It also reminded me, for some reason, of the time I put one single egg on to boil (I was going to make an egg salad sandwich for lunch), and I got on the phone with my friend Denise, and some twenty minutes or so later, I heard a loud bang – like a gunshot, I tell you – from the kitchen, and I was freaking out and about to call the cops when I peered in there and saw exploded egg all over the place, because the water had boiled away and all.

It also, speaking of Denise, reminds me of the 20-oz bottle of diet coke I left in the back of my car when I was a senior in high school, and I think I bought the bottle in the winter, and it stayed there, freezing and unfreezing, until sometime in the Spring, when my friend Liz (who was sitting in the front) and Denise (sitting in the back) and I were going somewhere – perhaps the mall – and there was a loud explosion from the back of the car, and I swerved all over the place before pulling over to the side of the road, and looked back at Denise, and she was sitting there, wide-eyed, with frozen pieces of diet coke and small pieces of plastic all over her.

Moira thought it a funny story, so I thought I’d share with y’all because I’m so kind and thoughtful, and all I had to do was cut & paste instead of searching for something interesting to come up with. And I’ll take this opportunity, while I’m thinking of it, to ask if you’ve joined my notify list. If you haven’t, well, WHY THE HELL NOT??


Man, am I ready to start jettisoning cats left and right (except, of course, for Miz Poo). This morning I decided I’d get Fred to help me take the mattress and boxspring off the bed so I could wash the skirt covering the boxspring and vacuum under the bed since it’s been about two years since I last did so. Before he left a little before 6, we stripped the bed and put the mattress and boxspring against the wall. Four hours or so later (after exercising, cleaning the basement, and taking my shower) I went back upstairs to get dressed and vacuum under the bed. While vacuuming not only under the bed but also under the two bedside tables, I glanced to my left and saw the comforter, which I’d tossed in the corner when we were stripping the bed. Except, it didn’t look quite right. I went closer to look and imagine my thrill – one or more of our little bastards had decided to shit on the comforter because they didn’t like that things were different. You know, Miz Poo NEVER poos anywhere but the litter box. I don’t know who did defile the comforter, but I have my suspicions (oops, almost linked to the spud on that one!). Damn those damn boy cats, shitting all over the damn place (though I know they don’t really shit all OVER the place; this sort of thing only really happens a few times a year but when it does it REALLY pisses me off). I seriously considered just tossing the little bastards out the back door and leaving them there all day, but since I don’t know for sure who did it, I can’t really blame them all, can I? Fred stopped on the way home and bought a new bed-in-a-bag. Fucking $300. If I knew whodunnit, I’d beat that $300 right out of his ass, the little bastard. I don’t even dare to leave the door to the master bedroom open because when we got the spud’s new bed the Christmas before last and set it up, someone ran in there and peed all over the damn thing when I was out of the room for three minutes. I sure as shit don’t want any of them doing the same to our new comforter, so for now they’re banished when we’re not in the room. The problem with having so many cats is that you never really know who to blame. I’ll be back tomorrow and in a better mood.



Well, I’m certainly glad I didn’t freak any of you out with that letter yesterday. I was afraid I might, but it appears not, except for my sister, who told me she was afraid to look directly at the screen while she read the letter because she didn’t know what the hell was going on. Hee! Since I haven’t done a mostly-pictures entry in a while, I think I’ll post pictures of recent new acquisitions in BitchyLand, ’cause I’m feeling lazy and all. Enjoy!

mvc-128 Isn’t this about the cutest little plant? I saw it in the grocery store last week and just had to have it, since it was only 99 cents and half off and I’ve been wanting an ivy plant for the house for a while now. It desperately needs repotting, and I have the pot and the potting soil, but there’s nary an ounce of get-up-and-go in my body these days.


Fred has taken to buying me flowers when he gets groceries on Saturday mornings. This is the latest bouquet. Pretty, no? Am I married to the most thoughtful man, or what?

