Ogre got a new job, and put in his notice. His last day (until he comes back) is next Sunday. His new job is, he claims, working as a car salesman at a Nissan dealership. Methinks maybe he misunderstood the job description and will be washing cars instead.

Whatever. I’m sure he’ll get fired, or get frustrated and quit, or something, and Greg’ll hire him right back because Greg’s good at that.

Maybe this shouldn’t surprise me, but I’m also the #4 hit on Google for “2007 Wrangler.”

Woot!

A few happy hours ago, describing my cat Tippy’s enjoyment of sunning herself on my living room’s window ledge, I made mention of an incident where Tippy was stretched across the ledge, looking through the screen as I scratched her back, chirping happily away at the various moving objects she could observe. One of the neighbor kids, walking into the building with his mom, noticed the cat and said, “Mommy, a kitten!” I waved, and they went into the building. Tippy went on chirping.

This guy was present as I described this, and he had quite the strange expression on his face. It cleared up as a lightbulb switched on somewhere in his brain, and he informed me for the umpteenth time his appreciation if I were to change Tippy’s name. Seems Tippy, in Icelandic, means “penis.” So while what I was talking about had a completely innocent air to it, what he was hearing was how I had my penis stretched out on my living room window as I stroked it and waved to the neighbor’s kid. “This always happens when you talk about your effin’ cat. ‘Oh, I had to chase penis around my apartment, but then I caught penis and played with it for awhile.’ Bastard.”

(I guess I could go back to calling her “Pipi”, as the HSBC named her, but … no.)

In any case, Tippy & Guy, enjoying a beautiful October afternoon.