Month: October 2005

Emigrant Direct so we can earn a wee bit of interest on our honeymoon fund. We’re too wild for you, aren’t we? Happy anniversary, baby. I love you!

* * * For the record, it did occur to me to get out of bed, get dressed, and accompany Fred. Only, it didn’t occur to me until after he’d left the house. I’m not real quick on the draw, you know. * * * The spud went to Homecoming on Saturday. I didn’t spring for a manicure – she’s pretty good at doing her own manicures, anyway, a lot better than I ever was – but I did spring to have her hair professionally done in an updo. It was $35 (plus tip), but I think it was worth it: I think it looks pretty adorable. She left the house around 6:30, went to her boyfriend’s house, posed for pictures for his parents, brought him back here, posed for pictures for us (I took exactly two, because I’m a dumbass, and the first one came out blurry, and the second one looks oddly crooked. I’m an idiot. Luckily they had their picture done by the professional photographer at the dance, so we’ll have a decent picture.), then they went and got something to eat, and went to the dance. Does she look amazingly grown-up, or what? She was home around 12:30 with no mishaps, and said that she had a really good time. Muh BAYBEE is growin’ UP! WAHHHH! * * * Fred and the spud hit a few flea markets yesterday, because Fred could not spend an entire day in the house without losing his mind if you gave him a million bucks to do so. While they were shopping, Fred became overcome with the Halloween spirit and went ALL OUT on Halloween decorations: I’m sure we’ll win the neighborhood Halloween decorations competition this year! Heh. * * * I went to Sam’s this morning. By “this morning” I mean 11:30, which as we all know is really 12:30, and thus in the middle of the lunch rush. I swear to god the median age in there must have been somewhere in the area of 107. I’ve never ever seen so many slow-moving old people, and so many people in those little electric carts. It’s maddening, when you just want to go in and grab some water and Splenda, and get the hell out of there, and people keep STOPPING directly in your way, only they’re old so you can’t bellow “MOVE YOUR ASS, Grandma!” because, y’know, that’s probably someone’s GRANDMA and I just can’t be an ass to old people. Even though some of them deserve it. I think what I need to do, at the ripe old age of 38, is start taking classes that will allow me to be spry and limber when I’m 107, and people will see me coming and groan “Oh, CRAP, here comes another little old lady, who’s going to mosey along like she’s got all the time in the world!”, only I’ll be moving so fast that they’ll stop and stare at me in awe and then say to each other “Good GOD, did you see that old lady? She was SERIOUSLY spry and limber. Strong, too. She didn’t need help getting the 15-pack of 1-liter bottles down off the shelf!” * * * Currently reading: A Million Little Pieces, by James Frey. Y’all weren’t wrong – it’s really a pretty good book if you can get past the writing style. (Which reminds me a little of my own writing style. The long-ass run-on sentences, anyway.) It makes me want to mimic the writing style for an entry. You have been warned. Heh. Finished yesterday: My Horizontal Life, by Chelsea Handler. She’s FUNNY, I laughed out loud several times when I was reading this book. Of course, if frank talk of one-night stands offends you, you’ll want to give it a miss, but I enjoyed it a great deal. * * * There’s a photo essay up over here, describing exactly how very tiring it is to be a kitty in the And3rson household. I think Miz Poo and Mister Boogers have more fun in the kitten room than the kittens do. Mister Boogers and Sugarbutt discuss just WHO that cube toy belongs to. Mister Boogers thinks it’s his (he thinks EVERYTHING is his), but Sugarbutt disagrees. * * * Previously 2004: Happy anniversary, you walnut-farting motherfucker. 2003: There’s nothing like a good second marriage to show you how bad the first one really was. 2002: He even sent me flowers. 2001: And they said it’d never last. 2000: And happy anniversary to Fred, who married me two years ago tonight, which was the smartest thing he’s ever done. 1999: “We don’t have to get married. We could just wait ’til next year. Shouldn’t we get married on the anniversary of the day we met? That would be more romantic!”]]>

this review of the book and it made me simultaneously laugh and hope like hell I’m not making a mistake by moving it up so that it’ll be the book I read when I’m done with Alone. Please, god. Don’t let this be another We Were the Mulvaneys. PLEASE.