This would be the handiwork of the spud. When we were at Michael’s last week buying ornaments for her to paint and send out as presents from her, she asked if we could buy this so she could paint it. Apparently both reindeer come from the Rudolph line, since they both have red noses.

Isn’t this Puffkin a cutie-pie? It’s a refrigerator magnet! I bought it because it’s yellow (I adore all things yellow), and because we have the full-sized non-magnetic version of this, which Miz Poo likes to occasionally beat up and carry around.


Another Puffkin-magnet.

Bought because it’s yellow and pretty cute.

mvc-134 This isn’t brand new, but I don’t think I’ve put a picture of it in here yet. It was a birthday present from my sister, and it cracks me up. I need to find a yellow candle for it, I think.
I bought this candle at Dollywood. I love it, love it, love it. How can you look at this thing and stay in a bad mood? You can’t.
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Another Puffkin, this one full-sized, in honor of the holiday season. Doesn’t hurt that he’s yellow, either. Although I am suddenly very frightened. Why is it that none of these Puffkins have no arms? How is it that I’m just now noticing this frightening fact?

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Fred bought this monkey for me at the Birmingham Zoo. He’s right at home in my small, exclusive stuffed animal collection. I’d say Dana would be jealous, but no doubt she’s got one of her own.



Robin, but not Robyn. They did have a Robyn refrigerator magnet at a store in Gatlinburg, so I bought it. It’s very rare that they have my name, though. So I looked through the racks of names, searching futilely for my own name. Of course they didn’t have it – they didn’t even have Robin – but they did have Destiny, Destinee, and Cheyenne. Hard to believe that those names have become so commonplace. The cats are just driving me nuts. Miz Poo spent the entire night wanting me to be in another position than the one I was laying in. If I was laying on my right side, she sat behind me and smacked me with her cold little paw until I turned onto my left side (she will only lay on my head if I’m laying on my left side). If I was laying on my left side, she sat behind me and dug frantically at the comforter until I turned over and held it up for her so she could crawl between the comforter and sheet and curl up. If I was on my back, she crawled between my legs, pinning them so that I couldn’t move them without dislodging her and receiving a chirp of displeasure. If I was on my stomach, she hopped up on my ass and smacked at at the jiggly fat located there. All night, I was turning from one side to the other at her whim. At some point, the Mad Shitter and Spanky got into a loud, squalling fight on the bed until I hit them with a pillow and they launched themselves across the room and went thumping down the stairs. Spot came looking for love ’round about 1 am, and the Mad Shitter, Jr. (so called because at least when he does it inside, it’s in the litter box) tried to sneak up between the two piles of pillows to sleep, and I had to put a stop to that. I’m amazed that the hamsters didn’t break out of their cage and travel across the house to come climb in my bed and leave hamster droppings everywhere. Of course, the Mad Shitter, Jr. would have eaten them before they got anywhere near me. What’s up with those Puffkins? Suddenly I’m seeing them everywhere, and they’re just cute as hell. The spud and I went into the Hallmark store at the mall, and they had these adorable little Puffkins that were magnets. Of course I bought a couple, because I am powerless in the face of adorableness. I also hit Bath and Body Works and spent waaaay too much money, but just couldn’t help it! I mean, bars of soap that are usually $3 each, on sale for 5 for $5? Buy three antibacterial soap pumps, get one free? Buy three wallflowers, get one free? I’m only human, people, I couldn’t stop myself from filling up a basket they conveniently provided for me. I reallly love their Cucumber-Melon scent. I guess it’s a good thing I only go to the mall once every two years.


