Month: February 2004

thread over at TUS wherein you can vote for the perfection of your relationship from 0 to 100 by 10s, with 0 being “I don’t know why we’re together” and 100 being “We are perfect together.” I rated my relationship 90, because to rate it 100 would be asking Fate to slap me down (“Oh, that perfect is it? Let’s add a little stress to the equation and see how well you deal! Let’s give YOU a brain tumor, shall we?”) There’s another thread regarding what you fight about. I have to say, we don’t really fight. We argue from time to time, we disagree about a whole host of shit, but we don’t really fight, because we’re big babies and neither of us can stand to have the other mad at us for more than 5 minutes. Seriously, I can’t stand it. That whole “don’t go to bed mad” thing? I could never go to bed mad, or rather having Fred mad at me. I’d be way too stressed out. Yeah, I’m a freak.

* * * On America’s Funniest Home Videos last week, there was a cat video. I dumped said cat video to a tape, and the tape to the camcorder, and THEN made a digital movie out of it. Because I’m a dork. It’s not the funniest cat video I’ve seen – that one’s reserved for “Harmoni-Cat”, which I have thus far been unable to find online anywhere – but it’s pretty cute. Right click on save it to your hard drive before viewing, if you will. I’ll leave it up for a week before I take it down to save on space. See it here. * * * One afternoon a few months ago, the phone rang. Although I usually check the caller ID before I pick up a call, the only person who calls during the day is Fred, and so I answered without checking. It was someone from the CDC, wanting me to answer a survey about immunizations. I sighed and rolled my eyes, but figured I might as well answer the questions – after all, how many could there possibly be? Two? “Do you have a child? Does your child get immunizations?” Yes and yes. So the guy starts with the questions – how many people under the age of 18 live in your house, how old is he/she, how many people total live in your house – and I answer them. Then he paused to again tell me the point of the survey and that it was completely anonymous. THEN he told me that it would take 20 to 30 minutes to complete the survey. TWENTY TO THIRTY MINUTES?!?! Dude, what the fuck? I don’t talk for 20 to 30 minutes on the phone to people I know and LIKE, let alone some strange man from the CDC! So I hung up. Oh, shut up. I figure anyone who calls me in my home and wants me to answer questions for TWENTY TO THIRTY MINUTES deserves to be hung up on. Time passes, and earlier this week we received mail from the Department of Health and Human Services, addressed to Fred. Assuming it was something to do with that Hepatitis he had a few years ago, I didn’t bother to open it, and left it on his desk. When he got home, he opened it and found a letter saying “The CDC needs your help! Recently your family was asked to participate in the survey” blahblahblah “Your household is very important to the study because it has been scientifically selected and we cannot substitute another household for yours”. The best part of this? There was a FIVE DOLLAR BILL clipped to the front of the letter. All we have to do, the letter says, is participate in the study when the interviewer calls. And if we do, they’ll send us another ten bucks! Your tax dollars at work, folks. Doesn’t it give you a warm fuzzy feeling to know that your government is sending out five dollar bills to random people like us? * * * I took a bath this morning instead of a shower. While I was laying in the tub reading, Miz Poo climbed up on the side of the tub, surveyed the situation, and then climbed up on me and curled up on my chest. It was kind of cool, actually. Until the Bean jumped up on the side of the tub to investigate, and Miz Poo dug her back claws into my chest to keep herself balanced, and smacked the hell out of the Bean with her front paws. Ouch. * * * Miz Poo wishes I’d stop all that friggin’ singing and just go the hell away. ]]>

SURVIVOR ENTRY; SKIP THIS IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN LAST NIGHT’S EPISODE YET! So all I can guess is that the warning for scenes that might be inappropriate for younger viewers was Rich rubbing his dick on Sue? I mean, I guess that’s what happened; we rewinded to watch it again, but still really couldn’t tell. If it were me, I think a firm grasp and really hard tug would have stopped that move right in it’s tracks. That, or just a hard elbow to the crotch – “Oops! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that!” Plus, we probably would have been treated to a high-pitched scream. High-pitched screams are always damn funny. I like Rich, though, and didn’t want to see him go, despite his stupid-ass “Oh, I’m here with women. I’ll go nekkid and intimidate them!” shit. Rumor has it the Hatch weinis ain’t that intimidating… Not a fan of Colby this time around, but I’m liking Jerri. Poor Rupert can’t catch a break, can he? He builds a kick-ass raft, but it’s just too damn slow. I don’t think anyone on the dissolved tribe was sad to see it happen though, that’s for sure. Is it wrong that I’m looking forward to seeing Sue flip her lip next week? I CAN’T BELIEVE I HAVE TO WAIT A WHOLE WEEK. Wahhhh!]]>

Political Compass test and my result is thus: Right there around Mandela, the Dalai Lama, and Gandhi. Heh. Take the test and tell me your results in the comments!

