butter my butt and call me pyewacket
Wednesday 31 October 2007 | 2 cookies in the jar
For yesterday, after another 12-hour day at school, we did stagger wearily into the kitchen to make toast. And immediately the Brujo, who’d just lubricated his slice thoroughly, dropped it butter-side down on the cat. Upon whom it adhered, as she fled in alarm under the breakfast table. Whence the Brujo chased her, laughing guiltily, retrieving his bread and leaving a big buttery smudge down her back. Whereupon she retreated aggrievedly to the other side of the kitchen to twist into a feline pretzel and lick herself with short, irritated tongue-flicks. Is this how I get my snacks now, people? Now you just drop the food on me? What next?! At which point Fiona, smelling dairy product, began bloodhounding around the tile floor with her beveled nose (designed to fit into any crumb-hoarding crevice), huffing and laboring away intently as the Brujo narrated 
what passes for her transparent thought-process: Butter! I smell butter! I’m sure I—but where is it? It’s not there….it’s not there. It’s stronger over here. It’s almost like…but that can’t be…let me look over here again first…and here….nope. It’s almost like it’s coming from the cat. But that’s just not possible. Better check here one more time…no, that’s a rubber band. I ate one of those once, it wasn’t any good. Nothing. The cat sure does smell funny. Where’s the damn butter?! And Pye, leaning as far away from Finny’s explorations as possible, fending her off with one front paw and trying to lick butter from her back all at the same time. During which the Brujo pragmatically blew the cat hair off his toast, spread it with pumpkin butter, and began to eat it. Throughout all of which, despite my exhaustion, I NEVER STOPPED LAUGHING.
2 cookies in the jar
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Stop stop it hurts! Oh my lord I haven’t laughed like that since I was in grade school. which is saying something since I just came from the most theatrical Sejiki/Segaki ceremony I have ever attended. The throaty male kokyo usually wears an okesa, however tonight he was wearing fishnets, miniskirt, heavy make-up and a shirt which strained at triple Ds. A quintet in large pink metallic fish headdresses came in late. An ashtanga Englishman freshly transplanted from Tassajara wore a white unicorn costume with a significant horn wrapped in glowing thread. It revealed–quite a bit. (You made this yourself? Yes. May I ask why? Why wouldn’t I? Is the horn heavy? No it’s made from a yucca stem. You made this at Tassajara? Yes. [Pause] You made a white unicorn costume at Tassajara. Yes…for Burning Man. Ah yes.) A young white woman wore the largest rubber bat on her head. I wanted to tell her, I am a life-long rubber bat enthusiast and I have never before seen such a large and fine rubber bat as yours. I chortled when the school of fish entered. There were various giggles. But your domestic reportage strained my ribs. Thank you thank you.
How do the two of you ever get anything done?! I would just lay on the floor, grasping my sides with laugher the whole time. Flying buttered cats indeed.