal and came home sleepy as all getout.

Unfortunately, the sleepy was trumped by the important research I was doing on UK destinations and before I knew it, it was after 11. Drat. Still, though, if I let myself sleep in, I could still get some nice REM cycling.

Only not. Because at 1 or 1:30 or some other ungodly hour of the night, Luna started to growl. And I could tell she was growling at the weird noise happening outside, but I just wanted to sleep through it. So I hushed her and snuggled her against her will and attempted to fall back to sleep.

But the noise outside grew louder.

In my half-sleep state, I wondered what it was: the car/motorcycle noises I sometimes hear south of the house (I have a sneaking suspicion that there is late-night racing going on near or on I-25) perhaps? Or a cat making its low-growl noise? Or a cat making its come-mate-with-me noise? Or a prehistoric, man-eating creature stalking in the bushes?

Finally, the low growl turned into an all-out cat fight, confirming the cat suspicion.

I turned on some music to drown it out.

Not working.

I tried to ignore it.

Not working.

And, finally, with some trepidation due to the fact that I didn’t want to be scratched to smithereens, I went into the back yard and located one of Luna’s tennis balls, yelling and flinging it into the middle of the cat fight.

That worked.

Unfortunately, at about 3 in the morning, Luna began to growl again.

OH MY GOSH, STOP.

This time my temporary roommate was returning home and Luna had decided she was burgling the house.

I let Luna sniff her for a moment and then carted her back off to bed, finally to sleep. And to dream of bridesmaid dress disasters and all sorts of weird stuff.

Of course, taking a French man to an Americanized French restaurant is a rather humorous experience. First, he started greeting people as they walked in and out the door behind us–in French. A rather charming thing to do…but one that caught the Americans quite a bit off guard. They looked nervous.

We made our way to our table and ordered some wine (and there’s not much to say about the wine, as it was authentically French) and began to peruse the menu–a menu which turns on a variety of types of steamed mussels with French fries, which is, according to our French friend, a Belgian dish. And then there was the beef bourguignon, which should never be served with pasta (sacre bleu!). And the very confusing dessert menu, full of American wolves in French sheep’s clothing.

It reminded me of my visit to Vienna many years back, where I learned from a very passionate group of Austrian college students that the movie Sound of Music is an absolute travesty. No one ever eats schnitzel with noodles!

“It’s interesting to experience what Americans think is French food,” He said.

And we laughed and apologized for subjecting him to it. Of course, he was delightfully good natured and the whole evening was dripping with humor–not actual dislike or exasperation as you might expect.

I suppose it would be akin to traveling through Italy and having your new Italian friends take you to an American restaurant where they served the hamburgers with peas mixed in or the hot dogs with a dollop of marinara sauce.

2. The absolute worst businesses for customer service are internet and cable companies. It’s fully expected that at some point these things would break. But when they do break, you get to hang around your house without internet or cable for four to eight hours, waiting for the technician who can fix the mysterious issues that keep your internet/cable from working. No other business can work this way. When you call the plumber or a carpenter or painters or any other sort of service that makes house calls, they’ll give you a specific time or a short window (”I’ll be there around one,” or “I’ll be there between one and two”). How does this not apply to internet companies? I’m looking at you, Qwest.

3. I saw Harry Potter’s final installment this week, which was good, but would have been better if the theater was not full of the noisiest children, teenagers and eaters alive today. OH MY GOSH. BE QUIET. I MISSED A WEASLEY JOKE.

4. The Hunger Games books = still awesome.

5. This.

That’ll be all.

You all know that I hate cows…but now moths are rallying in an attempt to take over the number one hate spot. In particular, the moths that think slamming themselves against the blinds above my head at 2AM and making a horrible chink chink noise is a good idea. Or the moths that slam themselves into me or Bonbon while we’re trying to watch movies…causing us to jump up screaming and flee the room. Or the moths that just won’t land somewhere convenient for me to smash them with my shoe.

In summary: I hate them.

I haven’t had a moth problem before, but apparently it’s a big deal in Denver. Particularly in old cottages like mine, which are not 100% sealed off from the outside world. Apparently.

So here I am coming up with possibly-clever ways of killing these suckers. Or at least keeping them out of the bedroom. Leaving the hall light on just a little at night…keeping them there. Hmmm, maybe next I’ll light a  fire. For sure, they’d fly in and burn themselves up. Also, my landlord would be excited about fires. Win-win.

The first time I went, I was told that name changes must first be done with the social security office–at least two days in advance of coming to the DMV. Delightful–I’m sure everyone who changes their name wants to take two days off work to get it all done.

The second time, several weeks after my adventures at the social security office, I came to the DMV, copies of paperwork in hand, and was told that they needed the originals. Of course. I went home and decided it made more sense to wait a few more weeks and change the name and address all at once.

A few weeks later (this past Monday), I was back at the DMV, original paperwork in hand. But now they had a new policy. For address changes, you now have to verify your address by bringing in a utility bill or a bank statement. I’d been in my house a total of two weeks and didn’t have either of these things. And most certainly didn’t know I needed them.

With DMV number in hand (calculating that it would take them just under an hour to get through the 50 people ahead of me in line), I rushed home for my laptop and then to Kinkos to print off a bank statement online. I rushed back to the DMV and made it through the door just as they were calling my number. Approximately 50 minutes.

Up to the desk I went, finally with everything in hand. But, of course, things aren’t that easy. Immediately after my eye test, the entire computerized system crashes. And we’re all told to take a seat while they fix it. Lovely.

An hour later, I left to have lunch. I called every half hour all afternoon. The computer system was still down.

Finally, this morning (Wednesday), I made my way back to the big, cold, impersonal office. And I begged to be allowed to cut in line. “I was here on Monday when your systems crashed. I waited for hours with no result.”

But, no. I had to wait in line. Again.

Luckily, this time I had a book I liked and there were less people in line. So, finally, without further mishap, I was ushered to the front, paid my $21 (random, yes?), took another picture (which will hopefully turn out way better than the last DL photo) and shuffled home.

Yikes.

But it’s done.

It’s horrible.

I feel constantly off-balance.

This helps a little.

That was before Saturday night. Before I remembered that my roommate was going out of town and leaving three dogs at various levels of bad and not bad in the house. Before I turned up my movie so that I could hear over the barking. Before I tried to sleep and was awoken twice by barking dogs (once at the delightful hour of 1:30AM) during the night and twice in the morning. Before the dog-sitter woke me up another time to ask what she should do with the puppy who was eating the upstairs rug.

Oh, and the puppy also ate a pen cap, a green permanent marker (which is all over her right now) and some tiles from the yard. Possibly other things that I just haven’t found due to her fully ingesting them.

Things that will be hard: the last week in March, when my roommate goes away for a whole week.

UPDATE: Roommate is, graciously, attempting to find a place for Evil Genius Puppy to stay overnights that week. Party!

.Two.
Single-families homes.

.Three.
On the frist floor in the kitchwen.

.Four. (my personal favorite)
Downstairs, you’ll find a breakfast nook and family.