You don't own me...

If there were slightly more room in the living room, and slightly lower hazard of tripping over 3 stools, a chair, a clothes rack, and Ruy, I'd so be up and dancing right now.

I'm listening to Lesley Gore right now, as she sings You Don't Own Me.  And I can't help but want to flail all of my limbs around and pretend that what I'm doing actually qualifies as dancing.  Again, didn't get the dancing gene.

*takes a break to groove in her chair to Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows*

Alright, this entry is going nowhere if I keep listening to this music.  I'd better wrap it--sunshine, lollipops, rainbows.......

Down to the village, with a broomstick in his hand...

I've woken up these past few mornings with downright bizarre songs in my head. Yesterday, it was Farmer in the Dell, except I could remember nothing but the first verse and the part about the cheese standing alone. It drove me a little crazy. This morning, it was Frosty the Snowman. What's tomorrow going to be, I wonder?

The hamsters.

I totally forgot to mention that they have names. Their names (pictures to follow) are Sam, Dax, and Tempe.

So, anyway, last night I put together the hammies' new cage, and was intending to move them later on. However, Dax had Restless Leg Syndrome, so just wanted to run around, and/or climb up the cage and nibble. I let her out for a bit, intending to let her run around on me. However, she headed straight under my desk, and I spent a panicked few minutes calling her name, knowing full well that hamsters don't know their own names.

She eventually came scuttling back and was promptly put back into her cage.

Running and climbing ensued. The poor thing.

So, she was put in her hamster ball, and rolled around in the bathroom for a good half hour.

Eventually, it was decided (by me, and possibly her), that she could be the first occupant in the new cage, which has a wheel (the other one doesn't, though it should have - we're still waiting for it to arrive - don't ask, it causes contention).

The other two were still asleep, so I quietly slipped Dax into the new cage. She sniffed around and then headed straight for the wheel. As if they sensed fun happening, the other two woke up, and were shuttled over to the new cage.

All in all, it was a very nice night for them. Sam and Dax fought over the wheel, then decided they would see who could run faster in it. At the same time. At one point, Tempe joined in. It was very cute.

And yes, I *still* managed to fall asleep despite all the racket. Weird dreams ensued, however. One in which I missed Christmas because I slept through it, one in which there was some sort of pandemic, and I was in a resort of some kind, and they called the pandemic The Clapper (I don't know either, although I can't think about it without giggling now), and one where I failed out of dance class because I wasn't well-dressed enough. I don't even dance, people. That talent belongs to my sister. I got the voice. And until someone invents voice-dancing...

The cheese stands alone...

The first thing you need to know, is that I got hamsters. 3 of them, and they're Russian dwarf hamsters. Very cute, very small, very lovable. Dad loves them, Mom hates them and thinks they're scary, and calls them rats. Ruy loves them, Hopper and Haskell are downright afraid of them.

Right, so that was a couple of weeks ago.

Somehow, the cage I bought, did not contain the promised wheel attachment, and PetSmart has not come through in the shipping department. Sadness.

So, I decided to get them a wheel in the meantime, to tide them over. This ultimately culminated in me buying a new cage, with a wheel, because it was cheaper, and Petcetera seemed to be fresh out of wheels.

This, you need to know for the next entry.

Stop eating my hay.

Sorry for the long delay between my last post and this one.  One could say it has been a busy week.  One would, of course, then be making a vast, vast understatement.

I'm now living at 10th and Sasamat (right next to a Safeway!  Yay!).  With Ruy.  You can all deactivate the jaw-hitting-the-floor mechanism.  Yes.  I moved in with a boy.

The more important thing is, we moved into his mom's old apartment, and there was a loooootttt of cleaning up to do.  And packing.  And unpacking.  And moving things.  And getting lost in North Vancouver.

Of course, we also picked this past week to stage a rescue.

Of these guys!

The one right in front of the camera is Hopper.  The one behind her is Haskell.

Yes, they're both named after scientists.  Scientists particular to both Ruy and I's field, even. 

 We're geeks like that.

They are both Mini Lops.  We got them on Wednesday, and took them to the vet on Thursday.  They're both healthy 5lb rabbits, and cute as bunnies.

