* * *
I put up the very last of the fosterkitties pictures yesterday. You can see them all here, or start here and move foward.
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I have this really sore spot on the inner part of my lower lip where I was chewing gum yesterday, and for some reason my lower lip decided to shoot directly in between my teeth, and I clamped down really hard – apparently I chew pretty hard when I’m chewing gum – and it hurt A LOT, and now the spot that got chomped hurts a lot.
Also, I have a canker sore on the very end of my tongue, and it’s bugging the shit out of me.
ALSO, my period decided yesterday would be a good time to up and start, which is always a fun thing to happen. Especially when you’re about to go on vacation. Especially when you’re about to go on vacation where it’s HOT and no one believes in air conditioning.
Oh, this is going to be fuuuuuuuuuun.
* * *
So yeah, I have to say that I’m starting to consider Seasonale a bit of a flop. For most of last year it worked just fine for me, but this year about three weeks before I finish my pack of pills, I start spotting and it’s just a huge pain in the ass. I guess I’ll just go back to the regular period-once-a-month pill. Or hey, I guess I could try taking the Seasonale for two months, then going off it for a week, then starting back up for another two months, and see how that goes.
Maybe I should just have them rip my fucking uterus out and be done with it. This being-a-woman thing is a huge pain, ain’t it?
Stupid uterus. It’s not like I NEED it.
* * *
We watched Hide and Seek
the other night, and it wasn’t bad, though the explanation for what was going on was LAME. Here’s my two-word description for the movie (skip to the next section if you don’t want to be spoilered):
I do love that little Dakota Fanning, though.
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I forgot to bring the camera with me to the pet store on Monday, but last week’s pet store kitty pics are here
Also, when Fred and I dropped the kittens off at the pet store on Tuesday, a little howling kitten caught his eye, and he opened the cage and took her out to give her some love. She purred and purred and purred, and Fred looked at the description card on the front of her cage, and said “This is supposed to be shy?”
“Well,” I said, “She was shy when she was in a cage with her siblings and mother. Now that she’s in a cage by herself, I’m sure she’s lonely and inclined to be less shy.”
And she turned and gave Fred a look o’ love, so I had to snap a picture.
* * *
When Liz was visiting, we went to Cracker Barrel a few times, and if you’ve never been to Cracker Barrel, you just don’t know what you’re missing, you really don’t. Anyway, Cracker Barrel has a gift shop inside, and I spotted this really cute little whisk:
and I looked around to see if there was a matching salt and pepper set, and to my chagrin there was not. So I bought the whisk and brought it home with the express idea of look under the company’s name online to see if they make a matching salt and pepper shaker.
And they do not. Damnit. Because I NEED an egg salt and pepper set! I do, because I’ve got a small collection of salt and pepper shakers, and an egg salt and pepper shaker set would round out the collection nicely, don’t you think?
* * *
Currently reading: The World According to Mimi Smartypants
. By Mimi Smartypants
, of course.
I’m liking the book a lot, of course, though at one point she used the word “bedrunken” and misread it as “bed-drunken”, and was swept away by wondering whether there was a certain kind of drunkenness that you could attain by drinking in bed. Then I re-read the sentence a realized my mistake.
* * *
For weeks, Fred has been telling me that there was cat poop under the bed.
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “That’s not cat poop, that’s actually the kitty treats you tried to give Spot, that he didn’t like and left there, and it’s been sitting there ever since.” Because the last time I got down on the floor and looked under the bed, that was the truth.
Every time Fred needed to look under the bed, he’d say it again “That’s cat poop.”
“No it’s not.”
“Then clean it up!”
“I can’t reach it.”
The end. Because if you can’t reach something, you can’t reach it. It’s not like you could reach for something with, say, a stick or a broom or a vacuum cleaner hose and reach it, after all. That would be lunacy.
Last night, Fred threw a toy on the bed for Mister Boogers, and Mister Boogers went after it, only it had gone down behind the headboard, so Mister Boogers jumped off the bed to go after it.
“Did it actually do down on the floor?” Fred asked me, then pulled the pillows off the bed to look for the toy. There was a gap between the mattress and the wall, and Fred looked down.
“Bessie,” he said. “That is CAT POOP, not kitty treats!”
“Oh, it is not.”
“Come look!” he said. And because it wouldn’t require me to get down on the floor and back up again I put down my book and walked over to the bed and looked through the gap, and sure enough. Cat shit.
“‘Night,” Fred said. “Love you!”
“Hey!” I squawked. “Get back here and clean this up!” We have a very strict he who spots it cleans it up policy in our house
. Which often leads to selective blindness as one or the other of us steps directly over piles of cat vomit on our journeys through the house.
“I can’t reach it!” he said.
So he got on the floor and reached for it. And couldn’t reach it.
“I’ll clean it up later,” he said.
“I don’t want to spend the night sleeping above a pile of cat shit!”
“Bessie, it’s been there for weeks. The smell is long gone!”
“I don’t care, that’s nasty!”
“Why is it suddenly nasty? It’s been there for weeks, and you’ve been fine.”
“But now I KNOW ABOUT IT, so it’s nasty!”
And instead of cleaning it up, the fucker went off to bed.
Hell will freeze over before I clean up that pile of cat shit, believe you me. Because if we start messing with the he who spots it cleans it up
policy, all will be anarchy.
And we can’t have that.
* * *
“See ya, Mom!”
* * *
I’m off to Maine. I’ll catch you in ten days or so. I’ll be back on the 25th, but give me a day or so to catch my breath, ‘k?