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Archive for March, 2005

3/31/05

by @ Thursday, March 31st, 2005. Filed under Life

reading: The Honk and Holler Opening Soon.

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So, I found this blog through Kathy, and I’ve been reading it regularly. Today I went and read this post, and I have to say that the two paragraphs after the picture of her mother in the nurse’s uniform? I find those paragraphs somehow comforting. Also, yesterday I followed a link from Marcia‘s journal to Dogblog, and looked at each and every one of the dog pictures and commentary. It’s my new favorite blog. My favorite dog has to be the one on this page, sixth picture from the top. Hilarious! And while I’m linking to stuff I’ve read online lately, I followed the link from Jennifer Weiner‘s blog to this article by Ayelet Waldman and read it with interest. I wonder how much shit she’s taking for it.
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So, in Monday’s entry I wrote: “My god, is there a crazy person living back there and will he grab me when I’m not paying attention and cut my throat and scoop out my eyeballs with a spork and eat them, then throw my body on a big pile of decomposing bodies?” and I am informed by several of you that in last night’s episode of Alias, someone got their eyes SCOOPED OUT WITH A SPORK. I have my finger on the pulse of pop culture, apparently. That, or I’m psychic. Hmmm, let me check my psychic abilities and see what’s in store for the future… I see… ten million dollars… no, sorry, a hundred million dollars…being deposited…in my checking account…and…ten more cats being adopted… by ME! (Ah, if only!)
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Warning: Possible Amazing Race spoilers ahead! Skip to the next section if you don’t want to be spoiled! Someone asked in my comments if we’ve been watching The Amazing Race. We have, and I know this isn’t a popular opinion, but I am LOVING Rahb and Ambah. I hated them on Survivor, but I love them in The Amazing Race! Everything Rahb does, he does with such glee that he absolutely cracks me up. I do think they should have stopped instead of just driving by the accident that the brothers (who make me laugh in their Loverboy do-rags) had the other night, but I predicted they wouldn’t stop, so I wasn’t too surprised. I do wish they’d contributed some money to Gretchen and Meredith, though. This may be the season when The Amazing Race jumps the shark, but so far I’m enjoying it. Oh, and I am SO FUCKING GLAD that Ray and Deana are gone. What an asshat he is. I mean, nothing approaching Jonathan, but still. I swear if he’d made one more snide comment about Gretchen and Meredith I was going to jump through the TV and kick him in the balls. So, yes – watching Amazing Race and loving it!
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While I’m on the topic of TV shows, I’ve started watching House in the past few weeks. What an excellent show!
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The spud went to church last night (::sob!:: where have I gone wrooooooooong?), and I let her drive there (with me in the car, that is). She did just fine. I knew she would, but the road to church is a bit scary – pretty narrow, with some deep ditches on the side of the road in a few places. We let her drive home, too – Fred sat in the back seat – and she did well until we pulled into the subdivision, and she about took out a mailbox. She had a doctor’s appointment this morning on the other side of Huntsville, and I was going to let her drive, but I couldn’t come up with a way to get there that didn’t involve driving down a scary road or two, so I drove. Yes, I know that she’s got to get used to driving down the interstate and the scary, scary Parkway one of these days, but my heart just wasn’t up to it today. The doctor appointment was to have her stitches taken out. Everything’s healing just fine, and she’s got to go back in six weeks for another check. The doctor said that if there was going to be a problem, it would most likely have shown up by now, so all is good.
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Fred turned the electric fence up quite a bit yesterday so that Mister Boogers couldn’t get as close to the fence without being zapped. Hopefully that will keep his little Booger ass in the yard. He was a total pain in the butt yesterday during the day because it was warm and sunny, but I wouldn’t let him out since the fence was turned off. When the cat door is closed and he wants out, he goes to the back door and pulls on the blinds so that they make an annoying clattering sound. He repeats it until you either come spray water at him, or let him out. (I know, it’s a bad idea to reinforce the bad behavior by opening the door. Shaddup.) So anyway, when Fred got home he turned the fence on – and up – and put Mister Boogers’ collar on. Mister Boogers was a wild thing for the rest of the evening and today. He keeps running outside, running around the yard like his butt is on fire, and running back inside. He cracks me up. At first, Fred had the fence turned up a little too high, and Mister Boogers was hanging out in the dining room. There’s a box top in the dining room where he likes to sit and stare out the window at the birds. He went over to his box top yesterday and his collar beeped. Fred said his eyes got dark and he went flat, because he KNEW what was coming. Then he got zapped, he flew straight up into the air, and then hauled ass upstairs. I always miss the good stuff.
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“All I was DOING was coming over to sit in my box top – MY box top! – and I got the beep and the zap. I wasn’t even being BAD! I don’t get it!”]]>

3/30/05

by @ Wednesday, March 30th, 2005. Filed under Life

reading: The Honk and Holler Opening Soon. Finished yesterday: Sympathy Between Humans. Good book!

