How hugely embarrassing. I tried to check out my web page this afternoon, and got an error. Called technical support at Interspeed, and they put me on hold forever to go fix the problem. When I was taken off hold, the guy who was helping me said "I have to ask. That’s you, right?" He was referring to the picture on the bitchypoo index page, which until two minutes ago was the "Throw Momma from the Train" picture. Oddly, it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d ever speak to a stranger who’d have seen that picture.

I was ambitious today. I mean, I slept in until 8, which is a good 2 1/2 hours later than I usually get to sleep on Monday mornings, but after that I was ambitious. After my breakfast from McDonald’s, I mean. A girl’s gotta eat. So after sleeping in like a slug, eating a grease-laden bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit and two hash browns, and taking a shower, I. Was. So. Ambitious. Are you ready for this?

I steam-cleaned the arms and backs of our love seat and couch. Yes, I know. Quite an accomplishment. Especially since there was an ungodly amount of cat hair matted all over the aforementioned backs and arms. Truth be told, I thought it would take maybe half an hour. I’d zing and zip that steam cleaner attachment over the nasty cat hair, and it’d be gonegonegone. In fact, it took more like an hour and a half. Not to mention that ten-minute break I had to take to get the Sloppy Joes started in the crockpot. (New recipe. I liked it. Fred did not. He only likes about every fourth new recipe I try) And after that, I vacuumed the kitchen, living room, dining room, and as far into our bedroom as the cord would reach.

After that, I felt justified in lolling about on the bed for the afternoon, reading some of my backlog of magazines. "New Woman", "Jane", and "Marie Claire", to be exact. There may have been napping. There may have been sex. I’ll save the whining about the birth control for another day.

A nice, relaxing, calm, far-too-fast Columbus Day, it was. And I topped it off by dropping a tupperware container full of leftover sloppy-joe meat on the floor and stepping in it. Just like a damn cat, I am. Fred laughed hysterically, I got a tad peeved (I was wearing practically new pants and got sloppy joe sauce all over them), and stomped off to throw my pants in the washer and sit downstairs and sulk for a while. A fun time was had by all.