* * * I had a hard time getting out of bed this morning, because I thought it would be a good idea to let the kittens stay out of the kitten room for the night just to see how it went, but at 2:00 after I’d freaked myself out about seventy times by rolling over onto a piece of quilt and coming wide awake, panicked, thinking that I’d rolled over onto a kitten, I picked them up from where they were sleeping – draped over my feet – and took them into the kitten room. And then I continued to sleep poorly, because I’d pop awake, panicked, thinking I’d rolled over onto a kitten and have to think about it for several seconds before remembering that I’d put them in their room. I’d intended to get up when Fred left for work a few minutes before 7, but I was so sleepy still that I set the alarm for 7:40 and dozed on and off until it went off (I was in the middle of a doze when it went off, and it scared the SHIT out of me). Then I got up, did some housework, freed the kittens (I’m going to try leaving them out tonight to see how it goes, since hopefully I’ll be tired enough to sleep like a rock, and I have nowhere in particular to go tomorrow, so I can sleep in a bit), showered, got dressed, checked my email, and left for South Huntsville. Although the spud’s birthday was on Wednesday and she got to open all her presents on Wednesday, we’re actually taking her out to dinner tonight, and having her birthday cake. Because Friday’s our junk food day, see? Anyway, the best cakes in the area are made at Peggy Ann Bakery in South Huntsville (on Regal Drive, near the Parkway Place Mall, in case you needed to know), and that’s where we always get our birthday cakes. The only sucky thing is GETTING there (which is why I’m kind of glad that it’s where it is, because if it was closer or easier to get to, there’d be TROUBLE). It’s not a long drive – takes me about 20 minutes to get there – but I have to go from one highway to another to South Memorial Parkway, and getting from 565 to South Memorial Parkway is a nightmare for me, because the instant you get from 565 to the Parkway, you have to move over three lanes unless you want to immediately get off on the exit that’s RIGHT THERE, and I just hate that shit. It makes me mighty fucking nervous. But I got to the bakery right at 9, as I’d intended, and picked up the cake and a little something extra for myself. She didn’t care what color the flowers on the cake were, so we got yellow! This is a sugar cookie with about two inches of the best frosting in the world on top of it. Just screams my name, doesn’t it? (“GOD. No WONDER you’re so fat, if you eat stuff like that ALL THE TIME! All you have to do is stop eating crap like that, and exercise! I should know! I’m an anonymous asshole you’ve never heard of before, so listen to me!”) So I picked up the cake and the cookie and headed for home, stopping on the way to visit the pet store (the kittens really like these little packets of Whiskas Tender Bites (or something), so I’ve started buying them and giving them a packet a day. Because I SPOIL them ROTTEN.), the gas station (gas was only $2.46 a gallon. I drove in on fumes and drove out with a full tank, and it only cost me $21.80!), the bank (payday!) and the grocery store (for a tomato, of all things), and was home in less than an hour and a half. Now I think I need a nap. * * * What the hell is up with Lost and ER being reruns this week? I got all pissed off at the DVR because it didn’t tape Lost Wednesday night and I missed the first ten minutes of it, then when I sat down to watch it yesterday, I found that it was a freakin’ rerun, and next week’s is going to be a rerun, too. WHY? WHY? WHY? The fucking season JUST STARTED, you fuckers! Speaking of the DVR, I discovered that if I cancelled the Tuesday night recording of My Name is Earl, I’ll be able to tape The Amazing Race and House at the same time. Of course, the problem is that Earl is funny as hell and we always enjoy it, so I think I might have to… as much as it galls me to say this… ::shudder::.. tape it on the VCR. GAH. I need another DVR. Too bad I’ll never in a million years convince Fred of that. I’ve already missed so many episodes of Commander in Chief (which, I’ve heard, is really damn good) that I’ve given up and said “I’ll just have to catch it when they put it out on DVD.” Whoever it was that came up with the idea of putting TV shows on DVD should be made Head Ruler of the Entire World, because that is just fucking BRILLIANT. * * * What I love about Tom Cullen: You know how some (well, MOST) cats will climb up on you, and then they’ll dither about as to whether they want to lay down on you, where they want to lay down on you, do they want to lay down on you, or NEXT to you? Well, not our Tom Cullen. He’s very self-assured and certain about everything he does. He jumps up on you, he lays down, he goes to sleep. No standing there looking around trying to decide what he wants to do. Gotta love the Tom Cullen. I love how all you can see of Tom Cullen is his toes. “Dude! Stop licking my toes! That TICKLES!” “BOB! Dude! You gotta come smell this! It’s AWFUL!” “Hee hee hee! I don’t know what I ate today, but I am ROTTEN!” All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2004: No entry. 2003: I’m going to DIE. Someday, I’m going to die. I’m going to die, you’re going to die, Fred will die, the spud will die. We’re going to DIE. All of us. 2002: I’m an AMERICAN, after all. I should never, for one second feel the slightest bit of discomfort. 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry. 1999: As far as I’m concerned, to each his own. ]]>