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I’m glad y’all liked the entry yesterday. It took me for-fucking-ever to put together, so it’s a good thing y’all appreciated my hard work. Questions regarding yesterday’s entry: Does your neighborhood have an anti-front-yard- fence-covenant ?? Being a former farm girl,I am very territorial about the land I own. Yeah, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t let us put up a front-yard fence. It’s actually not all that bad – the kids run across our front yard from time to time and leave the occasional toy, but they don’t generally hang out in our front yard or anything. We’re looking forward to the day when we can sell this house and buy one on a little more land, for sure. Did I read that correctly…no breakfast and no lunch till’ 2 pm? That is typically when I eat my first meal but I don’t get up till around 11 am. I wish I got about 1/2 done of what you do on any given day. Something to be said for being an “early riser” I suppose. I do the grocery store run around 3-4 times a week, so you are definitely more organized than I. Wondering why you don’t just buy your groceries at the Super Target? Yeah, some days I don’t eat breakfast and some days I do. If I haven’t eaten breakfast by 10:30, I skip it for the day. Today I had scrambled eggs and an english muffin, though. Yum. I don’t know why we don’t get our groceries at the Super Target. I guess because the Publix is a whole lot closer and we know where everything’s located in the store. I’ll occasionally buy a grocery-related item at Target if I’m there for something else and remember we’re out of bread (or whatever), but the vast majority of our grocery shopping is done at Publix. For a while we were getting our groceries at Wal-Mart, but it drives me crazy, the way pallets of crap are all over the place in Wal-Mart, so I avoid that place like the plague. I was just thinking about your itching. Maybe it is some type of shampoo they use on the kitties when they come in. You don’t itch around your babies do you? I do itch at home – I itch most of the time – but it’s never as bad as it is in the half hour or so after I leave the pet store. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a combination of the sweat and all that cat dander – we’re talking 7 – 10 cats in a pretty confined space. I just may try taking a kid’s dose of Benadryl next week, like another commenter suggested, and see if that helps. Bradford pear flowers stink like rotten shrimp heads because whatever it is that pollinates them (cats perhaps?)is attracted to that lovely scent. We had them in front of the architecture building at A&M – quite a lovely way to greet visitors. I feel like someone’s told me that Bradford pear trees are pollinated by flies. I can’t find anything on Google to confirm that, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it’s true – that is one nasty, nasty smell. in the pictures of the cats eating their treats — what IS that furry looking toupe thing on the floor? That furry looking toupe thing – hee! – is a mink tail. Someone gave a pack of them to my sister for her cat at Christmas (did I get that right, Deb?), and she wouldn’t touch them, so I brought them home for our cats. Miz Poo is particularly fond of the mink tails, and will occasionally “adopt” one as her baby, and drag it around the house, keening the entire time. Please note: I didn’t take the tails off the mink, I didn’t purchase the mink tails from the store, I DO NOT SUPPORT THE REMOVAL OF TAILS FROM MINKS, so don’t be emailing me and giving me shit for this, people. The tails were already removed from the minks by the time I came along; I just took advantage of getting something for nothing, and brought ’em home.
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Well, it finally happened. We knew it would, just not when. Last night, as Fred and I were sitting down, watching TV and eating our snacks, he said “Where the hell is Mister Boogers?” At snack time, Mister Boogers is always sitting and eyeballing Fred, hoping to be given a piece of popcorn. But last night? Nowhere to be found. Fred went out into the back yard and called for Mister Boogers. I checked several different places in the house where he might be. Nada. Fred went to the next door neighbor’s house to ask if he could look in their backyard. I got in my car and drove around to the back of our fence. We called for Mister Boogers, we looked for him, and he was nowhere to be found. I was just heading back to my car after several minutes of fruitless searching and calling, when Fred – who’d gone back into our back yard – called me on my cellphone. “He’s back,” he said. “Where did he come from?” I asked. “I don’t know. I was in the back yard, and he wasn’t out there, and then I went inside and a second later he came hauling ass through the cat door.” The little fucker. Fred’s going to ratchet the collar of doom up to almost it’s highest level, and set the electric fence so that the little shit can’t go within ten feet of the fence, and we’ll see how that goes. If he gets out again, though, that’s it. Either we’re shutting the cat door for good, or we’re going to get a dog run-type fence to put around the outside of the cat door, one that he can’t climb or jump. My heart can’t take losing another cat just yet, especially not that crazy little Booger Butt. The cat door is closed right now, because Fred’s going to fiddle around with the electric fence when he gets home. We unplugged it last night when we realized the Booger Bastard was missing, because if he’d jumped over the fence, he might not want to jump back over for fear of getting zapped. At the moment Mister Boogers is upstairs snoozing, but it’s a semi-sunny and warm day outside, so he keeps coming downstairs to look through the window and meow with exasperation because I won’t put his collar on and open the cat door. Sucks to be him. The little bastard.
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I watched The Bachelor yesterday via the DVR. I had actually forgotten that it was on Monday night; luckily at some point in the last week I’d set the DVR to tape it. ABC isn’t hyping this season of The Bachelor one-tenth as much as they hyped the Jen Scheft season of The Bachelorette. And I think I know why. Charlie O’Connell is a freakin’ dork. He’s not particularly good-looking, intelligent, OR charming. No charisma. Nothin’! Who the hell is this guy, and why is he making lame-ass jokes on my television screen? And furthermore, WHY are these girls killing themselves to get his attention? Ugh. Except for that Danushka chick, who was sooooo very impressed with herself. She totally deserves him. Why do I watch this stupid show? Whyyyyyyy?
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“Yeah? Well, I don’t even WANT to go outside! No, I don’t! I just want to stay here in my cozy bed, snoozing in the sun. Don’t open the cat door. I don’t care! Bitch.”]]>

