Month: March 2002

Fancypants gets a hair up his ass and starts fights with all the other cats (especially Spot and Tubby), and within an hour there are big tufts of cat hair all over my freshly vacuumed floor? Bastards. Did you know that most shampoos that are sold in the U.S. have the ingredient sodium laureth sulfate, which is what makes it get all foamy and bubbly? It’s a detergent, and dries out your hair, according to something I recently read. I spent a good five minutes in the shampoo aisle at Target this morning, looking at the ingredients on the back of each and every damn shampoo bottle. Every last one of them listed sodium laureth sulfate as the second or third ingredient. I don’t know about y’all, but I wash my hair every day – I have to, or I’ll go through the day feeling icky and unclean. In the five weeks between hair coloring appointments, my hair lightens from a medium brown to a light reddish-brown, and I hate that. Both Gisou and Mastey sell shampoos that don’t contain sodium laureth sulfate, and I think I’m going to buy a bottle and try it out. As soon as I get low on shampoo, that is. What? You think I’m going to toss out the shampoo I already have? There’s more than half a bottle left, I can’t do that! Oh, and while I’m sharing links, go check out this page written by a police officer, detailing what you should do if you’re stopped. Since I made such an idiot out of myself the last time I was stopped for speeding, I swore to myself that next time I got stopped (and you KNOW there’s going to be a next time, sooner or later) I’d simply apologize and plead dumbassery. It’s good to know that that’s probably the best way to go. Dear Salon Magazine – Thank you so much for demeaning and trivializing the touching Wrath of a Terror Widow by making sure that your goddamn advertisements blocked what I was reading, so that I had to turn my attention from understanding the feelings of a 9/11 widow to closing YOUR GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING ADVERTISEMENT windows THREE DIFFERENT FUCKING TIMES. I’ll be certain that none of my disposable income goes toward the companies whose advertisements blocked what I was reading, and I’ll be sure that they know exactly why. Sincerely, Robyn Assholes. 1. What’s your favorite animal? You know, I’m not sure. I need to think about it… 2. What pets have you had in your lifetime? I started out with a hamster – more than one of them, actually – and we had a parakeet as a family pet, then got a dog (Taffy), and then a cat (Tabitha). Other than that, the spud had a cat (PFE*) who died a few years ago, and then the five we currently have. *PFE = pronounced "Piffy", it stood for Pure Fucking Evil. Not because she necessarily was, but it was a cool name. She had about fifteen different names over the time we had her, from Mazzy to Katie to something Debbie named her that I can’t remember. What was it, Deb?

3. Is there any specific pet that you’ve wanted but never had? Not really. It would be cool to have a parakeet, but I’d be stressed out all the time, worrying about whether the cats were trying to eat it. I also wouldn’t mind having a big-ass fish tank, but there’s not really anywhere to put it. 4. Are you allergic to any animals? Not that I know of. 5. Do you have any ‘pet’ pet peeves (your pets or others’)? Hairballs, big fluffs of cat fur when I’ve just vacuumed, the hair imbedded into the carpet on the stairs, and the Mad Shitter pooing on the carpet outside the laundry room instead of in the litter box. The bastard. The word "megrims" popped into my head while I was taking my shower this morning, and I tried to decide whether I knew what it meant or not. What, you don’t do that? Anyway, the definition I came up with was "Like the blues, only grumpier." I checked Merriam Webster, and the definition they give is "low spirits." I like my definition better. (And no, I don’t have the megrims – the word just popped into my mind for some reason)

