You have to be careful when choosing nicknames.
Chuck Norris is not a “Pinky.” Newt Gingrich is not a “Sparkles.” The guy from the Shticky commercial is not a “Professor.” Sluggo is not a “Twinkle Toes.”
And Jennifer Ann is not, was not, and will never be a “Jenny.”
A popular Tumblr presents a series of “Rules of Ladies.”
These pithy instructions in ladylikeness include good advice like “Always have faith in yourself,” and “Don’t let a bad day make you feel like you have a bad life,” and “You can be a formidable woman and still wear Alice-in-Wonderland bows in your hair at age 31.” OK, that last one is a Rule of Angela. But I digress.
Still, Tumblr, Miss Manners and the Queen Mum combined can’t top the tips from a certain feline lady. Continue reading » » »
She’s a little bit Enya. He’s a little bit U2. Put ‘em together, and you had a sort of saucy limerick.
But what happens when you split them apart?
I’m not so sure about luck.
Lucky Charms are excellent. Luck dragons* rock my socks. Four leaf clovers, Irish jigs, the Waterboys and green oatmeal** make for a very happy March 17th.
But as for “luck” itself, the idea that things happen according to some blind roll of the cosmic dice…I’m not buying it. This St. Patrick’s week, we celebrate a string of adoptions that aren’t so much lucky as blessed.
Some cats live their lives on cruise control.
Others put the “eek” in “control freak.”
With alarming regularity, cats from New York seem to come to Tabby’s Place with ringworm.
It’s been so predictable over the years that we have a conspiracy theory about New Yorkers: they all have ringworm 100% of the time. (We’re onto your secret, Ernie Anastos and Jon Stewart and Sue Simmons and all you TV New Yorkers: you’re wearing gobs of makeup over your red scaly scalitude.) So, we were utterly elated that only 1/8 of our latest NY batch had the fungus.
We are less than elated that this particular eighth is Tiffany.
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