3/29/05

by @ Tuesday, March 29th, 2005. Filed under Life

A Day in the Life (Monday, March 28th) Warning: This entry is hugely image-intensive. If you’re on a dial-up, it’s going to take forever to download. If a lot of pictures freezes up your computer, you’ll want to give this one a miss. I’m not kidding about there being a huge number of pictures. I’m awakened every morning except Sunday by Fred coming out of the bathroom after his shower and jiggling my foot to wake me up. He goes into the closet to finish getting dressed, and if I’m awake enough we talk for a few minutes. After a goodbye kiss (this is what he looks like to me, since I’m wearing neither contacts nor glasses), he leaves. I lay in bed for a few minutes, and then roll out of bed to get ready for the day. I hit the bathroom for my morning ablutions – pee, brush my teeth, brush my hair, take my synthroid – and then go back out into the bedroom to get dressed. Because I’m not completely sure whether I’m alone in the house, I shut the bedroom door to get dressed, because no one needs to watch me do the pulling-up-the-granny-panties dance. As always, Mister Boogers freaks out at the thought of a closed door and tries to figure out how to get on the other side. Once I’m dressed I head into the laundry room to clean the litter box (I edited out the full litter box. You’re welcome). Outside the laundry room, Spanky and Mister Boogers tussle. I head downstairs where I hang out in front of the computer for ten or fifteen minutes, waiting for it to be time to leave for the pet store. I need to go to Target after the pet store, and Target doesn’t open until 8:30. I don’t want to have to hang around waiting for it to open and it takes me about an hour to clean cages and bond with the kitties, so I don’t want to leave for the pet store too early. When 7:30 rolls around, I go out to the car and leave. The traffic isn’t too bad this morning. It’s moving at a pretty steady pace, for once. Hey, look! A yellow truck! Maybe I should have bought that… nah. The idea was to get a smaller vehicle than the Jeep, after all, not a bigger one. I can see the mountains Fred loves so much to climb. One of the managers lets me into the pet store and then goes to get the key to let me into the cat room. The cats see me walk by and know I’m there to feed them. They get all excited and start meowing and rubbing on things. I get a ton of cat pictures (which I’ll put up later this week) and I have to break up a few fights. I’m done cleaning and snuggling by 8:50, and I check the cages one last time (to make sure they’re all closed, and everyone has sufficient food and water), tell the kitties I’ll see them next week, and leave. As I drive to Target, I’m itching like hell. It’s got to be a combination of the cat hair I get all over me, and the sweating I do while I’m cleaning out the cages. In any case, every single week I itch like hell for half an hour or so after I leave the pet store, and I drive along scratching everywhere I can reach – especially my face – until the itchiness stops. I go to Target, where I find that they’ve moved the aisles around some. I look at food processors for a long time before I find that they actually sell a slice-and-grate attachment that will go on the front of my Kitchenaid mixer. I think that’s pretty damn cool, so I buy it. I look at the slippers. The ones I have are ruined, because I kicked a bowl of tuna juice (left on the floor for the cats) across the room, and got tuna juice all over my slippers. I couldn’t get the smell out, so I tossed the slippers. I don’t really like any of the slippers at Target, so I decide to wear my upstairs slippers downstairs for now. (I have one pair of slippers for upstairs and one for down, so I never have to go up and down the stairs looking for slippers. Yes, I’m spoiled rotten.) I wander around Target for about ten minutes longer, but end up only buying the slice-and-grate attachment, some Jolly Ranchers, and Wintergreen gum. I leave Target and have to go back to the pet store, because I forgot to pick up a canister of catnip. We can’t run out of that, you know! I go to the grocery store to buy what we’ve run out of since Fred got groceries on Saturday. It’s quite a sizable list and I wonder for the zillionth time how people make it on one grocery store trip a week. Do these people really exist, or is it an urban myth? I find that there are no whole wheat pitas – only white – and call Fred to see whether he wants me to get the white pitas or not. Not, he says. Two minutes later I have to call because he’s put “Starkist Chunk white tuna” on the list. Starkist has chunk lite, and solid white, but no chunk white. Because I’m in the middle of the store I have an awful connection, so I have to go to the front of the store and call him again. Does he want chunk lite or does he want solid white? Chunk lite. I peruse the Easter candy, which is on sale, and end up buying several bags to stick in the freezer until Friday. Fred worries that I might be tempted by the candy, but as long as the bags are unopen, it’s not a problem. Once they’ve been opened, though, they need to be hidden from me because I am WEAK. After I leave the grocery store, I swing by McDonald’s to buy a large Diet Crack Coke. Finally, almost three hours after I left the house, I’m home again. I drag all the groceries into the house and pile them on the counter. Mister Boogers supervises the putting away of the groceries. Once the groceries are put away, I sit in front of the computer, check my email and start my journal entry. I shoot off an email to Fred (our neighbors – the ones we call the Property Line Vigilantes because they were seriously concerned about the fact that Fred mowed a few feet over onto their property last summer, yet have no problem letting their child leave his toys all over our front lawn – have gotten a puppy. I suggest that they’re trying to keep up with the neighbors on the other side of us, who got the most adorable puppy a few weeks ago. He’s maybe a foot long, and his name is Bruiser. Heh. I wonder to Fred how long it will be before we’re scooping dogshit off our lawn. Then, because I can put it off no longer, I change into my exercise clothes, head out to the garage and exercise on the elliptical for 35 minutes. I haven’t got a clue why the TV screen says “34F”, because I was watching Sex and the City, Season 2. At the end of 35 minutes, I’ve gone 3.01 miles. Woot! Fear me! I sit in front of the computer and drink the rest of my Diet Coke while surfing (that’s Chubby Girl Brigade on my screen). Miz Poo is worried that I might be visiting unsuitable sites, so she comes to check it out. She decides that Aimee can’t corrupt me too much – though she does warn me against getting any ideas about bringing a baby into the house – and moves out of the way into her bed, where she falls asleep and makes disturbing sucking noises. After half an hour, my the color of my face has faded from bright, heart-attack red to medium pink, which is a sign that I’ve cooled down enough to take my shower. I finish my Diet Coke and head upstairs to do some cleaning. I’d intended to clean the bathroom, but it’s getting late so I decide to just clean the shower and tub and leave the rest for another day. I spray cleaner in the tub and shower, and then I take a moment to praise getupgrrl. Not because she’s a talented writer, though of course she is. Not because she’s funny as hell sometimes, though of course she is. No, I am praising her today because a few days ago she mentioned, almost in passing, the idea of using toothpicks to clean those crevices that regular cleaning solvents and sponges will not reach. And ever since, I have been a cleaning-with-toothpicks motherfucker. Today, I use toothpicks to clean around the jets in the tub, around the drain, and around the faucet. And three years of crap comes out from those crevices which is just too fucking cool. When the tub is clean, I put some laundry in. I don’t separate the laundry into darks and whites or anything, because I CANNOT BE BOTHERED. I just toss it all into the machine in one heap and let god sort it all out. I get out the Dyson and empty the canister (this will be important later). I start in the guest bedroom and vacuum like a vacuuming demon. When I pass the bookcase in the hallway, I turn the Dyson off. A few months ago Fred sold the Clavinova that was taking up space in the spud’s computer room. We’d talked about moving the bookcase in there, but it just hasn’t happened yet. I don’t want to pull all the books off the bookcase, then have to put them back when the bookcase is moved, but I really want to get the bookcase moved. It occurs to me that I should see if I can move the bookcase with all the books still on it. I give it a try and it’s not easy, but it’s doable. When I see all the cobwebs along the bottom of the back of the bookcase, I stop and suck ’em off with the Dyson. My god, I love my Dyson, have I mentioned? Almost there! And there it is. Almost perfectly centered on the wall, even! There are a few marks on the wall behind the bookcase, but you can’t see ’em so I’m not going to worry about it. The hallway looks so big and barren without the bookcase there! Once the bookcase is moved, I finish vacuuming the upstairs. The cats scatter for parts unknown. I go in to vacuum the bathroom, and when I come back out, Miz Poo is huddled on the bed giving me the big dark eyes. I have to chase her off the bed, because I need to vacuum the comforter. With four cats spending a lot of time snoozing on the bed, the comforter collects a lot of cat hair. Especially on my side of the bed, because that’s where Spot likes to sleep, and he’s a shedding motherfucker. When I’m done vacuuming the bed, I’m done vacuuming the entire upstairs. I take a look at the canister – which I mentioned was empty when I started vacuuming: …and I once again vow to vacuum more often than twice a week. I put the vacuum cleaner away and head for the shower. While I’m waiting for the shower to warm up, I notice that the top of the wallflower by the tub is just nasty looking. I grab it, toss it in the sink and use a toothpick to clean the hell out of it. It only takes a moment, and I dry it, put a new refill on it, and plug it back in. I think the scent is Mango Mandarin. Usually it takes me about ten minutes to shower, but today it takes more like half an hour, because I take toothpicks into the shower and I scrape so much gunk out of the crevices around the door that it almost makes me fall to my knees and praise jesus. When I’m out of the shower, I hear the washer stop, and so go into the laundry room to toss the laundry into the dryer. The spud has left her last load of laundry – she does laundry on Saturdays – in the dryer, so I fold her towels while Miz Poo supervises: then put the towels in her room. I put my laundry from the washer to the dryer, and then put a load of towels in. I go back into the bathroom and do my morning stuff – put gel in my hair, comb my hair, put rosacea medicine on my face, put moisturizer on my face, put Cortizone on a few itchy spots (I made the mistake of using DERMATOLOGIST-RECOMMENDED Eucerin on my stomach, legs, and arms, and ended up with welts that are just now starting to dry up and go away). I’m just done with combing my hair when the phone rings. It’s Fred. He’s not having a good day, so I listen sympathetically. Miz Poo climbs up on me and makes herself at home. I hang up the phone and pick up my book to read for a few minutes before I blowdry my hair. I get dressed, pet the cats, and head downstairs. They don’t pay any attention to me. I sit in front of the computer for a few minutes, and then remember that I need to pick up a prescription for the spud. I put on my shoes and go to the grocery store. While I’m there, I pick up four 2-liters of Diet Coke, because they’re on sale for 89 cents apiece. I’ll be visiting the grocery store twice a day so that I can buy (the maximum) four 2-liters per visit. The sales on 2-liter Coke products are few and far between. When I get home, I realize I’m wearing the dorkiest sweatshirt I own. It wouldn’t be so bad except that the black stripes at the bottom make it look like I’m going for a Charlie Brown look. It’s after 2, so it’s time for lunch! I make a turkey and ham rollup out of a low-carb tortilla, deli-sliced ham and turkey, mayo, mustard, and a handful of lettuce. I also have a side salad, a dill pickle, and a container of white chocolate and raspberry yogurt. Yummy! I forgot to take a picture, though. I eat in front of the computer (bad!), catching up on my journal reading. When I’m done eating lunch I head into the kitchen to start putting dinner together. We’re having CORE Salsa Meatloaf, which means lots of shredding. Which is why I was looking for a food processor at Target earlier – we only have a small food processor. I turn the TV on and start last week’s Lost while I get out the veggies I need to shred. I get the Kitchenaid attachment up and running and begin shredding an onion. Which is when I quickly come to an inescapable conclusion: the Kitchenaid attachment sucks ASS. I take it apart and get out the small food processor. It takes the better part of 30 minutes, but I finally get the damn meatloaf put together just as the spud walks through the door. She shares a bit of the school gossip with me, and then settles in to do her homework while I clean wipe down the counters and put all the dirty dishes in the sink. Mister Boogers watches in hopes that I’ll give him something to eat. I do not. By the time I’m done cleaning the kitchen, it’s almost 4:00, and thus time to start dinner. I put the meatloaf in to cook, and sit in front of the computer for a few minutes, doing some more catching up on my journal reading. (That’s Melissa) A little while later, Fred gets home (he had an appointment with the dentist today and was his usual charming self), and we go upstairs to lay down and talk for a few minutes. Spot and Spanky are in the exact same spots as they were when I went downstairs two and a half hours previously, which is par for the course. Spot grudgingly moves when I nudge him, and then I have to use the lint roller to pick up the cat hair he’s left behind so I won’t get it all over me when I lay down. Fat lot of good vacuuming the comforter did, eh? Spot and Spanky wait for us to go the hell away so they can stretch out and have the bed to themselves. Mister Boogers just sits and looks disapproving. We talk for about ten minutes, then go back downstairs. I put corn on the stove to cook, and some veggies in the microwave. Sugar snap peas for me, and brussels sprouts for Fred and the spud. I used to love brussels sprouts, but I just can’t abide them anymore. The timer goes off, indicating that it’s time to put the salsa on the meatloaf. As I’m doing so, it pops into my head that I forgot to add the four egg whites that the recipe calls for. Uh oh. Hopefully the meatloaf will be okay even without the egg whites. I leave part of the meatloaf bare, because I don’t care for cooked salsa on ANYTHING. Twenty minutes later, dinner is ready and we eat. The meatloaf is just fine. The spud doesn’t like meatloaf, so she has a piece of thickly-cut deli turkey instead. Usually Fred and I would go upstairs to lay down and talk for a few minutes, but he’s working on an entry so we both repair to the computer room. He works on his entry and I begin editing the pictures I’ve been taking all day long. Believe it or not, I only use about a third of the pictures I’ve taken. Fred goes upstairs to take his evening bath (the man loves his baths) and I continue to edit pictures, taking the occasional break to surf. Just before 7:00, which is the time we always stop hanging out in front of our computers and go spend time together watching TV, my computer freezes. I reboot and it freezes again. We (at least Fred does) spend the next half hour trying to figure out what’s going on. It turns out that my memory card reader has gone bad, so Fred gives me his and all is well. I’m assigned the task of getting a new memory card reader for his computer, which I put off for another time. We settle in the living room around 7:30 and Fred flips channels for a while. Fear Factor is on, and we watch until they get to the food challenge. I make Fred change the channel because the food challenges always gross me out. Fred flips channels at random while I read O Magazine and eat a no-sugar-added Fudge Pop. (That’s Yoko Ono on the screen.) Finally, 24 comes on and we watch it while I work on a cross-stitch ornament. Oh, Jack Bauer. You get yourself into the most impossible situations, don’t you? When the show is over, we check our email one last time and head upstairs. Mister Boogers yowls impatiently because he wants his snack, damnit! By the time I walk into the bedroom, the cats are lined up and waiting for their nightly snack. Spot hangs out on his pillow. Tonight, he’s not interested in a snack, but he keeps an eye on the other kitties. Fred kneels on the floor and squirts some antibiotic down Miz Poo’s throat. She fusses a little bit, but lets him do it. She’s learned that the less she fights him, the faster it goes. The kitties eat their snacks. I brush my teeth, pop out my contacts, and put medicine on my face, then get into my nightgown and we read until 9:30. We turn out the light and talk for half an hour or so. We toss some toys for Mister Boogers for a few minutes, then Fred kisses me and goes off to bed. I get up and turn the laptop on. While Mister Boogers and Miz Poo run around and play fight, I sit in the recliner and answer almost every single last bit of email sitting in my Inbox. A couple of the emails are from the last part of December. How embarrassing! I’ve now caught up on my email, so if you’re expecting a response for something you wrote and haven’t received one (unless you sent it in the last day), email me again, ‘k? After an hour of answering email, I turn off the laptop, climb into bed, and read for a few minutes before turning off the light and falling asleep in no time flat.
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3/28/05

