Friday filler blogging -- cat blogging

I've had two horrible days in a row at the Beauty Palace, so I've been too exhausted to summon my usual Outrage at the misdeeds of The Left: Muslims are taking over America's financial services industries? Just so long as they don't chop my head off on Al Jazeera for bouncing a check. And America's airwaves are controlled by radical homosexual activists? Boy, I sure didn't see that one coming!

The reason for my misery is that Conchita has enlisted the help of some cultist who calls herself a "business consultant" to help "grow" the business. There was an initial meeting where all of us employees could offer any suggestions that might increase revenue, and I proposed that we offer a shampoo using Holy Water, and since America no longer wants to see hairdos like Chairman Hillary's quasi-feminine bob, we should fire anyone on staff who performs such an abomination, for treason. I said this looking squarely at my archnemesis, Chris, the radical homosexual hairstylist who's been gunning for me for years. The quack's response was, "I'm not interested in hair, Nancy Beth, I'm interested in ideas," an objectively pro-terrorist dodge if I've ever heard one, even if it was delivered in New Age business-speak. Strike one, lady.

Once we opened, Conchita rode my ass pretty much all day, having me call this city department or that state agency to inquire about permits and licenses she's never going to file for anyways. "Look, Conchita," I finally balked, "I don't even vote for Democrats, so why are you making me navigate this byzantine regulatory maze you've created? If there's anyone who should be doing so, it's Chris," who put down his clippers and looked my way at the mention of his name. 3-2-1... incoming... nothing. Good. That got her off my back for a little while, but then a new crisis emerged: The only thing keeping Conchita's Unisex Beauty Palace from collapsing into a black hole of fiscal insolvency was my ability to make a reservation at Tesoro for Conchita, the consultant, and their mutual friend, the slutty legal secretary. Ugh, all the horrible pieces suddenly fit together.

When they came back from lunch, the three of them were gabbing about this feng-shui business, which the best I can tell is some hybrid form of paganism and interior decorating, and how they'd like to do over the Beauty Palace according to its Satanic beliefs. Terrific: heathen Chinee + homosexuals = 1 unhappy sister. My ordeals here are truly endless.

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Anyway, on to happier subjects, like my cat. In the picture above, he's taking a nap after helping Jesus study His anatomy & physiology plates... a course Jesus just passed with flying colors, I might add. So sleep while you can, little man, because next Monday Jesus' brother and two-year old niece are coming to stay with us for a week. Kitty's got a few hiding places that are outside my reach that he retreats to when it's time for his fluid injections, but I think the two year old's lower center of gravity and nimble little fingers are certainly going to put them to the test. I wish him luck. Praise Him!