* * * Pet store kitty pics from Monday are here.

* * * Lately, I’m getting very strong decluttering urges. Yesterday as I sat in the living room watching Grey’s Anatomy (like we don’t KNOW he’s going to stay with his wife. I mean, that’d be the maximum angst situation for Meredith, wouldn’t it?), my attention kept wandering to the knickknacks cluttering the tops of the movie storage racks, trying to decide what I could get rid of. I have collected an awful lot of those damn egg creatures: and the thing is that I only really really LOVE one of them. And I hate the fact that they’re cluttering up the living room. Same with the Quarry Cats I collect: I have a ton of them, but I only really LOVE one or two of them. I can’t decide whether I want to just pack them all away to declutter, or get rid of the ones I don’t absolutely love, and keep just the ones I adore. I have a feeling that my need to declutter is going to hit critical mass here in the next few weeks, and I’ll have a ton more stuff to put up on the giveaway page. * * * After I left the pet store on Monday, I went to the grocery store, and as I sat at the red light leading out of the grocery store parking lot, I saw this bumper sticker on the SUV ahead of me: And all I could think was “I don’t get your point…” Which is probably what people will be thinking when they see my new “Gimme Your Tots” bumper sticker. When I get around to putting it on my car, that is. * * * I emailed the shelter manager last night to let her know that Sugarbutt would be finishing his medication on Saturday and would be ready to be adopted whenever there’s space at the pet store. She emailed me back to let me know that they’re pretty backed up, and it could be a little while. And I emailed her back to tell her that as far as I was concerned, she could take allllll the time in the world. If it took, like, 10 or 15 years I’d be A-OK with that. You make him giggle. Everyone needs a brudder to help keep him clean. Mister Boogers shows off his mad aerobics skillz. I was Swiffering the cobwebs off the walls and ceiling, and Sugarbutt, Tom Cullen, and Mister Boogers were FASCINATED by the Swiffer. If that ain’t a smiling kitty, I don’t know what is. Fred had just been rubbing him under the chin. Resting up so that he can run around like his tail is on fire. It’s a blurry picture, but I had to put it up. He doesn’t even look like a cat. He looks like an alien. A mad little alien. Crazy. He’s CRAZY from the catnip. See the SIZE of those pupils? All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2004: I cannot stand this song. I cannot stand this video. I am filled with extreme hatred every time I happen across either the song or the video. 2003: We went to see Miss Saigon on Sunday. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: The man drove two hours to spend one hour with his grandchild and then drove two hours back. How cool is that? 1999: May I say that the child gets an UNGODLY amount of presents. (Comments closed due to spambots)]]>

Compare that to now:

They grow so fast, don’t they? For a mushy-type entry with tons of pictures, check last year’s entry. * * * I got an email from someone this morning telling me that they were seriously interested in buying bitchypoo.com and that if I were interested in selling it, I should respond to their email with an asking price. I’m seriously uninterested in selling the domain, but I guess it’s nice to be asked. I should have said my asking price was $25,000 just to see what they said. * * * I went into Huntsville yesterday around noon, which was a big, big, HUGE mistake. I hit the pet store to buy some kitten food, and it wasn’t too terribly busy. Then I went over to Target to get something for the spud’s birthday, and it was PACKED. Not only was it packed, but it was packed with dumbasses who simultaneously did not know of the move your fucking cart to the side of the aisle if you’re going to stop and look at something rule, and were also ignorant of the concept of my personal bubble. I guess maybe because I’m fat I get less of a bubble than other people? Is that how that works? The skinny people get a nice big bubble of personal space, but when it comes to the fat chicks, it’s A-OK to be an inch and a half from my ass? I will tell you that when someone invades my bubble, it makes me extremely tense and hostile, and I have to fight the urge to turn around and scream “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you need to get a little closer? Didn’t you intend to actually be UP.MY.ASS, because it appears you’re headed in that direction. If I SIT ON YOU, will you back up about five inches?” So I got what I needed at Target and then drove through the horrendous traffic to Sam’s, where I couldn’t find a fucking parking space within half a mile of the store, and I threw up my hands and said “FUCK THIS”, because if there are THAT many cars in the parking lot, that could only mean that the lines inside were all going to be 63 people long, and I hate having to fight my way through Sam’s, get my Splenda and water, and then have to stand in line for-fucking-ever. So I went home. I guess next time I decide to hit Sam’s, I should do my best to get there right as they open, before the crowds descend. * * * “What? You’ve never seen a cat in a box?” “Happy birthday to youuuuuuuuuuuu!” “Happy birthday, dear spu-ud! Happy birthday to youuuuuuuuuuu!” Nuttin’ happier than a sleeping kitten. Jazz hands! All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2004: I hope you dance. 2003: No entry. 2002: “You want to buy STUFF faster than we get rid of it!” he accused shrilly. 2001: Well, the little bastard is home again. 2000: No entry. 1999: Boring work-related shit.]]>

This is my favorite. I’ve always known that Iceland is a beautiful country (well, “always” meaning ever since they went through there on The Amazing Race last season), but seeing Sigurrós’ pictures of her beautiful country make me want to visit that much more. Maybe when I win the lottery. Which I shall promptly do as soon as the jackpot goes back above $100 million.