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Mr. Chicky yesterday. Several times today she’s made a point of going over and smacking him down off the shelf he’s sitting on. I think she’s trying to show him who’s boss. Man. Did y’all watch that stupid celebrity boxing on Fox last night? Fred was all kinds of excited to watch it, and I admit that I was a tad interested too, but it pretty much sucked. I was incredibly embarrassed for Barry Williams (aka Greg Brady), who got his ass kicked all over hell and creation by Danny Bonaduce (aka Danny Partridge). He barely put up a fight! I felt so bad for Barry Williams that I couldn’t even watch after the first round. The second fight, with Vanilla Ice and Todd Bridges was practically as bad, though as the fight (I use the word "fight" loosely, you understand) got underway, Vanilla Ice did this weird thing where he was bouncing straight up in the air. I said to Fred, "He’s a bouncing fool, isn’t he?", which made him laugh pretty hard. Todd Bridges won that one, big shocker. And the last fight, with Tonya Harding and Paula Jones was just sad. Paula was obviously very concerned about her nose job, and kept turning her back to Tonya. Finally, she gave up, though that BITCH Tonya got in one last punch upside Paula’s head. I’ll tell you what needs to happen – Tonya needs to get in the ring with someone who’s not afraid of her, and will kick her skank ho ass. I think I could kick her ass, personally, and I’d be happy to do it. Bitch. Survivor had us shaking our heads. I won’t say who got voted off in case anyone reading hasn’t seen it yet, but WHAT WERE THEY THINKING?! I don’t like that damn tribe at ALL anymore, and I hope they keep on losing. Bastards. I’m not liking either Sean or Rob at all these days, either. And Gabriel strikes me as a tad creepy, though I don’t know why. And Sarah continues to remind me an AWFUL lot of Lindsey. But what the hell am I going to watch tonight?! Ah well. I suppose I’ll survive. It just doesn’t seem right to have Survivor on Wednesday nights, though. I finally got my damn glad bulbs planted, all 100 of them. I probably planted them too close together, but after Fred scraped the sod up in the area I designated, I had to actually dig up the topsoil and make a hole, and by the time I got to the end, I was ready to be done. Once upon a time, I had the idea that I’d have flowerbeds along the entire length of the fence. Ha. I do need to get and plant lily bulbs, though. And I need to plant my morning glory seeds. I want to grow a couple of tomato plants, and Fred wants a lemon tree… ]]>

It’s the legs, I think. The way it looks like he’s running like hell. Or tap-dancing. Anything that makes me laugh that hard – and is yellow! – is something I MUST have. I wonder how long he’ll last before Miz Poo spots him and carries him around in her mouth, howling madly. Speaking of Miz Poo, I was exercising this morning, doing crunches, and she came running out into the garage, howling with mad love for me, and jumped up on my chest, purring and kneading like crazy. It’s no wonder I almost passed out when I sat up. Her portly butt probably cut off the circulation to something important. After wandering around the mall for an hour and a half, I went to Sam’s. I drove half an hour for paper towels and gum. What? They have a really good price on paper towels, damnit! It was 1:00 by the time I left Sam’s, which is the time I usually eat lunch, and so I was grumpy. Making matters worse, I ended up following this STUPID BITCH for three miles, who was in the center lane and wanted to get into the right lane. She was driving ten miles under the speed limit, and she’d look over her shoulder and swerve to the right at the same time, then swerve back into her own lane when she realized there was someone there. She managed to miss about 45 excellent opportunities to move over, and by the time she actually got her ass in gear and MOVED over, I was truly pissed off and calling her every name in the book. Grrr. Oh! Don’t forget, Survivor is on tonight instead of tomorrow night. And the second episode of The Amazing Race is on afterward. Thanks to Michael (who heard it through the grapevine from his TiVo), I know that UPN is showing both the first and second episodes back-to-back Friday night. I have to see them both, you know, so I can figure out who I hate the most. As I recall from the first Amazing Race, I loathed Paul and Amy from the start. I think I did, anyway. And now I can’t connect to get my mail, because something somewhere is down, and it’s PISSING ME OFF. I’m starting to feel dizzy again, too. Please, god, don’t let me have a bug that will make me throw up. I hate throwing up. May there be no barfing in y’all’s evening… ]]>