* * * The Bachelorette spoilers in this section; skip it if you haven’t seen the final episode yet! I absolutely do NOT get why Meredith would take it upon herself to tell Matt that she would be “honored” to receive a ring from him at the end, when SHE DIDN’T CHOOSE HIM. To me, telling him something like that would make me think she WAS going to choose him. From what I could tell, her saying that kind of came out of the blue, not in response to Matt saying “What would you think if I gave you a ring?” Of course, I suppose that could be through editing. Gah. I don’t know, I still liked Todd better than either Ian OR Matt, anyway. I still don’t necessarily think that Ian’s the right guy for her, but they were both so happy at the end that I couldn’t begrudge them that happiness. I do hope that it lasts and that they end up married, though from all I’ve read, Meredith won’t go for the multi-million-dollar extravaganza the way Trista did, so we can only wait and see. Matt is one classy guy, with that speech at the end. I’m sure he’s got half a million girls in Texas chasing him down right about now! * * * So yesterday, I watched High Price of Fame – Under the Knife. In this show, they talked about celebrities who’ve obviously had plastic surgery and those who may have had it. Then they followed people who were having plastic surgery and showed the results. There was an absolutely adorable girl who wanted to be an anchor, but thought she looked too young, so had a chin implant. I was skeptical, but she looked pretty good at the end. There was a guy who’d lost 115 pounds and was having liposuction and a tummy tuck, and he looked pretty good at the end (of course, he looked pretty good to begin with, too!). And then? And then, oh people, came the woman who made me want to cry. Heidi Marks, if you’ve never heard of her (I hadn’t), used to be married to Vince Neil. They showed a picture of her at her wedding to Vince. Pretty girl, right? Well then, they showed her as she is now: God, why why WHY do women do this to themselves? She was SO CUTE before, why did she have to go for the silicon in the lips and the I’m-so-surprised brow lift? She looks like a freak, with her huge duck lips and her unmoving upper face. GAH. People, please. PLEASE do not INJECT SILICON IN YOUR LIPS. I understand the desire to have lips like Angelina Jolie, only the problem is that Angelina Jolie’s lips are like that naturally, and that look cannot be duplicated successfully by injecting crap into your lips. YOU LOOK LIKE A DUCK. I understand the heartbreak and pain behind having thin lips. I have the thinnest upper lip in the world. When I laugh, it disappears. But I’ve learned to live with the lipless pain. You can too! Don’t fuck with your lips, folks. PLEASE. Hey, I’m all FOR plastic surgery, but not when it comes to the lips. Hell no. You don’t want to look like Heidi Marks, do you? (Oh, and in case you’re curious, they were featuring Heidi Marks not because she looks freakish now, but rather because she was undergoing her third surgery for breast implants) * * * Excuse the quality of the pictures below. I took them using the camcorder “snapshot” function. The bean stalks that damn feather toy the Daddy is always waving around. When the Bean gets annoyed at the Daddy, who won’t STOP WAVING THAT DAMN TOY AROUND SO THE BEAN CAN GET IT, he goes and hangs out in the Stump Cave. I sang “And here’s to you, Pooty Pooterson, jesus loves you more than you will know – whoa whoa whoa” to Miz Poo last night, and Fred didn’t even smile. Bastard. (I also sang “Sometimes it’s hard to be a Pooty. Giving all your love to just one Stump. He’ll have good times, and you’ll have bad times doin’ things that you don’t understand. Stand by your Stump!” in a very thick southern accent, but it wasn’t all that funny. I had fun with it, though!) ]]>

* * * I spent a long time reading through Mac‘s archives last night. Why have none of you people directed me to this woman’s blog before now? Bad, bad readers.