by @ Monday, March 28th, 2005. Filed under Life

reading: Shoot the Moon. Finished over the weekend: The 37th Hour. Excellent book! I gave it 4 out of 5 smilies.

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Stolen from Amy. Accent None! Shaddup, I do NOT have a southern accent. Bra size Like I’m going to tell. Chore I hate Judging by how long I go between the times I do it, I’d say I hate dusting most of all, followed closely by cleaning the shower. Dad’s name Hugh. Essential make-up I only wear makeup on Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve, which is when we see Fred’s family. The rest of the year, I go au naturel. Favorite perfume I go through stages with other perfumes, but Sand & Sable is my perennial favorite. Gold or Silver Either. At the same time, even! Hometown Lisbon Falls, Maine (though I was born in Bangor, I consider Lisbon Falls to be my hometown). Interesting fact Job title Professional Couch Potato, Cat Wrangler, and the only person who throws away those GODDAMN pieces of paper and wrapping that OTHER PEOPLE like to leave on the counter. Kids Just the one. Living arrangements A house in the suburbs, shared with a husband, a teenage girl, and four troublesome cats. Mom’s Birthplace Brunswick, Maine. Number of apples eaten in last week Zilch. Overnight hospital stays One when I had the tumor removed from my knee, one when I had a c-section… and that’s it, actually. Oh, wait – I had my tonsils out, too, which necessitated an overnight stay. Phobia Talking on the phone to anyone other than the select few I’ve been talking to my entire life (my parents, my sister, Liz, and Fred); I mean, I can DO it, I just don’t like to. Also, spiders that jump because I KNOW THEY’RE AIMING FOR MY FACE. Question you ask yourself a lot “What the fuck?” Religious affiliation Eh. That’s right, I’m affiliated with The Church of Eh. Siblings Two older brothers, one younger sister. Time I wake up Depends on the day. Earlier this week I was up at 5:15 so I could exercise before an appointment. Usually during the week I get up around 8 (except Mondays, when I go to the pet store and get up around 7), and on the weekends I sleep in until 9. If I’m not up by around 9:05 on the weekends, Fred and the Booger come wake me up. Unnatural hair color It’s unnatural in that I have my hair colored every six weeks, but it looks natural. Someday I’m going to go blond, though. Vegetable I refuse to eat Beets. Beets are vegetables, right? I don’t know, they just look nasty. Worst habit Chewing my fingernails, popping my gum, scratching whatever itches, jumping to conclusions. I am classy. X-rays Too numerous to mention; I couldn’t even begin to list them all. Yummy food I make General Tsao’s Chicken, Pancit, Roasted Chick Peas, Rolo Cookies. Zodiac sign Capricorn!
* * *
You know, when I kept whining and moaning about how ready I was for Spring, what I failed to remember is that (a) Spring is tornado season and also rainy season and (b) the Bradford Pear trees that are planted every two and a half feet in my neighborhood fucking REEK when they’re in bloom. I walked outside the other day to get into my car, and I sniffed and thought to myself “God. Did someone have FISH for dinner or something?”, and then I sniffed again and thought “God. Did someone have a DECOMPOSING BODY for dinner or something?” and then I realized that the very distinctive 24-bodies-buried-in-the-backyard-and-decomposing smell was coming from the Bradford Pear tree next to our driveway. They’re pretty when they’re in bloom, but holy god does that smell make me want to rip my nose off. Back when I used to walk outside for exercise, there was a particular section of my walk where there were a LOT of Bradford Pear trees, and that happened to be near a scary section of woods, and every morning I’d walk by and think “My god, is there a dead animal back there, or what?”, and of course that line of thought graduated to “My god, is there a crazy person living back there and will he grab me when I’m not paying attention and cut my throat and scoop out my eyeballs with a spork and eat them, then throw my body on a big pile of decomposing bodies?”, and I’d pick up the pace, walking as fast as possible – almost running – while keeping a wary eye on the scary bit of woods to my right. And it wasn’t long before I changed my walking route around so that I never went by that scary patch of woods. Because there’s nothing worse than having your eyes scooped out with a spork when you’re not quite dead yet, believe you me. Even now that I know that that awful stench was less the smell of a pile of decomposing bodies and more the reek of Bradford Pear trees in bloom, I’ll have nothing to do with that patch of woods. Because there could still be a crazy spork-wielding psycho back there. You just never know.
* * *
Also, since Spring has started in earnest, we were inundated with ants for about a week. They were coming in under the back door and made for the kitchen, where they ended up on the kitchen counter and kind of wandered around, as if they knew there was food somewhere but they weren’t quite sure where. Until the day someone WHO IS NOT ME AND NOT THE SPUD made his snack and used the dishcloth to wipe up spilled food and yet did not rinse out the dishcloth when said food was wiped up, and when the spud went into the kitchen the next day? THOUSANDS (okay, maybe more like TENS) of ants were swarming all over the dishcloth. I squished as many of them as possible, and then sprayed ammonia and water all over the counter and scrubbed it down. There’s a spider who has a web located pretty close to the path the ants were taking to get into the kitchen, and the day after the swarm of ants on the dishcloth, I looked at the spiderweb to find at least twenty ant husks on the floor, and the spider was sitting at the back of his (or her) web, looking fat and happy. Apparently killing a shitload of ants and scrubbing down the counters with ammonia and water was what was needed, because it’s been three days and I haven’t seen a single ant since. At least until Fred made coffee yesterday and poured himself a cup to find that there were ants in his coffee. Serves him right. On the good side, at least they were those small ants and not the big fat ones. I hate those big ants, because they scare me a little. Also, they make a bigger mess when you squish them.
* * *
Look what Fred made in Paintshop Pro yesterday while I was out huffing and puffing on the elliptical: That’s my monitor and desk. Kind of cool, eh?
* * *
Fred’s father and stepmother came over Saturday night to watch a movie with us. Mostly they came because Fred’s father wanted to see the new setup with the high definition TV and everything. Fred showed them the Discovery High Definition channel for a while, then flipped back and forth between regular cable and high definition cable, and then put in Pearl Harbor to show off the sound system. They seemed impressed. Anyway, after we’d watched the movie – Cellular – and they were getting ready to leave, Fred’s stepmother pointed out that she’d left a small packet of pictures that she’d taken at Thanksgiving and Christmas. She takes horrible pictures of us (well, probably she doesn’t INTEND to take horrible pictures of us, they just turn out that way!) and then gives us copies of the pictures. There was a picture of Fred and I at the dinner table on Christmas Eve, and I looked horrific (Fred looked at the picture and laughed, so even though he said “You look fine, Bessie!”, I know and he knows that it was a particularly bad picture. I look like I’m trying to belch and have one hand clasped to my chest, and I’m kind of smirking, and just UGH. No, you may not see it.) but Fred looked particularly good. Doesn’t he look like he knows a secret and is just busting to tell someone?
* * *
Such a pretty Boog.]]>