::drool:: Think Fred could explain that one to his parents? "Oh, Robyn didn’t want to have to spend Thanksgiving with y’all, but she’s gone to Nebraska to spend the holiday with strangers…" Yeah, that’d go over well. Make up the couch for me, Marcia, we’ll eat all day and then string lights around the house all evening! We’re actually doing a toned-down Thanksgiving this year, since we’re trying to do that whole "eating right" thing, so we’re making a turkey breast instead of a whole turkey, and various vegetables (squash casserole, since Fred thinks it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without it), Fred’s extra-special cornbread dressing, and of COURSE pumpkin pie. Fred doesn’t care about the pumpkin pie, but I’d have to have a hissy fit if there were no pumpkin pie. We already have the pumpkin pie, actually – what, you think I make it myself? Hell no, the three times in my life I’ve tried to make a pumpkin pie it was not a good thing, and so we buy them from the store – and it’s sitting in the refrigerator seductively calling my name. I must resist and be strong… I spent a good part of the morning doing errands, running to the grocery store for a few things Fred forgot when he got groceries (well, didn’t forget, just didn’t know we needed them), to Wal-Mart for this and that, to the movie store (Gladiator is out! Woohoo!), and of course to Wendy’s for lunch (I always have lunch from Wendy’s on Tuesday’s, have I mentioned that?) The bell-ringer from the Salvation Army was already out in front of Wal-Mart ringing his loud-ass bell (do they have to be so damn loud?), and I feel incredibly guilty if I don’t stop and put money in his pot (that sounds dirty, doesn’t it?), so I stopped not only on the way in, but also on the way out, drooling over the Krispy Kreme he was munching on. So, have y’all seen MTV’s newest idiotic show, Jackass? Whilst flipping through the channels one evening, Fred stopped to watch it. It happened to be the show where they had people eating hard-boiled eggs (an homage to Cool Hand Luke, I am told), barfing into large buckets, and eating more, et cetera. Since the sight and sound of people barfing makes me, in turn, want to vomit (I really hate it when people throw up unexpectedly on ER) I asked Fred to change the channel. He wanted to watch "just a little bit more", and so I got up and went in the other room and read until the show was over. Since then, when confronted with the show, I refuse to even stay in the same room. Even thinking about the damn show makes me feel incredibly hostile, because it’s a completely worthless show. I mean, between the hamster sex and the Mad Shitter (so called because if the litter box isn’t sparkling clean, – and I mean SPARKLING CLEAN, I clean the damn thing out every single morning, and sometimes it just isn’t clean enough for him, the bastard – he uses my bathmat as his litter box, and if THAT isn’t available, he finds someplace equally disturbing to go. He’s on my shit list, so to speak. Hee!), I see enough nasty stuff in my life. I don’t need to see it on MTV. I guess I’m getting old and VH-1 is really more my speed, anyway.


