Princess Nance, who is turning 29ish (give or take) tomorrow! I hope you’re planning on marking the occasion with style and panache, people. I’m dating this entry the 24th, but I really wrote it on the 23rd, but I’m so wonderful that I wanted to provide some Bitchypoo magic for y’all while I was gone. Just thought I’d let you know, in the interest of full disclosure. I SO want one of these cans of cat repellant. Y’all MUST go check it out, and be sure you click on the link to see it in action (it’s near the bottom of the page). I laughed my ass off when I saw that. There’s just nothing funnier than a startled cat, people. Trust me on that. I’m dying to buy a can, but there’s not really anywhere in the house we don’t allow the cats. I thought of putting a can in the corner where Fancypants likes to shit, but they have to walk by that corner to get to the litter box, and I don’t want them all scared away from the litter box, because LORD would it reek in this house. Not that it doesn’t already. The dishwasher guy finally came the other day, and after much poking around, he discovered that, in fact, the part he thought was bad wasn’t bad at all, it was just fine. The problem was that a little plastic piece had come off of our little cutting board, gotten through two of the three filters our dishwasher has, and become stuck in the third filter, blocking anything else from getting through. So he removed the little plastic piece, and the dishwasher worked just fine. He apologized profusely, I let him live, and then he left. After dinner, the spud – THRILLED to have the dishwasher working again – put the dirty dishes in it, and then tried to start it, couldn’t get it started, and told me. I, figuring she was doing the airheaded teenager thing, told her to leave it, and that I would start it when I came back downstairs. Guess what? Despite several minutes of messing around with it, we couldn’t get it to set for anything other than rinse (there are several options – regular wash, pots and pans, china, and rinse only). So the dishwasher guy came BACK again today to mess with it for about ten minutes, and it appears to be fixed for real. A girl can dream. So, I was reading the most recent US Weekly last night, and I came across a picture of Rosie O’Donnell from high school. "Hey," I said to Fred. "I think Rosie’s wearing my Junior Prom dress! And she kinda looks like me." Fred doesn’t think Rosie’s cute at all, so he disagreed with me, but y’all judge for yourselves : The dresses have a very definite similarity, don’tcha think? And it looks like Rosie and I both had been smacked upside the head by the Perm Fairy. And while I’m sharing pictures, here’s one the spud took with her I-Zone camera. It came out pretty well, considering. I like the way you can’t really see anything but his big, green eyes, and part of his red collar. It’s cooler looking in person, but this was the best I could get it to scan. Speaking of the spud, I made her an appointment to have her hair cut, at her request. "But spud," I said sternly. "If grammy wants to have your hair cut short this summer, you need to tell her NO if you don’t want to!" Because my mother ALWAYS tries to have the spud’s hair cut short while she’s in Maine for the summer (while the spud’s in Maine for the summer, that is. My mother’s in Maine during all seasons), and then the spud spends the rest of the year growing it out. I also need to see if I can’t get the spud in for a dental checkup and cleaning, which I noticed – while we were eating lunch at Applebee’s – she really needs. It’s been a while since her last dental visit, and I need to get us back into the routine of regular appointments. Yes. We had lunch at Applebee’s. I did NOT, this time, have the oriental chicken salad, but the fried (shhhh…) chicken salad. Hey! At least it was the half salad and not the big one! And I only used about a third of the dressing they brought out with my salad. I consider that pretty good. I also had apple chimicheesecakes for dessert. Shhh. And damn it was good. It was about thirty below zero in that damn restaurant, so I was glad I’d brought a jacket with me, and told the spud to do the same. And even though we were bundled in our jackets, it was still so cold that I was sitting with my arms crossed, trying to warm up. I hate it when restaurants not only have air conditioning, but are aggressively cold to the point where the tip of your nose about freezes off. When I’m queen of the world, having a restaurant too cold will be punishable by death. You’ve been warned. Okay, that’s it. I really am out of here now, off to finish vacuuming and packing, and checking to make sure that Fancypants hasn’t left a big pile of shit anywhere for Fred’s dad to find when he comes to feed the cats. See you on the flip side! ]]>