3/25/05

by @ Friday, March 25th, 2005. Filed under Life

reading: The 37th Hour. Finished reading yesterday: Never Threaten to Eat Your Co-Workers. Not a bad book, though I did find myself skipping some of the chapters (or whatever you want to term them). Far and away my favorite chapters were those done by Dooce, Ali Davis, Mrs. Kennedy, and Wil Wheaton.

* * *
Fred apparently had an epiphany yesterday. I got an email consisting of the following and nothing else: To: Robyn From: Fred Subject: I’ve figured it out. You know why Christians are always persecuted? Because they’re so goddamn annoying.
* * *
From my comments: Hey Robyn…totally off the subject but what kind of Dyson do you have. I’m interested in getting one and I’ve been checking them out online, but there’s a bunch of different ones. Also what do you use it for? Carpet or floors? I think I would use it mostly for carpet. I have the Dyson Animal – DC07. I still LOVE IT, by the way. There’s just nothing like vacuuming a room and watching the canister fill up with cat hair and dust and crap. I use it for both carpet and floors. There’s a switch so that you can turn the beater bar thingy (?) off while you’re vacuuming floors and then back on when you do carpets. My only gripe about the Dyson is that it doesn’t really reach all the way under my kitchen cabinets and so I have to get out the attachment (because dirt and crap likes to collect under there), but other than that? Love it!
* * *
A year and a day after she took and passed her learner’s permit test, the spud is now officially licensed: It took about an hour of waiting around at the Department of Motor Vehicles in a jam-packed waiting room before they called her back, filled out a thousand forms, took five dollars, made me sign something, and then snapped her picture. Last night I took my life in my hands and had her drive me to the post office to drop off some boxes. This was the first time I’d ever been in a vehicle with her behind the wheel, and I was a little worried, because Fred has told me some very scary stories about the spud behind the wheel. But you know what? It was fine. She’s maybe a little hesitant to pull out when she should, and she has the tendency to slow down wayyy before she needs to, but those are things she’ll overcome in time. The streets of Madison have a lot of traffic and it can be a little scary sometimes – when I was learning to drive, I had the luxury of a lot of country roads to drive down with very little traffic. There’s really nothing like that here; there are plenty of country roads, but a lot of traffic going down them. She’ll be fine.
* * *
Okay, this Terry Schiavo thing got me freaked out enough that I located an Advance Directive form online, printed it out, and have started filling it out. What startles me is that people are skeptical about Michael Schiavo’s claim that he and Terry had talked about it years ago, and she’d never want to be kept alive in a persistent vegetative state. “Yeah, right,” people are saying. “I’m sure they talked about it alllll the time.” Well, I hate to be a party pooper, but Fred and I have discussed that very thing many, many times. The first time was before we were even married, and we discuss it again every now and then. We’re both fully aware of each other’s wishes and prepared to carry them out should the occasion arise. Which always leads to me joking that at some point in the future I’ll be in the hospital, and the nurse will say “Your wife is resting comfortably, Mr. And3rson” and Fred will bellow “Unplug her! Unplug her!” and the nurse will say “No, she’s just sleeping, Mr. And3rson!” and Fred will say “Unplug her! She’d never want to live like that!” Okay, maybe it’s only funny to us. My goal before next Friday is to get the Advance Directive form filled out, signed, and witnessed. I’m appointing Fred my health care proxy, and my sister the backup health care proxy (in case Fred and I are in a fiery car accident, or a safe falls on both our heads), because I know without a doubt that I can trust both of them to make the right decision and that they love me enough to make sure my wishes are carried out. And now, because jokes can be made about ANYTHING (“Where did Krista McAuliffe go on vacation?” “All over Florida!”), there are jokes being made. Some of them are FUCKING funny. Fred sent me an email yesterday, saying: Someone on Fark just commented that Terri Schiavo is like Michigan J. Frog in that she can sit up, speak, and react when her parents are there, but does absolutely nothing when anyone else is around. Bless Terry Schiavo’s heart, but that is funny. And then today he wrote this entry and I laughed so hard I almost shot Diet Coke out my nose. I’m surprised he didn’t try to unplug me.
* * *
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The car.