* * * So I was reading this entry yesterday, and in the entry that darn Catie was teasing me with talk of Thai Lettuce Wraps for dinner, and I thought to myself “Self, I have had Thai food once, and I liked it a LOT, so perhaps I’d like something named Thai Lettuce Wraps!” I Googled “Thai Lettuce Wraps”, and I came across this recipe, and I looked at the recipe and I thought “What the hell?? What in particular makes this recipe Thai??” Then I read through the recipe again, and saw that it had teriyaki sauce in it. Well. Of COURSE putting teriyaki sauce on something will make it Thai! What was I thinking? That opens a whole new world to me. I can have Thai burgers! I can have Thai macaroni and cheese! I can have Thai scrambled eggs! All I have to do is add teriyaki sauce! I feel so worldly and sophisticated now. * * * Every time Fred’s doing something in Word or Excel and the paperclip man pops up to offer his help, Fred calls him a “goddamn piece of shit c0cksucker” and tells him to go away. Paperclip Man hasn’t gotten the hint yet, ’cause he keeps popping up. * * * The exterminator came yesterday and sprayed around the house and put some kind of granules in the yard, and told me that if we see any ants in the next month (she’ll stop by next month to make sure we’re having no problems, apparently) to give her a call. The first thing she wanted to see was where the ants were coming in, which is when I had to tell her that they weren’t exactly coming in any more, but I could show her where they WERE coming in, which is when she got to see Fred’s mad duct tape skillz. She didn’t seem all that impressed, really. For the past week or so, I’ve had the kittens’ food dish in a pie plate, with water in the bottom of the pie plate so the ants couldn’t get to the food. Every few days I’ve been bringing the pie plate downstairs to wash it out – because those damn kittens just can’t eat without scattering food everywhere, and the scattered food goes into the water (instead of on the floor), and after a day or so, it gets kind of nasty looking. Anyway, yesterday as I was carrying the pie plate downstairs to wash, I thought to myself, I thought “Self, what with it being cold, and what with them not being able to find any food for the last several days, I bet we can just stop worrying about those stupid ants.” So I left the pie plate downstairs, and left the kittens’ food dish on the floor. I’m sure I don’t even have to tell you what happened after that. At bedtime we medicated the kittens, and then I went in to scoop their litter box, which is when I saw the ten-thousand-strong line of ants to and from the food bowl. Sugarbutt didn’t seem to be fazed by the ants in the slightest, and just sat and happily ate and purred and did his little dance, while ants climbed up onto him. So we spent the next fifteen minutes vacuuming up ants, tossing out the ant-covered food, finding and sealing the hole, etc. etc. etc. “This is becoming a nightly ritual,” I said to Fred. “No kidding,” he said. So this morning, no ants. Because they can’t get to the kitten food, of course. What we should do is put a pile of cat food on the floor near the window, and then call the exterminator so she can see where they’re coming in, and do something about it. Actually, what I’d really like to happen is for the fucking guy who’s supposed to be replacing the windows and the rotting window sill, the guy who told us six weeks ago that it would take about three weeks for the parts to come in, to come and replace the fucking windows and window sill. If that stuff was replaced and caulked well, I suspect we wouldn’t have ourselves an ant problem. Why the hell do we have to hunt this guy down? Does he not want the money he’ll make doing the job we’re more than willing to pay him for? Every fucking time we hire someone – a handyman guy, a yard guy, ANYONE, really – to do something, they drag their fucking feet about it, and it pisses me OFF. Ugh. * * * Currently reading: We Thought You Would Be Prettier, by Laurie Notaro. Finished last night: Conversations with the Fat Girl, by Liza Palmer. Oh my god, this was SUCH a good book. Amy recommended it in her blog a while ago, and I ended up loving it so much that I came downstairs at almost midnight to thank her for the recommendation. If you like chick lit (even if you don’t like chick lit!), you’ll love this book. It was so good that I’m actually keeping the book, and y’all know I hardly ever do that! Very highly recommended. I think I’m going to read it again in a few days. * * * I don’t know what it is, but both Sugarbutt and Tom Cullen are absent-minded lickers. If they climb into one of the cat beds and you give them a belly rub, they’ll purr and rub their faces on your hand, and then lick whatever’s closest, whether it’s your hand or the cat bed, they don’t care. Last night they were playing, and Sugarbutt ran across the room to attack one of Fred’s slippers, and when the attack had been completed, Sugarbutt looked up at Fred, and licked his slipper. They’re so cute I just want to squeeze them ’til their guts shoot out their mouths, I really do. The quintessential Crazy Eyes. Snuggly brudders. “Wazzuuuuuuuuuuuuuup!” “Hi, lady! Whatcha doin’?” “Adopt a stupid kitten and keep another one around FOR A REALLY LONG TIME, will you? Well, EFF YOU, lady. You want some snuggles, you go see those stinky little brats. I’m sold out of snuggles. NO MORE SNUGGLES from me!” All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2004: “Bessie,” Fred said. “We used to watch TV without being able to rewind it. We can do it again!” 2003: No entry. 2002: It seems like yesterday. 2001: The term “give my feelings” cracks me up for some unknown reason. 2000: Mark my words, it’ll be back to looking crappy in three days flat. 1999: “Take credit card. Buy computer. Big monitor. Go fast. Go buy. Now.”]]>

Hanne Blank‘s LiveJournal this weekend (EVERYONE has a LiveJournal, don’t they?), this entry (a very good one) in particular, and this paragraph made me want to stand up and cheer: (And if you feel the need to have any of those rants, or start foaming at the mouth about how superior you are to “people like that” because you’re “childfree,” take it somewhere else because I don’t want to hear it. If you want there to be someone around to wipe your ass and make sure you get your meds when you’re 93 and in the rest home, someone else is going to have to do the hard work of rearing some children, so quit your self-righteous bitching and be grateful that they’re doing so.) I suspect the spud is really looking forward to when Fred and I are old and decrepit, so she can pay us back for the torture we’ve inflicted on her in her youth. It’ll be great, ’til the first time she hides in the closet and jumps out at Fred to scare him (like he’s scared her so many times) and he clutches his heart and keels over dead.