The American Embassy last night? I didn’t think I was going to like it, but I did. I didn’t LOVE it, but I liked it, right up to the last 5 minutes, which seemed to me a bit of a low blow with the car bomb and all. I’ll have to watch it a few more times before I decide whether I like it enough to keep watching, I think. I got up after Fred went to bed last night and watched Once and Again, which apparently came off it’s hiatus last week without alerting me. And I also managed to miss the first show of The Amazing Race last night. Grrr! Y’all are supposed to keep me informed about that stuff! Oh, maybe I forgot to mention that to you… I slept in a tad this morning, and by the time I was done exercising and showering, it was after 11. I was sitting in the chair in my room reading for a few minutes before going off to run my many errands, when I heard the sounds of a Fancypants howling pitifully. I assumed he’d gotten locked outside when I closed the door half an hour or so earlier, so I got up, finished drying my hair, and headed downstairs to let him in and be on my way. Only, when I opened the back door, he wasn’t there. I checked the garage, the bathroom, and the closet, calling his name in a goofy high-pitched voice, the entire time. I only use that particular voice to talk to him, and he knows it’s the Fancy Voice. He was nowhere to be found downstairs, so I went back upstairs and started looking behind closed doors – Fred’s room, the guest bedroom, the closet, and finally the small closet. When I opened the door to the small closet, he came running out like a bat out of hell, then flounced around at the top of the stairs and let the other cats sniff at him. Poor Fancypants! Fred opened that closet door to get rags to clean cat pee off the floor (Tubby took it upon himself to pee on a sheet I’d left on the floor to express his displeasure at my shoddy housekeeping, the little bastard) and left the door open. When I came out of the bedroom and headed downstairs, I muttered a few curses ("Never SHUTS the damn door, what, am I the ONLY one who knows how to shut doors around here?!") and shut the door. Where Fancypants was apparently hiding. And where he stayed from 9:40 last night until 11:something this morning, the poor guy. Of course, my sympathy for him will only last until he poos in the hallway instead of the litter box again. ]]>

March calendar that Willa created just for that purpose (for people to use as desktops, I mean – not for me, specifically). Far and away my favorite calendar is a Gary Patterson calendar I discovered online somewhere by following one link to another to another, where I found this page (unfortunately, it’s sold out). But fortunately for you, I scanned a couple of the calendar headings. We may not have quite this many cats, but when I wake up and see two cats at the foot of the bed, one snuggled up next to me, another sprawled on the floor and one in the bathroom chomping down the food as fast as he can, I feel like this picture pretty well describes my life. I wish our litter box was this small, but I’m sure the cats would take a cue from Fancypants and poo in places other than the box. The other calendar is one that I picked up in Maine, with Maine scenery at the top of each month, which you might think makes me homesick for Maine, but get a look at this month’s picture and you’ll probably see why that ain’t so. I mean, it probably doesn’t look much like that in Maine right now, but it’s probably a tad colder than the 60-something degrees it is around here these past few days. And speaking of the warm spring-like weather, my daffodils are FINALLY starting to bloom. Well, two of them have bloomed, but the others are very close to blooming. And bright yellow, happy daffodils are pretty close to my favorite thing in the world. Aside from the spud, Fred, Miz Poo, Mr. Fancypants (sometimes), and all of you, that is. I’ll be damned if they don’t smell like Spring, too. While I’m making this a picture-licious entry, I took the spud to have her eyes checked, and just like her momma (that’d be me) she’s got the near-sightedness going on. I got glasses when I was 8 or 9, though, so maybe she’ll end up not quite as blind as I. She picked the glasses out herself, and I think they look pretty good on her, don’t you? Ah, but it would be hard to find anything to make her look bad, yes indeedy. I finally got a chance to watch The Osbournes last night, and it cracked me up. I had a hard time hearing what they all said, because they’re a family o’ mumblers, but it made me laugh all the same, especially watching Ozzy trying to figure out the remote control. I’m going to have to start kicking Fred off to bed Tuesday nights so that I can watch it, instead of trying to remember to tape it. We watched the first hour of the 9/11 documentary and taped the second, which we may watch tonight instead of Boston Public, since Fred’s not terribly into that show anymore. I was sitting at my desk this morning, and caught sight of a movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head to look, and saw Miz Poo, walking through the front of the yard. Apparently, she found the gap in the fence between our yard and the next door neighbor’s, slunk through it, out their open gate, and did some sniffing around. When I opened the door and said "Miz Poo! Are you SUPPOSED to be out here?!", she chirped at me, and ran inside. I guess we need to do something about blocking that gap, because y’all KNOW it would break my heart if she ran away or got lost. I doubt she’d run away, though. She knows how good she’s got it, believe me. The Mad Shitter, on the other hand, has my blessing to run as far as his fancy ass will carry him. ]]>