* * * “I feel like this country is going to hell in a handbasket and picking up speed!” I said to Fred on the phone this morning. He half-laughed and said “What do you mean?” “We’ve got a goddamn President who wants to amend our constitution to ensure that gay people can’t marry! Any time I buy an airline ticket, those fuckers are going to do a background check on me and DECIDE WHETHER OR NOT I GET TO FLY! They’re passing spending bills that allow companies to cut the amount of overtime they pay! There are an assload of people in this country who DEPEND on overtime to LIVE. This DOES NOT STRIKE ME as a government that is staying the FUCK out of my face!” Fred agreed and pointed out that Republicans, so the rumor goes, are supposed to be the political party that doesn’t believe in big government. “Oh, I think I KNOW what’s next,” I said. “With all the news stories about how fat this country is? They’re going to come haul my fat ass away to the Dr. Phil and Bob Greene Internment Camp, where they’ll feed me Dr. Phil’s Shape-Up bars and drinks and make me run around in circles until I look like Lara Flynn Boyle!” “Know what’s funny?” Fred said. “When you said this country is going to hell in a handbasket?” “Yeah?” “The people who believe that gays shouldn’t marry feel the same way, that we’re going to hell in a handbasket.” “But THEY are WRONG,” I said. He just laughed. Seriously, it makes me want to sell everything I own, buy a yurt, slap it down in the middle of nowhere, and live off the freakin’ land. You can oppose the Federal Marriage Amendment here, if you’re of a mind to. This is what I hope. I hope that when the spud is my age, she can say to her children “Did you know that there was a time when gay men and women were not allowed to marry the person they loved?” And that her kids will feel the way I feel when I read about how people of different races once upon a time were not allowed to marry each other, that they will laugh in disbelief and say “No way! They weren’t? But why? That’s so ignorant!”, and that the spud will have to shrug and say to her children “I don’t know. It was a different time then.” And then that my grandchildren will pause to be grateful that they aren’t living in those backwards times. (Many of those above links (except for the yurt link) were taken from Mac’s blog.) * * * So, American Idol. You know, I really really wanted to like Jon Peter Lewis, and I LOVE that song, but when he came out and started singing Tiny Dancer, I cringed and turned to Fred and yelled “What the fuck is he DOING?” “Baby” sounded like “bay-hey” and “lady” like “lay-hey.” What the hell is that about? I would have a video clip right here to illustrate my point, because I taped the show with the DVR and then taped it from the DVR to the VCR and tried to dump it to the camera, but messed it up. Maybe tomorrow. LaToya London kicked ASS. If she doesn’t make it through to the next round, I’ll eat my hat. (Which is a trick statement, since I don’t have a hat. Ha!) * * * IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED LAST NIGHT’S EPISODE OF SCRUBS, SKIP THIS SECTION. SPOILERS INSIDE. How many fucking times am I going to be suckered in by the “Oh, wait! He’s dead!” thing? I’m thinking of two different books and of course the one big movie with that ending, and yet I still get completely suckered in. When Dr. Cox walked in and JD said “Fifteen minutes after you left, he went into cardiac arrest and died”, I actually laughed, because I thought that Dr. Cox was going to misunderstand and think that JD was talking about his friend and there would be a whole brouhaha. ARGH. ARGH, I SAY. I dumped the whole show to the DVR so I can watch it again, because I’m a freak. Yes, I got all teary-eyed when it came clear what was going on. Again, I say ARGH. * * * Public service announcement: Should have. Would have. Could have. Not should of, would of, or could of. Should’ve sounds like “should of”, but it’s not spelled that way. (Public service announcement brought about by reading Pamie’s comments earlier.) * * * What the kitties spend most of their day doing. ]]>

* * * Pet store kitty pics are here.