Then he said "They didn’t HAVE two adjoining rooms available!" "Whaaaat?" I all but screamed. "You made a reservation for two adjoining rooms and you confirmed it!" He nodded in agreement. "I know! I ripped that desk clerk a new asshole, too…" Which is kind of funny, because Fred’s version of ripping someone a new asshole is to talk calmly yet sternly whilst making his point. The clerk offered to put us in two rooms next door to each other, but Fred refused and so she offered to send up a cot – free of charge – for the spud to sleep on. I don’t know how Fred was able to keep himself from exclaiming "Oh, you’re giving us the COT free of charge? Well, let me do a friggin’ happy dance for that!", because that’s what I would have said (Okay, that’s a lie, but I would have thought it to myself RATHER LOUDLY). Upon walking through the doorway into our home for the night, my first thought was "There’s nowhere to PUT a cot!" This room was the tiniest hotel room I have ever seen in my life. There were two full-sized beds, a TV stand, a table, and two chairs crammed in so tightly that I had to pretty much walk sideways to get from one side of the room to the other. The best part, though, was the bathroom. The bathroom, which had no fan. The bathroom, which had a ceiling half-covered with mold and mildew. The bathroom, which had a tub with several very large spots of mold and mildew. It was pretty fucking rank. We had originally intended to have dinner in the hotel restaurant, but when we saw it was a crappy little half-assed buffet affair teeming with old people, we decided to order pizza (can I tell y’all that I’m getting fairly sick of pizza?), and took turns showering and getting ready to go. We all got gussied up – that doesn’t happen very often – and I would have been a little more stylish if I had been wearing shoes other than my sneakers, but I only have one pair of non-sneaker shoes, and they hurt my feet because they’re cheap-ass WalMart shoes, and I was NOT going to do any walking in those, so I settled for my sneakers. It didn’t matter in the end, though, because the people attending the show ran the gamut from casual to cocktail wear, and no one gave my sneakers a second glance. The show started at 8:00, and we left the hotel at 7:00. We went a bit out of our way – went left instead of straight, and ended up walking completely around the Sheraton, where we SHOULD have stayed, and would have, except they were full up when Fred was looking to make reservations – but were still at the civic center around 7:10. We waited for about 20 minutes before they opened the doors and let us get seated. The seats were comfortable, and we sat and chatted and looked through the programs, and then the show started. I guess I’m just not a big Phantom fan, because I was a little bored. I’m not as into the story and music as Fred is. It was a good show in any case, and we were back at the hotel around 10:30 or so. We watched TV for a while, drank some water and ate some snack cakes the industrious Fred found for us, and then turned off the light and went to sleep. Well, they went to sleep. I was awake until sometime after midnight, because my stomach was rebelling against the pizza I’d eaten, and also because like the dumbass I am I completely forgot my earplugs. The spud’s cot had a plastic cover that rustled whenever she turned over. And she turned over a lot. I made earplugs out of toilet paper, but they didn’t work too terribly well. I fell asleep finally, to be woken a little after 4:00 by Himself, the snoring machine. I got up and went to the bathroom, got back in bed, turned over, tried to sleep, turned over again, tried to sleep, and then was finally about to drift off to sleep again when he let out the loudest snore I’ve ever heard. I grabbed one of my extra pillows and threw it at him. He turned over and laughed, then stayed awake long enough for me to go back to sleep. I slept fitfully for another few hours, and then we got up, took turns showering, and were out of the hotel before 9:00. After stopping for breakfast at McDonald’s and gas (I should have said we stopped for breakfast and gas at McDonald’s, heh!), we headed for the zoo. We got a little lost, and Fred put his male gender membership in great jeopardy by stopping to ask for directions. We arrived at the zoo just after 9:00, and there was hardly anyone else there. We walked around and looked at the animals for 2 hours – me running out of film just before we got to the lions, tigers and bears (oh my!) – stopped in the gift shop, and then headed home. You’ll have to wait for the zoo pics, ’cause I took the regular camera with me instead of the digital one, so I have to have them developed.


Birmingham Zoo for a few hours before we come home. The trip is one of the spud’s birthday presents, and I think she’s looking forward to it since she’s been driving us crazy with 16 zillion questions – "What time are we leaving? What time is the show? How long is the show? What hotel are we staying at? Where will we have dinner? What animals do they have at the zoo?" We finally had to put a moratorium on trip-related questions before she literally drove us right out of our minds. Speaking of the spud, she was in rare form last night. After dinner, she has a small list of chores to do (put the dishes in the dishwasher, wipe off the counters and table, feed and water the cats, take the trash out)(hey, don’t give me that look, that’s why I had a kid, to do all the crappy daily chores!)(kidding), and as she did her chores last night, she sang the entire time. "Hey," I said to Fred, "I guess she’s happy!" She was doing the dishes or something else and singing some song she had made up when she paused for a moment to belch loudly, and without hesitation she continued singing. It was pretty cute.


