everybody’s working on the weekend.

Having a job that pulls many hours a week at an office has given me something I haven’t had in a long time: weekends.

Mmm. Weekends. Two blissful days without a commute. I had forgotten the luxury of spending the morning in bed with a cup of coffee, lazy cats, a good book (Does Lemony Snicket count? I really needed something gooey after that whole Haunted-at-bedtime fiasco.), plans for brunch with friends, and the love of your life by your side. Because home has been the office for so long, every day was a workday, and mornings in bed made me feel guilty. Now I remember to take a bit of time to sleep an extra thirty minutes, to spend some time with my head out of the computer, making plans to do something stupid just because it sounds like fun.

I saw The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants with some girlfriends today. I’m not calling the movie stellar, but it was nice to see a movie where not one of the girls had to become a singing sensation, a dance sensation, or save her parents’ relationship in any way. They were allowed to be very good at sports (better than the boys!), have sex, eat food, be silly, wear jeans, and have casual relationships (SPOILER: as long as they learn that losing your virginity will be a huge disappointment).

Last night was spent watching the worst film I’ve ever seen. The only redeeming quality of the entire crap horror film was the closing credits, where they had the lead actress scream the word “No” repeatedly for close to five minutes. It did that wonderful thing where it was funny, then bizarre, then not funny, then the most hilarious thing that you’ve ever witnessed because it went on for so, so long. We spent the rest of the night impersonating the actress’ waning “No” as she was obviously looking to the director, who made her keep screaming, and then she’d work herself back up into a frenzy. “No! No! NO! NOOOOOOO!”

And now I’m back at the coffeeshop, listening to Chaka Khan, working on the new book. This really isn’t any different than I how I usually spend my Sundays. It’s just now I’m a little more respectful of this time.

Goodness, you guys wanted some stories about the cats. Here:

Olive — has decided that while I’m not the most terrifying person on the planet, she will only show her love for me when stee isn’t looking. The second he walks into the room she acts as if I just kicked her in the head. Sometimes when stee and I are hugging, she will sit a few feet away from us and stare as if she’s plotting my very bloody death.

Taylor — has entered a whole new realm. He lets me cuddle him. Taylor. Will allow one arm to casually drape over him while we watch television. This is the most amazing breakthrough in our relationship, and it only took eight years to reach it. When Ray came over a few weeks ago, Taylor stared at him from the shadows of the hallway with the most intense, evil stare I’ve ever seen. There is no hated between man and beast like Taylor has for Ray.

Cal — I woke up this morning to find Cal draped across my pillow, leaning on one bent arm, staring at me like, “Good morning, lady. Was it magical for you, too?” Then he projectile vomited across the rug. In other words, Cal is exactly the same as he’s always been. stee’s got a major case of puppy fever, and due to the unavoidable impending arrival of a canine, I worry about Cal’s tenuous grasp of the world and his role in it. What will the cat who thinks he’s a dog do when he’s fighting over the toilet bowl with an actual dog? I fear it won’t be pretty.

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