* * * “What does that sign say?” the spud asked from the back seat of Fred’s (former) Jeep on Sunday. We were sitting at a red light waiting to turn right, and on the telephone pole a few feet away was a picture of a dog. “It says ‘lost’.” I said. “I thought you wore GLASSES,” Fred said with a significant look over his shoulder. “I’m not wearing them right now,” the spud said in her how-stupid-are-YOU voice. “My point exactly,” Fred said. He went on, “If you were wearing your glasses like you SHOULD, you would know that that says ‘lost’.” The spud rolled her eyes and squinted up at the sign. “What’s lost?” “A dog,” I said, and opened my mouth to elaborate, but Fred beat me to the punch. “A chihuahua,” he said, pronouncing it “Chuh-hooa-hooa” like Les Nessman would. The light turned green and we turned right. “That did NOT say it was a chihuahua,” I said. “It said it was a chocolate lab!” “No! Are you sure?” Fred asked. “It’s a chocolate lab and she’s shy and isn’t wearing a collar,” I said, proving that I’d read the entire sign. There was a long silence, and then the spud snorted from the back seat. “Yeah!” she said. “Who needs glasses NOW?” Heh. * * * We watched Dickie Roberts: Former Child Star this past weekend (you just shut up), and I highly recommend it, not necessarily for the movie, but for what’s after the movie. Which is a bunch of former child stars singing a song, with the video reminding me one hell of a lot of We Are the World. Hell, it’s worth it for the part where Peter Brady chimes in with the cracked voice a la When it’s Time to Change (“you’ve got to rearraaaaaaaaange whoyaareandwhatyou’reagonnabe ShananananananaNUH, shanananananananNUH!”) When did those Brady kids get so goddamn old? * * * I’d say last night’s episode of My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance was a bit anticlimactic. What was with that whole speech where Steve talked about how the Coys were so close and cared so much for each other? That was ass-kissy, wasn’t it? Ah well. I predicted to Fred that they’d get a million bucks no matter what happened, and apparently they can use it. When she was talking about how she’d done it all for them because she knew that Crazy Pat wanted to move out and Melanie wanted to travel and Bobby wouldn’t have to worry about having to afford college, they looked a little embarrassed about the fuss they’d made, didn’t they? I’d make an ass out of my family for half a million bucks, nooooo problem. For that matter, if anyone in my family wants to make an ass out of me (though I do a pretty good job of it myself) for $500,000, consider this my blanket permission. * * * Reader Erin sent me a card that made her think of me. I can’t IMAGINE why on earth it made her think of me… Heh. Thanks, Erin! inside: Personally, I like to bitch. Which reminded me of the card I saw at Target last year that I just had to buy, even though I didn’t have anyone to send it to: inside: I did a crappy thing. please forgive me. I also got a funny card from Jane, who signed it in such a way that I laughed out loud and swallowed my gum. Then I showed it to Fred, who didn’t appreciate the humor. Bastard. I’d scan it, but I’m too lazy to go look for the book it’s serving as a bookmark in (my god, that sentence was horribly constructed). I’m a card-getting motherfucker, that’s right. * * * The stump looks pissy for no discernible reason. The stump storms the perimeter of the yard, trying to find a way out (behind him is a hole in the fence too small to get through. Mr. Fancypants used to love to stand and stare through that hole into the yard next door. Freak.). He takes a break to slurp down some water from the bowl we leave outside so that our cats don’t have to go any further than a few feet at any given time whenever they happen to be thirsty. God forBID they have to haul their asses all the way upstairs to the water bowl. Man on a mission. (He wasn’t able to find a way out. Yay!)]]>

An excellent way to show your support; I just sent some money that way. It would rock if every single couple waiting in line to get married in SF was given flowers, dontchathink? Also, Desi sent me a link to this picture, and I followed another link to this wonderful set of pictures.