When I was talking about the stuff I found in my filing cabinet that made me laugh, I forgot the one that makes me laugh for no apparent reason. I saw it in Kymm’s forum almost two years ago, and printed it out. I’m going to just type it in here instead of going to look for the message and linking to it. The thread was about strange dreams, and the part of the message that made me laugh is this:

Had a strange dream the other night. I was cleaning the office at home and found a ream of printed out email messages in the recycling bin. Reading them, I foudn they were hardcopy of email messages our cat Finnegan had been sending to cats at his former place of residence. It turned out he had been raised in a California laboratory and had a scientifically enhanced intellect. Finnegan was fully capable of using our computer, although as he put it in one of his messages, "It takes some effort to manipulate the mouse." He said in his messages that he was enjoying living in Canada and was quite happy with his new humans. "I am residing with three other cats. Abby and Megan are normal females, who can have a temper if pressed too hard. Sam, I fear, is quite gay. I come to this conclusion by the fact that he keeps jumping on me and trying to bite the nape of my neck. Still, all in all, a right old fellow.

Know what made me laugh so hard I cried, and even now when I think about it, I grin and giggle involuntarily? The idea of a cat using the word "manipulate." I’m sitting here laughing my ass off, just typing it! I have no problem, apparently, with the cat having an enhanced intellect, or sneaking about to use the computer. But having to make some effort to manipulate the mouse?

That’s fucking comic gold, right there.

I’ve been meaning to mention this all week – I taped The Vagina Monologues off HBO several weeks ago, and one day last week I finally sat down to watch it. If you haven’t seen it, you have to, especially if you’re a woman. I was laughing my ass off one moment and crying the next.

Sounds like a generic movie review, doesn’t it? "I laughed! I cried! I wondered if it was almost time for lunch!"

Honestly, though, it was way better than I was expecting. Usually when there’s a big buzz about a particular movie, I get all hyped to watch it, and then it ends up sucking in a big, bad way (I’d offer an example, but my mind is blank). It’s not out on dvd or video yet, but when it is, you can believe I’ll be first in line to buy it.

And speaking of movies, we watched Silent Bob and Jay Strike Back last week, and it was pretty damn funny. I’ve loved some of Kevin Smith’s movies (Clerks, Dogma) and not cared for others (Chasing Amy) and even missed one (Mallrats), but I’m giving Silent Bob and Jay two thumbs up. There were so many inside jokes that if you blinked you’d miss one, and the scene with Ben Affleck and Matt Damon shooting Good Will Hunting 2 was about the funniest thing I’ve seen in a while.

I always say that everything’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in a while, don’t I? Well, shut up. It was funny!

So, if you have pedestrian, lowbrow tastes like mine, you’ll love it, too.

On Survivor last night, as Sarah was being all sorts of annoying, I finally realized who she reminded me of: Lindsey from Survivor: Africa. Only, I couldn’t remember her name, so I said to Fred, "She looks JUST like the chick from Africa… what’s her name? You know, I’m a STRONG woman! Wahhhh!", and I made a big, exaggerated crybaby face.

He knew who I meant right away, and agreed on the resemblance.

As always, it’s taking me some time to figure out who’s on which team, and as for the team names, they might as well not even exist, because I can’t remember them for the life of me, despite the fact that they flash the team names 45,000 times during each show.