by @ Thursday, March 24th, 2005. Filed under Life

“I’ll get on that right now,” said Salesguy. “I’ll call you back when I’ve found one.” (By the way, that would be the day those of you on the notify list got the link to the current day’s entry along with a cryptic note about wanting to kick someone’s teeth in. Or something along those lines, I don’t really remember anymore exactly what I said.) And then two weeks pass. At one point, Salesguy claims that he’s located a vehicle in Birmingham, and he’s sent a guy to go down to pick it up. A few days pass with no word. I harass Fred to call Salesguy. Salesguy says Oh! Right, the car! Well, I sent a guy down to get it, only somehow when he got there to pick it up, the dealer had sold it. I’ll keep looking. By now I’m getting worried, because the first payment is due on the silver (which was supposed to be yellow by now, only – whoops! Salesguy claimed that we could get a professional paint job for $800 – $1000, but it appears that he was lying through his teeth to make the sale. Gosh, I wonder how it is that car salesmen get a bad reputation? It’s a mystery.) Aerio, and what the hell am I supposed to do? Do I send in the first payment, or wait until I get my blue car, or what? Salesguy says to just wait. When the blue car gets here, they’ll cancel the loan for the silver car, and write a whole new loan for the blue one. So I tear up the check and sit back to wait. Some more. Because I haven’t done enough waiting. At ALL. Days pass. Fred begins calling Salesguy every single day to see what the fuck is going on. Every day it’s a new story, and finally Salesguy says that he’s pretty sure they’re just going to have to get one right “off the boat”, because he’s having a hell of a time finding any in the area. Friday, Salesguy calls. “We’ve got one coming off the boat,” he says. “In Florida. It’ll be here this weekend, I think.” The weekend passes. Monday morning, salesguy says “Oh, the car will be here tonight. I think we can get this done and the paperwork signed tomorrow!” Fred tells me this. I am thrilled. Tuesday morning comes. Fred’s phone rings. It’s Salesguy. “Golly,” says the Lying Sack of Shit Salesguy who cannot possibly tell one complete truth to save his goddamn fucking life. Oh hey, that bible in the corner of your office? Nice touch. “It seems that because of the transfer of title (from the paperwork Fred signed), the silver car is now viewed as used. We can still get you the blue car, but the monthly payment will increase by $61.” Um, no. FUCK NO. Fred doesn’t even have to call and check with me – it is NOT ACCEPTABLE and we all know it. “Lying Sack of Shit Salesguy,” Fred says. “You need to figure out how to make this right. You’ve been dicking us around for weeks now, and if you fuck me on this, I’m never going to buy another car from you ever again.” Lying Sack of Shit Salesguy continues the fucking shuck-and-jive he’s been performing for weeks and weeks now. He has to talk to his sales manager! He’s on our side! He’s going to do everything he can! The sales manager calls Fred and basically acts like an asshole. “This is the first I’ve heard of this!” he says. Like this is somehow our fault? Do buyers usually make a practice of being sure that the sales manager has a fucking clue what’s going on directly under his nose? Would he like us to stop by and wipe his ass twice a day as well? “So, what? You just want this whole thing (the sale of the silver car) to go away like it never happened?” he says accusingly. “I’d like Salesguy to stand up to the promise he made,” Fred says. “He promised me that we could get a blue car instead of the silver, and that the payment would be the same.” Sales manager hems and haws. He has to check with someone else. He’ll call back. “You tell that fucking piece of shit that he has until 5:00 and then we’re done,” I said. Fred relayed the message. At some point Lying Sack of Shit Salesguy called to say that they were moving up the chain of command to “see” if there was “anything” they could do. “I think I own a goddamn silver car,” I said to Fred at 3:00. “I own a goddamn silver car,” I said to Fred when 5:00 had come and gone and neither Asshole Sales Manager nor Lying Sack of Shit Salesguy had bothered to call. “Take your phone with you,” I said when Fred was getting ready to take a nice relaxing bath after dinner. Around 5:45 I could hear from downstairs when Fred turned the jets off. I knew without a doubt that it was Asshole Sales Manager and when Fred didn’t use his cell phone to call my cell phone to let me know otherwise (we r so hi-t3ch. Also, l33t), I knew I was stuck with a FUCKING SILVER CAR. No. We are not suing. Don’t even suggest it, because we’re not suing. I have a silver car. I’ve never, in my entire life, wanted a silver car. I’ve wanted a yellow car for-fucking-EVER, and failing that I’d take a blue car. Even a red one! But no. I have silver. Despite the color (and don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty. But I don’t want to own a silver car) I do like the car. I love driving a little car instead of the huge behemoth I was driving. I love that it has a 6-CD changer, I love that it has adjustable cup holders, it drives like a fucking dream. It’s an awesome little car, and I love it. The color? I don’t so much love it. (I’m not insulting you silver car owners, am I? Because I love yellow cars, but I understand that some of you hate yellow cars, and I know it’s nothing personal, it’s just a matter of personal preference. Y’know?) So, no. Not going to sue. But I did get a survey from JD Power and Associates. A “Suzuki Sales Satisfaction Survey”, to be exact. And not only is there an entire section entitled “Working with your salesperson”, there’s also this question: “How likely are you to purchase/ lease another Suzuki from the same dealership.” as well as “How likely are you to recommend the dealership from which you purchased/ leased your Suzuki to a friend or relative.” Also, a comment section on the back of the form. You can bet your ass I’ll be filling that survey out completely. Edited to add: Also, Fred will be contacting the CEO of Suzuki in the next few days. I will, of course, let you know what happens! I’ll be kind – I won’t even tell you the name of the dealership or Lying Sack of Shit Salesguy. But I will tell you that if you’re in this area and looking to buy a Suzuki? Don’t buy it in Huntsville or Madison. Buy it anywhere BUT Huntsville or Decatur. I understand there aren’t as many Lying Sack of Shit Salesguys in other dealerships. Before you bring it up, yes. Perhaps we ARE the very epitome of naive for stupidly thinking that a car salesman would (gasp!) tell us the truth, and continuing to believe him when he told us, time after time, that he was “working” on getting that blue car. But we’ve learned our lesson, and if you are a car salesman reading this? You can thank Lying Sack of Shit Salesguy for the fact that we have learned that car salesman are big fat fucking liars. “Can I kill him, Mom, can I, can I, huh?”]]>

3/23/05

by @ Wednesday, March 23rd, 2005. Filed under Life

reading: Hating Valentine’s Day.