* * * Hey, look! A couple of the guys from The Bachelorette have their own web sites. Todd, who was funny as hell, is here, and Ryan M. (that cute guy who couldn’t shut up) is here. Can a Trista and Ryan blog be far behind? I think not! * * * I just started on my first packet of Seasonale last night. This means, if my calculations are correct, that I won’t be having my period again until mid-May. You have NO idea how thrilled I am by this, folks. I’m going to save a fortune on tampons, that’s for sure. I do expect, however, that my body will be confused as hell in a few weeks. I always start retaining water about a week before my period is due. The pill I was on is monophasic (a steady dose of hormones throughout the course of the pill, rather than triphasic, in which the hormone level changes through the course of the pill), which means that there’s no reason my body should do anything to prepare for the onset of my period until the Sunday comes when I don’t feed it a pill at bedtime. But I’ve been on the pill for several years, and I guess my body has adjusted well enough to know when to start retaining water. I’m going to estimate that it’ll take an entire year for my body to completely adjust to the new regimen, but that’s okay with me. Better a confused body for a year with only 4 periods a year, than an unconfused body and 12 periods. Oh, don’t give me that look. Y’all KNOW you love it when I talk about my period! * * * Lately – say over the past few weeks – Fred has started pointing out SUVs that he thinks he’d like. Because I’m pretty good at reading the signs, I had a feeling that we’d be shopping for a new SUV sometime soon. Finally Friday, we started seriously talking about it, and decided to do some looking around over the weekend. Actually, what we talked about was trading in his Jeep for a new vehicle, but I came up with a better idea: trade in my Jeep, since it’s in worse shape than his, PLUS we owe less money on it, and his Jeep could become mine. Which means that I’d get a Jeep that is in better shape AND has a kick-ass stereo. Saturday morning Fred headed out to check out an SUV that had the look and price that was within our range. He called me on his way home to tell me that it was “ugly as hell” and that he was no longer interested in it. Saturday evening, at my suggestion, we got Subway for dinner. After we ate, we went to another dealership, where we all piled in to another SUV and went for a test drive. The verdict? It was okay, but he didn’t love it. (He asked my opinion, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s his opinion that counts, since he’s the one who’ll be driving it) It’s only a 4 cylinder, and after driving an 8-cylinder Jeep, it was a big difference. We got a printout from the salesman showing the different payment options, Fred told him he wanted to think about it, and we left. We spent a good part of Sunday driving around looking at different SUVs, unmolested by salespeople, since most car places are closed on Sundays around here. We stopped at a dealership near where Fred works when a particularly cute SUV caught his eye, and they happened to be selling a yellow Beetle. The door was unlocked, so I actually sat in the car and got a feel for how comfortable I’d be in a Beetle. It was amazing how much room was in that car, especially the dashboard. (No, this is not a story about how we went to look at cars for Fred and came home with a yellow Beetle for me, unfortunately!) This morning Fred went to test-drive an SUV he really liked, and he reported back to me that he really, really likes it. He’s going to go drive another SUV at another dealership later this morning, but the one he drove this morning has 6 cylinders, and the one he’s going to go drive later is only a 4 cylinder. I’m pretty sure he’s going to call me this afternoon and tell me he signed the papers to buy the 6 cylinder SUV. This is absolutely the most adult thing we’ve ever done, shopping around for an SUV. Before, we’ve always said “Hey, let’s go look at cars!”, and ended up coming home that very same day with a new (used) car. This whole test-driving and thinking-about-it thing, the running the numbers to see what the payment would be, the seeing who’ll give us a good deal? Never done it before. Sad, isn’t it? What’s even cooler than Fred getting a new SUV and passing his Jeep on to me, is the fact that THAT Jeep will be paid off, or close to it, in about a year. And then? And then, my friends, it will be time for me to get a new vehicle. A car. A SMALL car. Possibly a yellow Beetle. And I’m willing to wait a whole year to get what I want. Will wonders never cease? * * * I love these little bitty birds. Finches, aren’t they? Spanky, checking to be sure the back door is still open. Such a pretty boy. ]]>

I’m a poor kitty who has lost his way look on his face. He meowed sadly again, realized that he was looking at his Momma, who was holding the box of Kitten Chow, and ran over to me. “Get your ass in there!” I said, pushing him through the gate into our back yard with my foot. I had to push Spanky back into the back yard as well, and then I shut the gate. I was like the Pied Piper, shaking the box and followed by a trio of kitties as I walked back to the door and into the house. They all came through the door after me and looked expectantly up at me. I gave each of them a few pieces of Kitten Chow, and shut the door. Fred’s going to block off the gap under the front fence, but I swear to god, I’m about ready to go out and buy one of those free-standing dog fences and if the Bean wants to go out in the yard, I’ll put him in there and let him sniff around. Little bastard.