By the time I figure out who’s on what team and who I like (though I’ll state unequivocally right here: Hunter? Love him.), it’ll be time for the merge.

I’m liking the island scenery (and the Hunter scenery!) an awful lot.

Friday Five:

1. What makes you homesick? Watching ocean scenery, actually. I don’t get seriously homesick, though, I never have.

2. Where is “home” for you? Is it where you are living now, or somewhere else (ie: Mom & Dad’s house, particular state/city)? I consider where I am to be home, but I also consider Maine to be home as well, though I’ve noticed the last few times I went to Maine in the summer, my parents’ house didn’t feel as homey to me as it used to.

3. What makes it home for you? People? Things? People (Spud and Fred), and the cats (specifically Miz Poo). Anything else – even the computer, if necessary – I could live without.

4. Where is the furthest you’ve been from home, miles-wise? We lived in Guam for two years when I was in second and third grade, which is about as far from Maine as you can get. Other than that, I visited California a couple of times when the spud was very little and I was still married to the ex.

5. What are your plans for this weekend? A little cleaning, a little napping, and hopefully I’ll get my damn Gladiolus bulbs planted. Oh, and the spud has an eye appointment Saturday afternoon – she’s been having some trouble seeing the chalkboard at school, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to need glasses. Is it a coincidence that her eyesight is getting worse just as she’s getting into reading in a big way?

Y’all have a good weekend! 🙂

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So, now that we’re ten weeks or so into the new year, I finally sat my ass down last night and cleaned out the files in my desk drawer. I file things like receipts and utility bills and credit card statements in my lower left-hand desk drawer, and the idea is that at the end of the year, I’ll stick the stuff we need to keep (like credit card statements and utility bills) into a folder labelled with the year, and toss what doesn’t need to be saved (receipts from the grocery store. I believe I had a notion to save all grocery store receipts and then figure out where we could save money. I never actually got around to doing that, but I saved about two months’ worth of receipts).

After I cleaned that out, I looked through the big filing cabinet and went through it. And I found many things that made me laugh, which I now present to you.

Who does she remind you of?

Hee! Fred used to have one of those Far Side calendars with a separate sheet for each day. This one cracked us both up.

In a huge, stuffed folder, I found pictures that the spud had drawn for me, and stuff she’d brought home from school. Here’s a picture she drew shortly after we moved to Alabama.

She made a book for me, entitled A Book of Important Things and People. Inside the book:

"This little girl just went swimming in a pond."
I love the very coy way the girl is holding her finger up to cover her lips. Is she telling us to be quiet? Is she thinking of the goings-on that, uh, went on while she was swimming in the pond?

"This catapiller is looking for food for her youngs."
Food for her youngs! Hee! I laughed ’til I snorted when I saw that. Cute as hell, isn’t it?

I also found some of my love letters (emails) to Fred, back in our courtin’ days.

Remember when you told me last night that you’ve watched me sleep? Ages ago, when Untamed Heart came out, and Christian Slater was watching Marisa Tomei sleep, I said to Debbie, "How come I can’t find a man who’s so in love with me he’d sit and watch me sleep?" Freaky, huh? I love you, Christian. 🙂
PS: Debbie said "’Cause the drool puddle drives them away."
PPS: Well, she didn’t really say that, but I would have. 🙂

In a folder I labelled "To write", which was full of goofy story ideas, I found a small piece of paper with notes I’d scribbled while I was working at LL Bean’s. I’m not sure what I was planning to do with those notes, but I sounded very academic in them.

"I’m sorry" —> "That’s okay" – Humans conditioned to niceness? Are they hanging up and swearing at their spouses ’cause the item is backordered?

"Um…I don’t have the item #" — humans conditioned to helplessness? Am I supposed to be their mother?

Dither, dither – I haven’t a clue what I want, so please tell me.