did clean the downstairs, so I guess I accomplished something today. Thank god it’s Thursday and I can watch my beloved Friends tonight. I managed to miss the last two episodes, and I’m going into withdrawal. Speaking of TV shows, I’ve taped The Street for the last couple of episodes, and the more I see it, the more I like it. I might like it a tad more if I had clue one as to how the stock market works (no, please don’t email me and try explain it; I just haven’t got the sort of brain that understands). But with a cast that includes Tom Everett Scott and Christian (Neve’s brother!) Campbell, you just can’t go wrong. If the show starts to suck in the future, I’ll just turn the sound down and drool over those two. Last night, the spud told Fred that her hamsters were – and he swears that this is how she put it – "gettin’ jiggy with it." I haven’t really mentioned this in here before, because to be honest with y’all, what the hamsters do on their own time (I guess it’s really all their own time, isn’t it?) is just not anyone’s business but their own. One day last week, the spud came downstairs and informed me that the brown hamster was trying to "stick his crayon up the other one’s butt." No, I don’t know where she got the term "crayon", and when Fred said "It’s not a crayon, it’s a penis!" she giggled and said she didn’t like that word. I suspect she probably either came up with "crayon" on her own, or picked it up from another 6th grader. Anyway. I said, "Oh, I don’t think they’re doing that. I’ve read a little online, and small rodents rub against each other to leave their scent." (I really did read that when I was looking up information about gerbils, it’s not a motherly-type lie I made up). Eventually, I wandered upstairs and into her room, where she was doing her twice-yearly room cleaning. In front of the hamsters’ aquarium, she had put a notebook so that she couldn’t see what they were doing. I bent over and peered into the cage, and the hamsters were doing what they usually do, which is running back and forth, eating, and pooping. I turned to go and glanced down at them one last time, and the brown one (one’s Fred and one’s Barney, and I don’t know which is which, sorry) was sniffing the gray one’s ass. And we’re not talking a delicate, inquiring sniffing from a few inches away. No, the brown one about had his nose buried in the gray one’s ass. "Hey!" I said, shaking the cage. "Stop that!" The brown one paused not at all, and instead climbed on and started, uh, doing his thing. You’ve ever seen rabbits going at it? That’s exactly what this looked like. The brown one’s back end was a blur, he was moving so fast. "Hey!" I said lamely, not really wanting to reach my hand in there and separate them, and the gray one didn’t seem to dislike what was going on anyway. "Hey!" I said again, "Stop that!" The brown hamster, in mid, uh, thrust (okay, look, we’re all adults here, and maybe not all of us have had sex, but surely we all know how it works, so I refuse be embarrassed about this!) and glanced up at me, and it was like a little porn movie (and it wouldn’t surprise me to know that hamster porn is out there and a booming business to boot, not in the slightest), because he slowed down and made the sex face (yeah, act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, uh huh) and did the long-stroke for a few moments before his ass end became blurry again. I put another notebook in front of the one the spud had put up, and told her "Yeah, that’s a good idea, don’t watch them…" and went out to find Fred. "Um, baby, we have a problem," I said. Because obviously, the brown hamster very clearly wasn’t "scenting" the gray hamster; what the brown hamster was doing was getting his rocks off, no two ways about it. "Either the gray hamster is a female, or they’re gay." (Though now that I think about it, having gay hamsters wouldn’t really be that much of a problem until one of them began dressing up like Barbara Streisand and singing showtunes at all hours of the night. Kidding.) So Fred got up and went into the spud’s bedroom to check out the situation, and the brown hamster saw that there was a new audience, and performed his sex show once again. When it was over (I assume Fred waited until they were done and did not interrupt them mid-copulation) Fred picked up the brown hamster and verified that he was male (um, that the hamster was male, that is…), and then picked up the gray hamster and could see no male genitalia, but the gray hamster is really quite fuzzy and furry, and though Fred blew the fur around to see what he could find, he could find nothing to confirm that the gray hamster was either male or female. Fred was all concerned, wanting to know what we’d do if we ended up with a litter of baby hamsters. I said we’d bundle the whole kit and caboodle up and take them back to the pet store and inform them that they were taking the baby hamsters because the guy who sold the brown one and gray one to us swore up and down that they were both male. I realllly hope they’re gay. I mean, it’s probably illegal in Alabama and we’d be harboring criminal hamsters, but I’d rather deal with that than a bunch of tiny hamsters. Okay, enough about rodent sex for tonight. Have any of y’all dealt with this sort of thing before? I’d love to hear about your experiences! I was going back through some old entries from June (I think), and I found this picture of Spanky. We’ve taken to calling him "gomer" lately, and this picture explains it all. spanky the doofus —–]]>