* * * A few weeks ago, after finishing the last available Casey Jones book, I went to the author’s site, found that there was no information about another one coming out soon, and emailed the author to see if/ when we could expect the next one. Dear Katy Munger – I think it is cruel and unusual of you to write Better off Dead, a book so compelling that I stayed up until after 1 AM to see how it ended, and not have another Casey Jones book written so that I can move on to reading it. Instead, I’m sitting here sadly missing Casey and wondering what she’s up to. Please immediately drop whatever you’re doing and write another Casey Jones book for me. Also, dedicate it to me. No, name a character after me! I’m kidding in that last paragraph. But seriously, when can we expect another Casey Jones book? Sincerely, Robyn This morning in my in-box, a response! Dear Robyn, I wanted to write back and thank you for your kind letter about my Casey Jones books. It came at a good time: I am entering the home stretch and about to finish up a draft of what has been a long process with my current book (not a Casey). Once it is done, probably in late Spring, I am going to get back to finishing a Casey in progress. I hope to have a new one done by year end. And: Burley makes a return appearance! Plus, you never know… there may be a character in there named after you, after all…. Hopefully, you’ll still be in the mood for more Casey by the time it hit bookstores! I took a few years off from writing and got back to it just last year. It’s great to be back, but I can only hope my readers are still out there! Thanks again for writing, and best wishes for a great 2004. all the best, Katy Munger I’m sure she’s kidding about naming a character after me, but how awesome is it to hear back from an author I really like? Too cool! (On a side note, if anyone out there writes a book, I definitely think you should name a character after me.) * * * I love this idea. It actually took me a minute to understand it – Why would someone from Minneapolis, MN send flowers to a random couple getting married in San Francisco? Hmm… Oh yeah! Duh. – but I think it’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard. Spread the love! * * * When was the last time you… 1. …went to the doctor? Earlier this month. Maybe the 4th? 2. …went to the dentist? Oh god, it’s been years. I desperately need to go. Maybe next month. 3. …filled your gas tank? Last week, maybe? I don’t have to fill up my tank all that often, every two or three weeks unless it’s been a busy errand-running week. 4. …got enough sleep? Last night. I get enough sleep most nights, except for the occasional Monday morning, when I have to get up early to go feed the cats at the pet store, and even then I get a solid 6 or 7 hours. 5. …backed up your computer? Probably the last time I reformatted, which would have been, oh, probably a couple of months ago. I need to do it again, I suppose, but I doubt that I actually will! * * * Spot and the Bean belly up to the water bowl. This gives you some idea of how lanky the Bean has become over the past few months. Spanky and the Bean checking out the fence. Something’s caught the Bean’s interest. Spanky and the Bean haul ass for the back door. ]]>

* * * I clearly need a life, desperately. Last night I had a night-long dream that I was on Survivor. It was a very involved dream, and at the end I discovered that I had won the million dollars, and I wanted to know how to get the million dollar check, so I asked the manager of the hotel where I was staying, and she got Jeff Probst’s phone number for me. Apparently my knowledge that they present the million dollar check the next morning on The Early Show didn’t make it into the dream with me. Survivor tonight! Whoo!

* * * The Bachelorette (spoilers inside): Okay Chad, you’re a good-lookin’ guy and nice to boot, but if you’re going to make THAT big of a deal about worrying about the right time to lay one on Meredith, well, that’s just kinda freaky. I predict that Meredith is going to end up with Matt, because that’s what the editors want me to think, and I don’t necessarily think Ian’s the right guy for her. But what the hell do I know? I thought Bob was going to pick Kelly Jo. * * * American Idol (spoilers within): I was really surprised that Lisa didn’t make it through – I thought she was one of the best. I don’t really care for Camile, though if she can get over her nervousness, that might change. I like Matt Rodgers, and Fred pointed out that as the show ended last night and Matt was singing, he sounded way better than he had the night before. It disappointed me how much the two brothers just sucked. God, that was awful. Next week can’t possibly be as horrid as this week was (knock on wood!). * * * I said to Fred last night, “I bet if I spent less time on the computer, I could read a book a day!” Some days I do read a book a day, but that doesn’t happen all that often, especially with the thicker books. I spend an awful lot of time in front of the computer, though, updating this journal, reading the journals I like to read, checking Nance and Mo 65,000 times a day to see if they’ve updated their blogs. With all the time I’ve spent on my ass in front of the computer in the last few years, you’d think I could have pounded out a book or something (I haven’t, so don’t get all excited/ annoyed thinking I’m about to announce that I’ve written the breathtaking saga of my life – Robyn: “Still So Fat” After All These Years – and sold it for a buck fifty to St. Martin’s Press). Maybe I’ll declare April “Book A Day” month. Not March, ’cause spring break’s right in the middle of March, and we might be doing something that week (we haven’t decided), so I need a completely uninterrupted month to accomplish my goal. We’ll see. And by the way, yes. It IS nice to be able to spend the days doing what I want, when I want, so long as grub’s on the table by 5. I’m fully aware that I’m a lucky, lucky bitch. * * * Miz Poo was laying in the cat bed under the lamp, when the Bean came up and made himself at home next to her. She looked at Fred for help. She looked at me, hoping I’d give her a hand getting rid of that little bastard. And when she saw that no help was forthcoming, she gave up and went back to sleep. ]]>

This is absolutely hilarious! (Link stolen from Busy Mom). I’m totally sending a “having a great time, call you when we get home!” postcard. Heh.