"In a hurry" — People who are so rushed, you’re lucky to pry their billing information from them, let alone the fucking LL# (The LL# is the number on the back of your catalog near your name and address that the marketing people use to figure out how they got your name and address)

I don’t know which goes numb faster – my brain or my ass.

The beginning of a story I started writing and never finished:

I’m pissed. Way pissed. Majorly pissed. Not just, y’know, a little mad or a touch upset. I am wicked fuckin’ pissed off. In fact, I woke up that way, and now here I lay, grinding my teeth and glaring at the wall.

In his bowl on the table next to my bed my Betta fish who has no name is swishing back and forth. Every time he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror next to his bowl, he puffs up, ready to kill. Swish, puff, swish, deflate. He eyeballs me for a second then resumes swishing and puffing.

My cousin Janie, who at the age of twenty-seven is still living with us, is blasting her Brady Bunch cd.

If there is a hell, it no doubt involves the Brady kids singing "American Pie."

The fish gives me a look, like Do something!, and I decide I’ve had it. She started playing the damn thing at seven, which means I’ve had a whopping two hours of sleep. I’m not a happy camper.

I toss back the covers and stomp into the living room. Janie’s sitting on the couch, singing loudly and reading a ten-thousand page Psychology textbook. Nerd.

"Nice shirt," she goes in her usual laid-back drawl. I’m wearing an old Ugly Kid Joe t-shirt, and she loathes the band. I loathe the Brady Bunch. Musically, that is; until the age of nine, it was my goal to become Mrs. Peter Brady.

Without a word, I pop the cd out of the player, frisbee it at her, and stumble back to bed.

Remember back in November when I wrote about Brady James and her cousins Jimmy and Janie? Yeah, well, apparently I forgot about Jenny, who’s 19 and sells term papers to the local high school kids. The higher the grade you want, the more she charges for the paper.

This, of course, was written back before the internet was big and you could steal a well-written paper from lots of places online with barely any effort at all.

The funny thing is that both Janie and Jenny are very much me – I had a Betta on my bedside table. I had the Brady Bunch cd (and yes, they did sing American Pie, and it was BAD, and I don’t mean bad in a good way). I have the Ugly Kid Joe t-shirt, with the guy on the front with tape over his mouth and his middle finger bandaged, and "Censorship sucks" (or something similar) on the back. I can’t, for the life of me, remember what the hell Ugly Kid Joe ever sang, though. I’m sure they had one semi-hit that caught my attention before they faded back into obscurity. (I just looked it up – they remade Cats in the Cradle) The psych textbook? Mine.

I guess I was writing what I knew.

I found my small file of rejection letters, one of which was from Nicky Weinstock, who worked for Peter Gethers at Villard Books. I found my synopsis for the "novel" I wrote ten years ago, which does NOT stand up well over time, believe you me. The synopsis? Ten pages long. God in heaven.

I found a buttload of pictures of the spud from grades kindergarten through fourth (so THAT’s where those pictures went!)

I stayed up, in fact, until 1 am reading things I’d forgotten I ever wrote, or ever had. I had a pretty good time. Next, I suppose I’ll have to clean out my desk drawers.

Wonder what I’ll find hidden in there?

 

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My god, am I a dumbass. I totally meant to link to this yesterday, but completely forgot.

I have my own stalker! With a graphic and everything! That Nance just cracks me up – and you don’t get to see how funny she is, ’cause YOU don’t have the password! Nyah, nyah, nyah!

Last night, as I was preparing dinner and the spud was reading a magazine at the table (while Dr. Phil was on Oprah talking to a mother and her 14 year-old daughter – the 14 year-old daughter is not only dating, but has a steady boyfriend):

Me: Luckily, WE won’t have that problem, because YOU are not allowed to date until you’re sixteen.

Spud: (nodding) I know. (How she knows this, I have no idea, because I don’t think I’ve ever told her before) Thirteen is too young to be dating!

Me: That’s right. But I bet some of your friends are already dating, aren’t they?