* * *
So, we weren’t seriously discussing opening a used book store the other day; we were just talking about how cool it would be. Besides, we’re going to be moving out of Madison in a few years – once the spud has graduated – and wherever we end up, I doubt I’ll want to be driving back to Madison every day to run the store. Also, there’s that whole pesky “dealing with people” thing, and I don’t like that sort of thing at ALL.
* * *
From reader Lisa: I read that you don’t have any pet store kitty photos for this week, so here’s a pic of ours. I wrote in several weeks ago, asking for advice on picking out a cat from a shelter. Thanks for the great suggestions from you and your readers! We brought home a 1 year old female and named her Lavender. She is SO SWEET! Her favorite place to sit is on the dining room table — shown here in the photo — where she has a full view of the backyard to watch the birds and squirrels. The absolute best, though, is the way she interacts with our 9-month old daughter. Lavender thinks she’s her mommy. When our daughter naps, Lavender licks her and sits next to her with a paw on her back. When she cries, Lavender comes running to check up on the situation. It’s so sweet I could almost cry! Everyone out there should go rescue a shelter cat!!! They have so much love to give! I love the way she looks like she’s wearing eyeliner. Adorable, isn’t she?
* * *
Hey, look! Corelle makes yellow dishes! And we… are in the market for new dishes. And we like Corelle! I believe it’s kismet, is what it is.
* * *
Would someone take a look around my site and tell me why the holy hell anyone would think this is a BUSINESS site? A few months ago I started getting sales calls from Paypal. They wanted to offer some new program or another, and I was willing to listen, because I thought they were calling me regarding the (now defunct) chunktohunk.com site, which sold (the now almost out-of-print) Fred’s book. But then I realized they were talking about this site, and I stopped the guy in the middle of his sales pitch and I said “It’s a personal site. I have an online journal. I don’t SELL ANYTHING. What use would this program be to me?” And he stammered and hemmed and hawed and acted like I was the idiot because I had the nerve to own a site – a PERSONAL site – that doesn’t sell anything. Fucker. And then last week I got an email from Google. Google wanted me to know that SOMEHOW – surely it was an ACCIDENT – robots.txt was blocking Google from crawling my site, and they wanted to make it easy for customers to find my site. CUSTOMERS. So I deleted the email, thinking it was a one-time thing, but nay. Yesterday, I got yet another email from Google. A FOLLOW-UP email. I just wanted to follow up with you to confirm that you had received my previous email. If you are not the right person for this, perhaps you could forward it to the appropriate person within your firm. Thanks. I look forward to hearing from you. So, they did hear from me. I emailed them and said “This is a personal site, not a business site. I deliberately inserted robots.txt so that people searching on random terms would not end up on my site, since I HAVE NOTHING TO SELL THEM. Please, for the love of god, remove me from your mailing list.” And they did. But I ask you – what about the name “Bitchypoo” screams “professional business site”? It would take, perhaps, a ten-second look at the main page to see that there’s no business – except, perhaps for FUNNY business! Har! – going on here. Fuckers.
* * *
Miz Poo’s upper lip has swollen up so that it sticks out three inches from her face. For a while we thought we’d solved the problem when Fred took her to another vet for a second opinion. Fred started giving her a steroid pill every night, the lip de-puffed, and we thought we were all set. Except that in the last month or so, her lip has puffed back up. Fred took her to the vet yesterday, and the vet is absolutely adamant that the puffy lip is behavioral, caused by her licking her lips a lot. Except that she doesn’t groom any more than any of our other cats, unless she knows enough to hide from us while she’s doing it. Seeing as how we’re talking about a cat who doesn’t get the message even if you push her off your lap 23 times in a row, I have the feeling that hiding so that she can lick herself to her heart’s content without one of us making her stop is something that hasn’t occurred to her. (Spot’s our incessant groomer – we know what an overgroomer looks and acts like, and Miz Poo ain’t it.) So anyway, the vet gave her a steroid shot, prescribed an antibiotic for the infection (her lip is apparently infected), and decreed that she needs to have a 12-shot course of Immunoregulin – two shots this week, two shots next, and one shot a week for eight weeks. Fred also thought that perhaps Miz Poo is allergic to the cat food we’ve been giving the cats, so he picked up a bag of Science Diet Adult Lite. He filled the food bowl last night, and the cats bellied up to the trough as though he’d poured fresh flaky salmon in there. The Science Diet was a hit, I guess you could say. With her going off the steroids and eating lite cat food, I’m hoping Miz Poo will lose a little weight. At her low a few years ago she got down to about 9 pounds – which seemed a bit skinny to me – and now she weighs around 12 pounds, which is really too high. I’m afraid that jumping down from the bed to the floor, her front legs will snap under the pressure of that much weight. Ah, well. We’ll see, won’t we? Ya gotta love the Poo, no matter what she weighs. “Does this cat bed make me look fat?”]]>

3/22/05

by @ Tuesday, March 22nd, 2005. Filed under Life

reading: Hating Valentine’s Day. I finished The Catcher in the Rye last night (I read it at some point in high school, by the way; this wasn’t my first reading). That Holden Caulfield sure does say “old” a lot. Old Phoebe. Old Jane. Old this, old that. It’d be almost charming if he wasn’t such a whiny little bitch.

* * *
Hey, I made a favicon using some site I wandered across, and now if you look up in the address bar next to the site address, you should see it. You might not, though – it doesn’t always show up, and I’m not sure why. I think it depends on what browser you’re using – it won’t show up in Internet Explorer for me, but it does in Firefox (which is what I usually use – I just keep Internet Explorer around for emergencies). I used my badass picture, if you can’t tell. And looking up there and seeing that itty bitty version of the badass picture just cracks me UP. Oh, shut up. I’m easily amused, I’ll admit it.
* * *
So, if you search this site regularly (using that “search this site” link over there in the sidebar), you might have noticed that I’ve switched from PicoSearch to Freefind; PicoSearch has a 1500-document limit for their free search engine, which I was rapidly approaching, and Freefind doesn’t seem to have a limit. Sure, there are some ads at the top of the result page, but they’re not overwhelming, so I think I’ll stick with Freefind for now. I suggested to Fred that, with his big brain and his ability to whip out software without thinking twice, he could write me a search engine for my site. He agreed that he could – but I don’t think he particularly wants to. Besides, even if he did there are so many other things on the list of “Things to do for Robyn, computerly speaking” that writing me a search engine is pretty far down the list. I’ve noticed, since I get to see what people are using the search engine to look for (but don’t worry, I don’t know who’s doing the searching) that there have been a ton of searches for “chick peas” and “pita”. Your best bet, if you’re looking for a recipe, is to click on the “recipes” link over there on the sidebar under Other. The pita pizza recipe is listed under The Red Auerbach Pizza (in entrees) and the roasted chickpeas recipe is in the sides section. Also, the carpet cleaner so many of you search for? It’s called Axi-dent, and it does an excellent job of killing the smell of cat pee on contact. So many people search for that that I think I’m just going to link to it in the sidebar so it’ll be easier to find. I’ll get around to that this week, hopefully.
* * *
Last night, Fred and I spent a good half hour talking about opening a used book store. There’s space for rent within walking distance of our house, and really – running a used book store would be absolutely perfect for me. The problem is that I’m sure the space we were talking about is pretty expensive – everything in this town is getting to be pretty expensive – and I’m not sure Madison can support a used book store. There was one a few years ago that went out of business pretty quickly. And I’m not willing to gamble our savings like that, you know? At one point I said “We could make it a used book store and a used movie store, and name it ‘Couch Potato’!” And then I said “And we could get a store cat!” Fred said “We couldn’t get a store cat!” “Why?” “Because what would we do with it if the store went out of business?” Damn. He saw through my wily scheme! Man. If we’d saved every book we’ve read instead of giving them away, we’d for sure have enough stock to open a used book store.
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What better way to spend a rainy, crappy day than snuggled up on The Momma’s bed?]]>

3/21/05

by @ Monday, March 21st, 2005. Filed under Life

reading: The Catcher in the Rye. Read over the weekend: Bundle of Joy?