* * * I actually see sunshine out my window. I haven’t seen sunshine in what seems like forEVer. It’s even supposed to get up to 60 tomorrow. I’ll believe it when I see it, but I hope like hell it happens! I went out into the back yard yesterday afternoon to refill the bird feeders and put out some peanuts for the squirrels. It was about 45 out (YES, I know that’s a heatwave to you arctic-living mofos, but it’s kind of COLD to me) so I left the back door open to let Miz Poo and the Bean out to run around if they so desired. I didn’t think they’d have much interest in running around in the grass, since it’s still so wet out there. When I came back inside I let them stay out there, periodically checking on them. They seemed to be happy staying on and around the patio, so I came back to my computer to surf or check email, or whatever the hell I was doing. After two or three minutes, I went back to check on them, and they had vanished. I went to the bottom of the stairs and called up to the spud, asking if she had brought either of them upstairs with her, and she said that she hadn’t seen them. I put on my shoes and ventured into the backyard, toward the shed. The only part of the back yard you can’t see from the back door is the part hidden by the shed. There used to be a gap on the other side of the shed, but Fred blocked it so that they can’t go through it. I was almost to the shed when the Bean appeared beside it, looking guilty, and then hauled ass toward the house. When I reached the shed, I saw Miz Poo sitting near the part of the fence where the gap had been, looking bereft. She looked up at me and whined, and when I leaned down to pick her up, she jumped up into my arms. Maybe she forgot that you had to go around the big shed to get home, or something. There was a huge pile of feathers next to the shed, but they looked like they’d been there for a while, so I don’t think any of the cats had anything to do with the maiming or killing of the bird they belonged to. After I got Miz Poo and the Bean back inside the house, I went back out, filled a bowl with peanuts, and left it on the patio for the squirrels. This morning when I looked outside, there was a Blue Jay knocking the bowl over, and when he flew away he had a peanut in his mouth. Who knew that a Blue Jay would be interested in an unshelled peanut? * * * On a routine check of my stats this past weekend, I found that I’d suddenly started getting a huge amount of hits. I usually get less than 1,000 visits per day on the weekend (because I don’t update), and by 3pm on Saturday I’d already gotten 2,000 hits. When I went to look at my referrals, I found a ton of searches on “fuck” in it’s many forms. A little more research showed that, being a dumbass, when I changed the Go Fuck Yourself ‘burb page from here to here, I’d completely taken down the original page instead of replacing it with a page directing people to the new GFY page. People were searching on “fuck”, trying to get to this page, and ending up on the 404 page. Not only did I fix that by putting up the redirection page (and not putting a sitemeter on that page), but I also did a little research to find out how to stop robots from crawling my site. Hopefully one day soon I’ll stop being Google’s bitch. With all the hits I was getting for people searching on “Fuck”, though, surely I could have crowned myself “The Queen of Fuck.” * * * Aussies, what on earth is a “battered sav”? I’m reading the book Confessions of a Reformed Dieter, by AJ Rochester (and liking it a great deal), but she mentions “battered savs” a lot, and I’m dying with curiosity to know what on earth it is. I’m liking this book so much that I’m actually going to KEEP it, I think, instead of giving it away on the giveaway page. I hardly ever do that! (Note: I ordered my copy from Abbey’s Bookshop in Australia, as it’s not available in the US at this point) * * * If you’re an Andrew Vachss fan, you might find this as fascinating as I did. Speaking of Andrew Vachss, I was watching a movie on TV a few weeks ago – City by the Sea, with DeNiro and Frances McDormand – and I think I may have possibly spotted the guy who could play Burke. He’s not nearly old enough, but he’s the only actor I’ve ever come across who makes me think he could play the role without fucking it up. Would be interesting to see, no? * * * ]]>