Spud: Yes. Becca dates. She only likes boys who are CUTE, though.

That’s a big ol’ "duh" statement right there, isn’t it? The kicker was that she said it in an obviously disapproving tone. I had no idea what to say – "Well, of COURSE you’re only going to date someone you think is cute!"? Then I’m anti-ugly. I ended up just nodding and smiling.

On the TMS discussion list I belong to, we were recently talking about how if you know someone online, but don’t know what they look like, you automatically assume they’re good-looking, skinny, smart, and way WAY cooler than you are. Which got me to thinking about how I’m slightly embarrassed about the fact that I read best-sellers and mysteries, and nothing at all in the way of Grate Lit-tra-tyurre (TM Nicole). You’ll never find me belonging to a book club, where everyone gets together and discusses the book they all just read, because I want to read the book, enjoy it while I’m reading it, and then move on to another good book. Some books move me, and I wish that some books would never end, and I’ve been known to finish reading a book and toss it across the room in disgust.

But if I were to join a book club, someone would say "Wasn’t it just grand, the subtext in the meeting between Roland and Susan, the way his manners touched her?", and they would take a sip of wine, and I’d say "Yeah, Mayor Thorin wants to touch her all right! Heh heh heh m heh heh heh.", and I’d get my ass tossed out.

Hmm. Where was I going with this?

Oh yeah. So, thinking about my shallow, pedestrian reading tastes made me, in turn, think about when I was a Sophomore in high school, and I checked The Gulag Archipelago out from the library, because I just KNEW my sociology teacher would be mightily impressed that I was reading it. And he was – I think his eyes bugged out when he saw me hauling it around.

I only ever read about two pages of it, though.

Moving on…

So, over the weekend, Fred felt the urge to get the good catnip out of the cupboard and sprinkle it on the stairs for the cats.

After ten or fifteen minutes of rubbing and purring and getting high, they eventually scattered, and Miz Poo collapsed on the rug in front of the front door in a drugged-out heap.

Someone once upon a time wrote an entry about how fun it is to scare the hell out of her kid (in a fun, popping-out-of-nowhere way, not a waving-a-gun-around way). Fred agrees with this train of thought, and he takes every opportunity he can to startle the hell out of the spud and make her scream. Last night, he hid in her bathroom and waited for her to come out of her room (she comes and says goodnight to us every night at 9). When she came to the door of the bedroom, she said goodnight to me and asked where he was. I told her he was downstairs and would be back up in a minute.

She turned away, and he was standing directly behind her. From the bed, I saw her lift straight up AT LEAST 6 inches off the floor as she saw him, much in the way a startled cat will just jump straight up into the air without moving any muscles. My god, I was laughing so hard I cried. I wish like hell I’d been filming it, because I’ve never seen anyone lift up that completely.

Ah. Scaring the kid – good times!

 

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funktuation. He went on to point out that he himself had recently left a funktuation mark in his underwear. Much laughter ensued. (Any resemblance to persons living or dead are completely coincidental. I don’t fart.)

* * * So, I had my hair colored and trimmed this morning (Pardon the doofy expression. And Miz Poo is looking up at the light, not writhing in pain, despite appearances to the contrary.) and when I left there, I went to rent movies (The One, A.I., and The Last Castle). Tuesdays, in case you didn’t know, (and I’m sure I’ve only mentioned it 45,000 times) are when the new releases are, uh, released, and so I go rent whatever’s new that we want to see, and since they’re not due back ’til Sunday, we have until then to watch them – and we usually do. Anyway. So I was the only one in the store, and when I went to check out, the movie guy started chatting with me, as movie guys do. I thought it was just idle chatter to fill the silence while he was ringing up my sale, but after he gave me my change back, he launched into this very long dissertation on how usually they get the new movies about a week before they’re due on the shelf, and during that week, the employees are able to bring them home and watch them, but this time, the new movies didn’t arrive at the store until yesterday, and they’re not allowed to take them out the night before, because they have to be on the shelves, and it would probably be two weeks before he could watch any of them. The entire time he was talking, he was staring very intently at me, giving me the puppydog eyes. I think he was flirting with me, but y’know what? I don’t know, because my flirt-o-meter is very badly out of practice. This is where y’all come in. Vote on it!