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There are no pet store kitty pics this week, because I’m a dumbass and forgot to take the camera with me. Even though I LOOKED at the camera and was going to put it in my purse, I got sidetracked by the need to clean out my purse, and ended up forgetting the camera. It’s too bad, too, because there were a couple of 7 month-old kittens, one a very fluffy longhair gray-and-white boy and one a gorgeous buff tabby. They were both friendly and had that peanut-head smell that all kittens seem to have. Hopefully I’ll remember the camera next week and they might still be around (the shelter is requesting that they be adopted together, and it generally takes a little longer for two kittens to be adopted together than one kitten alone).
* * *
The spud is doing just fine. She woke up Saturday in some pain, took a pain pill, and slept ’til noon. Since then, she’s pretty much been her usual self, though she’s been walking kind of stiff-legged (which, to her great amusement, Fred mocked) and has to sit on pillows when she’s sitting at the dinner table, but other than that? Just fine. Thanks for your well-wishes!
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My sister turned 35 on Saturday – HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEB!!!! – and among the presents I sent her was a gift certificate to Joann’s Fabrics. Deb’s into scrapbooking and cross-stitching and is generally just a crafty kinda gal. I bought the gift certificate when I was in Maine after Christmas, and Debbie was with me when I bought it, but she was on the other side of the store, and so I was paying for it and she popped her head around the end of an aisle to show me something… and, well, here’s the letter I enclosed with the gift card: I’m SURE you don’t remember this, but remember when we went into JoAnn Fabrics one evening to check out their clearance stuff when I was up there after Christmas? And you wandered off down an aisle and I went to the cash register to pay? And then you popped your head around the corner and then thought I was shushing you? Well, I wasn’t shushing YOU, I was shushing the cashier, because I’d thought it would be a good idea to get you a gift certificate, and I thought you were on the other side of the store, then you popped up and were trying to show me something, and she was telling me AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS something or other about the gift certificate and I was trying to get her to shut the FUCK up, and so I was shushing her but she didn’t GET IT. So you thought I was shushing you and you were all “Oh, am I being loud?” and I was all “Um, yeah, kinda!”, ’cause I didn’t know what to say and I just wanted you to go back around the corner so you wouldn’t guess what I was doing. And THEN in the car on the way to Mom and Dad’s, I was thinking “Well, THAT was rude, to tell her she was being too loud! I don’t want her to think I was shushing her!”, so I made up some STUPID FUCKING story about how I’d jammed my finger and was actually WINCING in PAIN, not shushing you. I’m such a fucking dork. Anyway. I was not shushing you! You were not being too loud! And happy birthday! It turns out she figured out what I was doing, anyway, BECAUSE OF THE BIG-MOUTHED CASHIER. Heh.
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We watched Pauly Shore is Dead last night. It was surprisingly not bad at all, despite the fact that Pauly Shore annoys the shit out of me. Any movie where a bunch of Hollywood B-listers make cameos has to be pretty good. The Michael Madsen/ Tom Sizemore thing was hilarious. We watched The Incredibles Saturday night, and that was pretty damn good, too.
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Mister Boogers models the latest in Bad Kitty-wear.]]>

3/18/05

by @ Friday, March 18th, 2005. Filed under Life

reading: The Second Assistant. Yes, STILL.

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I didn’t wear any green at all yesterday, and not one single person pinched my ass. Hmph.
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I swear, y’all, I’m not ignoring those of you who’ve asked whether I’ve gotten a new car yet. It’s a long story and won’t be told ’til there’s an end to it, which should be by the middle of next week. Hopefully. (And it’s not nearly as exciting as it sounds, believe you me.)
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Anyone watch Wife Swap the other night? Anyone else think that Nancy Cedarquist’s “The man is the head of the household; the man goes out and works, the woman stays in and takes care of the house” attitude was a very obvious cover for the fact that she’s a control freak who wants to control every instant of her family’s life? Anyone else think that Nancy Cedarquist came across as extremely unlikeable? (Oh, for god’s sake. According to this, she doesn’t “believe” women should have the right to vote or work outside the home. What an idiot.) Anyone else think that Michael Oeth was a dead ringer for John Kerry?
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The spud is, right now, laying on her bed, looped on some pretty good pain medication, nursing a sore backside. She had a pilonidal cyst removed from her tailbone area about three hours ago. She first told me last Spring that her behind was hurting, and I didn’t want to look at it, because when you were 15, did YOU want your mother examining your ass? I don’t think you did. So I took her to the doctor who checked it out (I stayed in the waiting room, thank you), and she decreed that it was an infection and prescribed antibiotics and said that she wanted to see the spud again in 10 days. Except that 10 days after her doctor appointment she was in California, so she never did see the doctor for a follow-up visit. But before she left for California, she did assure (ASSure me! Ha!) that it was feeling better and life went on as normal. Then in January she told me that she was having the same pain again, and I made an appointment with her doctor, who again put her on antibiotics and wanted to see her in 10 days. I took her back in 10 days, the doctor proclaimed that it was better, and then referred her to a surgeon. It seems that, for the most part, surgery is the only way to get rid of a pilonidal cyst. The surgeon checked it out (I was sitting across the room and kindly averted my gaze to spare the spud some embarrassment. The same way I’m spreading (spreading! Ha!) stories about her butt all over the internet. That’s not embarrassing at ALL. Luckily, she’s not easily embarrassed and if you all send her get-well cards and large amounts of money, she might forgive me.) and said he wanted to remove it, went through the options – basically, some surgeons prefer to remove the cyst and then sew the opening, uh, open so that it heals. This surgeon preferred to remove the cyst and sew the opening closed so that it would heal closed and the chances that another cyst would develop would be slim. The surgeon, by the way, was very personable. I’ve always heard that surgeons are assholes with god complexes (complexii?), but every surgeon I’ve ever had to deal with has had pretty good people skills and been not only funny, but nice. So I asked some questions, and once those were answered I asked the big one. “How long will she have to stay out of school?” I asked. “About a week,” he said. “Just because it would be uncomfortable for her to be sitting in those school seats all day long.” The spud? Out of school for a week? Missing all that school? Oh, I don’t think so. Because she’s a weirdo who doesn’t LIKE to miss school (I’m sure the social aspect of it has nothing to do with that). “Does it need to be done right away, or can it be put off until Spring Break?” I asked. “Well, I’m going to be gone for Spring Break, but we could do it the Thursday or Friday beforehand.” Good enough for me. Even better, there’s a fairly new Surgery Center in Madison where he has operating privileges, and it’s located about ten minutes from our house. So this morning we left the house at 6:10 and almost right on the dot they took her back to be operated on. The doctor came out to talk to me around 8:30 – everything went fine, there’ll be some draining, he prescribed strong pain medication for her – and we were headed home by 9:30. They had a hard time getting an IV started, because her vein rolled and then blew (doesn’t that sound scary?) and the nurse had to do some poking around. The spud was pretty stoic during it, but I wanted to scream like a little girl and run around in circles in sympathy. So I brought her home, gave her some breakfast, and sent her upstairs. I went and got her pain medication prescription filled, gave her some of it, and she’s upstairs snoozing in front of the TV. I plan to keep her doped up all weekend long, which should get her through the worst of the pain. By the way, both my mother and sister had pilonidal cysts removed when they were in their early 20s (my sister could tell you some real horror stories, because she ended up waiting so long to have her done), but I never had a problem. Lucky me! I don’t envy the spud right now at ALL. I talked to my sister earlier, who said “Now make sure you baby her!” and I said “I’m doing her laundry for her this weekend, what more do you want?” Heh. Actually, I’m not usually much of a hoverer, but I’ve been up to check on her several times already, and it’s probably starting to freak her out. No doubt she wishes I’d leave her the hell alone and just let her SLEEP, GODDAMNIT.
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“Is it EVER going to warm up? Ever? Because I think we need to move to the fucking Bahamas if this shit keeps up.”]]>

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