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The Bang Bang Theories

Many Linguals

I’d like to know why every time I have to re-sign in to my blog, it gives me the Espanol sign-in screen.  I never really knew of Spanish being a default, unless maybe blogger isn’t U.S. I don’t really know, but I find it curious. Blogs don’t originate in Mexico. Cartels and drugs do.  Unknot your panties, Reader, that was a tongue-in-cheek stereotype. And just for the record, stereotypes exist for a reason: Because they’re true. 

So anyway. 

Holy snitsnacks, a cat fight just erupted as I sat here pondering life and blogging in Mexico!   All three of the females were in an uproar. Well, just two were in boxing match, but then the other ran over to get into the mix. The boy cat, Toby? He steered clear. 

Sort of representative of actual human behavior, too. The girls start tiffing for no apparent reason and the boys lay low and out of the way. 

I don’t enjoy cat fights. “Why can’t we all just get along?” she pleaded. 

I’m killin’ time waiting for My Mister to come home from his Card Mines.  We’re going to go and get some grub because all I have here is corn and green beans and while that sounds good to me, he thinks there’s a little something missing from that equation. I think ice cream is the only thing missing, and plan on having a cone tonight.  I’m on my way to making 2012 the Summer of Ice Cream. Since the rest of it blows a dick due to long hours at TIny Town and long no days off for either of us, I might as well have ice cream. 

There. I just took you on a rambling ride about nothing. You’re welcome. Or, de nada. 

UPDATE: In case you DO actually care what we had for supper, we cooked at home! That’s a banner day at our house when we both get home so late. I cooked up the fresh green beans, had some mashed potatoes we needed to use up, and then I made a Depression-era pot meal of ground hamburger cooked with cream of mushroom soup to accompany. Then that meal made me think of my grandmother and how if I had life to live over, I would have gone out to her home more and spent dinnertime with her. I did that occasionally, but not nearly as much as I could have. Dinner is lonely when you’re by yourself night after night. And now I’m sad. But full. 

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