Flirting? Not flirting?

Was Movie Guy flirting with me? Of course You wish I have no idea. No, but *I* want you. Current Results

Not that it’s important or anything, but a gal likes to know when she’s being flirted with by a kid in his mid-twenties, with a beard and mustache and a plastic earring. For the ego boost, you understand. ]]>

Himself‘s site about my death or the death of a near-and-dear one, then you can pretty much be guaranteed that I wanted to take the week off for the hell of it. My claim was that I was taking the week off to get caught up on email and get my desk area organized. Which I didn’t. I did get a lot of reading done, though, so it’s all good. I’m mostly caught up on the email (I did a lot of emailing over the weekend), and I’m vowing to not let it get so backed up ever again. Ha. So, remember back in January when I was jealously coveting Lis’s scaredy mug? Well, the spud and I went out for some not-great, not-bad chinese food Friday night, and as we walked out of the restaurant, I realized that if I tried to sit down without walking around and letting my food digest, I would likely hurl, or fall asleep on the drive home. “Want to check out the dollar store?” I asked the spud. It was that, or the incredibly-overpriced antique store, and I wasn’t up for spending six zillion bucks on an antique postcard. Or being followed around by an ultra-helpful salesclerk. The spud was up for the dollar store, of course, so in we went. I wasn’t two feet inside the door when I saw them. You just can’t fight with the power of the bitchypoo. I wanted it, and the universe made sure to put it in my path. A dollar a mug – what a bargain! I love the dollar store. Poor Spanky. No matter where he goes, Fancypants just has to follow and sit too close, looking all fancy and fluffy and annoying the hell out of Spanky. Spanky will be sitting happily on the back of the couch, and sooner or later, Fancypants comes swishing up and sits down as close as possible. A few weeks ago Fancypants did just that, and Spanky sat there looked disgusted until he couldn’t stand it any longer, and then he jumped over to the kitchen table and sat there for, I kid you not, at least fifteen minutes sending hate rays directly into Fancypants’ brain. The other day, Spanky was laying amongst the extension cords in the computer room, minding his own business, snoozing, when Fancypants had to come invade his space. Spanky sat there looking disgusted for several minutes before running away. Something on the floor? Sit on it. (Okay, that picture doesn’t really follow the rules of “see something on the floor? sit on it”, since technically (yes, I made up these rules myself) it doesn’t count if they’re sitting on something that belongs on the floor, such as a rug, but the picture cracks me up, ’cause Miz Poo looks drugged in a big way) 1. What’s your favorite vacation spot? We rather like Gatlinburg, and we’ll be going back in a few months. I also really liked Florida – Fred and I went five years ago for the 4th of July, while the spud was in Maine. I’ve been trying to drag him back ever since. Maybe this summer… 2. Where do you consider to be the biggest hell-hole on earth? The Atlanta airport, though their gift shops are nice (though pricey as hell, as befits an airport gift shop). 3. What would be your dream vacation? I’d love to go to the Bahamas or Scotland. Or hell, a trip across Europe works for me. My friend Liz wants me to go to England with her next year, and that would be cool. Basically, ANYWHERE would be nice, except for maybe the Middle East. 4. If you could go on a road-trip with anyone, who would it be and why? Debbie, since I know we’re compatible when driving long distances in the car We could drive to Michigan and pick up Moira! (Actually, Fred popped into my mind, but how sad and pathetic would it be to pick my husband?) 5. What are your plans for this weekend? A little exercising, a little cleaning, a little napping, and plenty of sitting on my ass. Mission accomplished! I am currently experiencing the hots for Ronan Keating from Boyzone. Oh, baybeeeeeeeee. (You just shut up) ]]>