Ungrateful Little Wretches

My faithful readers can now be thankful. I am now posting an entry.
I have to go pick up our friend Jennifer at the airport tomorrow. Fun. The airport is new. Google and MSN maps having me going to the old airport. The airport website directs me somewhere else. I find this disconcerting.
Now that it's the day before Thanksgiving, things start to break. Yesterday, I was informed that one of the dryers was broken. Due to the holiday, the repairman cannot be here until Monday.
I had to have the electrician out to replace a light switch in Phyllis' bedroom.
In the midst of Bobbie's confused gibberish, I ascertained that someone overloaded one of the washers with detergent and thus flooded the laundry room with bubbles. I didn't see this. Bobbie cleaned it up. I feel bad about these things. That's the sort of thing for which I am responsible, but I never hear about it until after Bobbie has cleaned it up.
We gave Daisy a bath today because we couldn't stand to smell her anymore.
Anna's evil grandmother declared that she would show up for Thanksgiving at 11, even though she knows very well that we're not planning to eat until 3:30. This means that everyone who possibly can is avoiding the house until the very last minute. Then we will all rush in, eat, and then hide.
I have a mildly bad taste in my mouth.
Our car door is fixed. It's glorious.
I had the repair shop check the "check engine" light while they were at it. Apparently, our catalytic converter is not as efficient as it could be. This is of no significance to me because the car doesn't have to pass any sort of emissions tests. I feel much better now.
Velma and her family are using the Community Room for their Thanksgiving tomorrow. I got a call from one of Velma's daughters today about the parking situation. This call confirmed two things that I already suspected: 1) she is the one who called this summer and yelled at me for fifteen minutes about Alice and Pat having their kids around 2) everyone hates the current Majors at the Salvation Army. Velma's daughter wanted to know if it would be alright for the family to use the parking spaces so forcefully claimed by the Majors. I told her that they seemed to get pretty testy about their parking. She seemed to know this all too well. I learned that even when Velma needed a wheelchair to get around, the Majors got upset at them for parking there (Velma's apartment is the one closest to the Salvation Army). Velma's daughter quickly turned the parking question into a rant about Pat and Alice and their kids. She attributed several things to me that I didn't actually say, and she continued to not comprehend how nothing can effectively be done about the situation. Fortunately, this time I only got yelled at for five minutes.
Daulton and I did make sure that the Community Room was spiffed up nicely for tomorrow.
Anna is making muffins. She's all domestic and stuff.
I was looking forward to fixing a bunch of stuff for Thanksgiving but then Jennifer had to up and schedule a flight that landed right in the middle of prime Thanksgiving-meal-prep-time. I guess I'll just have to go all out at Christmas.
People who read this blog: Person googling "why does my legs sting"
This here visitor hails from Meridian, Mississippi. This little tidbit makes the painfulness of the query extra delicious. Congratulations person from Meridian, Mississippi, you have confirmed everything I ever suspected about people from Mississippi. Well, to be fair, that isn't completely true. I didn't realize that you Mississippians knew about this here internet thinger. Congratulations on forming a coherent enough mass of words to achieve search results that may have had something to do with your problem. Out of curiosity, I looked up the particular entry this person stumbled upon, and in doing so, I discovered the obvious diagnosis for his or her problem. Kittens. This person has one or more kittens with the claws very much intact. There is no other reasonable explanation for stinging legs.