I had some dreams ... they were klowns in my koffee.

(With apologies to Carly Simon)

This is my journey through job transition from a toxic environment to a better life. Join me for a few thoughts and a few laughs along the way.
What are "klowns in my koffee"? They are the factors large and small that make you less than you are. A "klown" can be a grossly incompetent boss,
a short-sighted policy or a moronic coworker. They won't kill you, at least not immediately, but they abrade the soul
as you scrape past them to get through the day. Sometimes it's best to dump them out of the cup.


Day 250 - Knit One, Perv Too

Daily Kup (My Day in the Daisy Trenches, but at least I can hear)
My alter ego, the real world person who grudgingly shares this body with me, spent most of the day working on planning for her Daisy Girl Scout troop. They now have an awesome website that kicks the Cub Scout one in the bandana. Unfortunately, I can't show you for the same reason that you never see Bruce Wayne and Batman at the same party.

Speaking of Girl Scouts, founder Juliette Gordon Low became deaf in one ear as a young woman from a series of improperly treated ear infections. Here's the real kicker. At her wedding, a thrown piece of rice lodged in the other ear and broke her eardrum. The injury became infected and she lost all hearing in that ear, too. That's S2BU times two. [Translation: Sucks To Be You]

Your Yarn is Lovely This Evening, My Dear
My cat needs therapy. At least once a day, he sexually attacks the afghan on my couch. Understand, this isn't Afghan, the breed of dog, or even Afghan, a citizen of the Islamic Republic of. It is afghan like "my grandma bought 18 skeins of yarn."

This is a generally G-rated blog but it's hard to write when Mr. Fluffy is taking advantage of double-crochet six feet behind my back.

In this picture, he manages to look both stupid and guilty. I have an ex-husband so I've seen this look before ... and under similar circumstances. Don't ask.

In case you come to my house, don't worry if you sit on the couch near the afghan. I wash it. A lot.

I might rethink visiting in that handknit sweater if I were you, though, unless you really, really like cats.

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