I say that we rescued them, because they were formerly SPCA sheltered bunnies.  Someone abandoned them.

  

Whether it was because they couldn't take care of them, or just didn't want bunnies anymore, I don't know.

The two of them are a bonded pair, meaning that they're pretty much each other's best buds.  It also meant that they were to be adopted together or not at all.  Most people don't go in looking to get two bunnies.  One is enough work.  But we saw them there and immediately knew that these two were coming home with us.

They're the cutest balls of fluff you've ever seen, and they have such soft fur, it's adorable.  They do misbehave sometimes (Case in point: chasing them around the living room on Sunday), but you can never really stay mad at them, because they'll twitch their little noses, or stand up on their hind legs, and then you find that you just have to give them a treat, because they really are such cuties.

They're both spayed/neutered, so no baby bunnies, but they don't seem any unhappier for it.

They love their toys, they get confused when their cage gets Feng Shui'ed, and they love to curl up together.

Basically, I look at them, and turn to a pile of goo.

Quick! Do something interesting!

I still have Ruy's cold. The cold that seems to actually be a completely different virus. My poor, sore throat. My poor, aching chest. My poor, tired body, and the knee that I keep falling on, through powers not my own. Ow.

I had something all witty prepared to say. Then I spelled Judi's name wrong, and everything went to hell in the proverbial handbasket. Now, I'm just going to look foolish.

The Berlin Wall was constructed in August of 1961.

A fun piece of trivia for when you're losing badly at Trivial Pursuit. Anybody up for a game? Ruy and I could be great, but probably not as a team, because we'd lose. I mean, we each carry our own wealth of completely useless knowledge, and there's the occasional wild guess that turns out to be correct (Ruy, I may never forgive you for Boris Becker). We'd be very fine additions to partners who actually had extensive knowledge of the past 40 or so years, and/or could spout random facts at the drop of a hat and talk about them at them at length (*coughDadcough*)...

I saw the orthopedic surgeon this afternoon, and it looks as though I may be having my next surgery this summer. The plan is to take a piece of cartilage from underneath my kneecap, and graft it onto the area on my medial condyle, off of which the piece that I had removed in December, had fallen.

I shouldn't say fallen. Does anything really "fall," inside the body? Not really. Things move, things detach, but they don't fall. Wait, wait, the arches of your feet! Can't they fall?

I digress.

Possibly because I just remembered what I actually came here to say, which was that I successfully made gluten-free crèpes last night. Ruy and I enjoyed them twice for dessert (last night and tonight). I also made some not so successful crèpes this evening. Which we won't talk about. Apparently, that guy on the internet lied. Brown rice flour makes horrendous crèpes.

My love to you all. I have to go and be relatively horizontal and try to cough up my lungs.

On the occasion that your robot needs reprogramming...

Oh, great.

Now I have Ruy's cold.  Or some morphologically distinct, yet somehow distantly related form of Ruy's cold.

My throat hurts.  I feel cough-y.  I have homework to do.  None of these things please me.

*sigh*

And I go to Belgium, for which I profusely apologize...

That's right, kids, Jess has a blog.

Okay, I should rephrase that.  Jess has had a blog for some years now, but now she's writing one for the benefit of her family and friends.  So, you know, all 8 or 9 of you, this is for you.

Plus, this way, Janis will actually read my blog, instead of using the excuse that she's "forgotten her password" for the other one.

So, you all know about Dad's little sojourn to RCH.  He's home now and micromanaging with the best of them (I don't know why I tell you this - I should hope most of you know this already).

Ruy has a cold.  Poor guy.  Had a fever of 103 (*attempts not to hum Foreigner's Hot-Blooded*...*promptly fails*).  

I also can't promise I won't make really bad jokes like that in this blog.  On a continual basis.  Loudly.  I'm full of bad puns, and inside jokes.  And if I can make one of you laugh, I've done my job here.

Seriously, though, he really did have a fever of 39.6, which roughly converts to 103.3F.

I can't think of much else to say.  I am exhausted from the events of this week, and should probably go to sleep now, and sleep until Sunday in order to feel better.

Zzzzzzzz.