you talking to me, spud?


you talking to me, spud?
Originally uploaded by grouchiosa.

George didn’t take kindly to his new role as second-in-command. I have a sneaking suspicion that as I type this entry, he’s mauling Tater to pieces. George did everything: begged for crotch rubs, sulkily refusing to come on call, staring blankly at the wall and meowing pitifully. Ha ha. This does not bode well for plans on adopting another cat.

Went to the US Embassy this morning to apply for my visa. Phew. Scary. So many security levels, so many probing questions. Luckily, I breezed through with minimal amount of fuss but some of the Q&A I overheard at other counters….they were something else. Amazingly, a LOT of Malaysians go to the US for vacations. I overheard planned vacations to Alaska (please, please take me!), yoga conventions in Vegas (yeah right) and tours of the American lecture circuit (Yale and Harvard, sir). Fuh.
I’m just glad there weren’t any anal probes. Or am I? Ha ha ha.

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