Think of These Nuggets as Bits on a Kabob

Tonight I checked my voicemail messages, and the second message went something like this: "Hello, can I please speak to Miss Rileeee.....oh." *error discovered, fade out, and CLICK* I love when telemarketers punk themselves.
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You know what always creeped me out? The way Daniel Tiger wore a small gold wristwatch on Mister Rogers Neighborhood. A tiger has no business wearing a wristwatch. Toe rings, either.
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I'm on the home stretch of my next novel--in the zone again, and I'm loving it. So this is just fair warning to anyone I will be socializing with in the next month and a half. I have a pen, I have scraps of paper in my purse, and if you say anything remotely amusing, poignant, or interesting in the next few weeks, I'll probably be writing it down to put in the book.
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It's been an off year for monarch ranching. We've released as many as 15 so far, but there have been two misfires...one chrysalis that did nothing, and another poor little dude who malfunctioned during the precarious transformation between caterpillar and chrysalis. It's amazing to me that I don't have more two-headed butterflies or insect tongues that don't roll out or what have you, given how complex and speedy the process is.
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Daisy escaped for the first time tonight, and nearly got into a dog fight on the corner. Luckily, we got her under control and quickly carried her back in the house. She is now grounded from use of the car for three weeks. I'd take her cell phone away too, but that just seems a little extreme.
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Spaghett!