* * * The other night I was telling Fred about an episode of Oprah I’d seen that day, the one with New York Jets wide receiver Laveranues Coles, (that first name is pronounced “Luh-VERN-ee-us”) talking about being molested from the ages of 10 to 13 by his stepfather. I was going on and on about what a brave move it was on his part, and that he seemed very uncomfortable talking about the subject and yet very determined to do so, when I noticed a smirk on Fred’s face. “You are NOT about to make a JOKE about this, are you?” I said indignantly. “Of course not!” he said. Then he smirked again. “I was just thinking that Lavernicus would be an excellent name.” The room was silent as we pondered what he’d said. “That makes me want to get pregnant and have a baby, just so I can name it Lavernicus,” I admitted. “That WOULD be an excellent name.” “We could name it Lavernicus Cholulabean*,” Fred suggested. And we laughed. But not at Laveranues Coles, who is an awesome guy. And, I assume, a really good baseball player. (Please note that the “baseball player” is a joke. I was KIDDING. Even I know there are no wide receivers in baseball. Plus, they put up about a thousand pictures of Laveranues Coles playing football on Oprah.) *Fred loves to put Cholula on his popcorn, on his red beans and rice – on just about everything, really. One evening he was saucing up his red beans and rice, and he said “Cholula would be an excellent name for a kid.” He paused and considered, and added “Cholulabean would be even better.” So next time we need to name foster kittens, chances are good that one of them is going to be named Cholulabean. Or Cholula Bean. Depends on the kitten, I suppose. * * * I think I’ve injured my shoulder. My RIGHT shoulder which also happens to be the shoulder that Fred’s having problems (ie, the one he had arthroscopic surgery on) with. He thinks I’m just having sympathy pains, because he’s afraid I’ll take all the painful-shoulder attention away from him.

Actually, I suspect that his shoulder is hurting more than mine – in fact, I can pretty much guarantee it – because the pain I’m having isn’t constant (actually, I don’t think his shoulder pain is constant either), and I can move my arm in all directions without being stopped by the pain. It really feels more sore than painful, as though I’d lifted weights heavier than usual. That also happens to be the side I sleep on most of the time. So this morning when I went to the pet store, my shoulder was already a little achy, and then I had to pick up a particularly heavy cat, and I felt a twinge in my shoulder, and it’s been aching ever since. I guess I should take some Advil and see if that helps, eh? Maybe if I’m really REALLY lucky, I’ll get to have arthroscopic surgery for my 38th birthday, and then Fred and I will have matching badass scars! (I bet not, though.) * * * The exterminator from a local pest control company is coming this afternoon to spray the outside of the house and the yard to get rid of those damn ants. We finally banished them from the kitten room (with the liberal use of duct tape, because we really ARE white-trash rednecks), and the very next morning the spud found a trail of ants in her bathroom.

We know when we’re beat. We spent the weekend getting rid of the ants in her bathroom (though there were never nearly as many in her bathroom as there were in the kitten room), and I haven’t seen a single ant since yesterday morning, but we’re still having the exterminator come. We’re also buying the yearly package, so that if they need to come back and spray inside the house, it’ll be included in the yearly package. Said yearly package will really come in handy next Spring when the kitchen ants start showing up again. You bet your ass that for the next year every time I see a single solitary ant in the house, I’ll be calling the exterminator. It’s kind of like having a lawyer on retainer, only classier. The exterminator will probably become a part of the family. I’ll have to invite him to the spud’s wedding and introduce him around. “Have you met Bob? He’s OUR EXTERMINATOR!”, and people will tremble in fear. Or, you know, not. * * * Last week it was sunny and in the 80s all week long and then, just like that, it’s not going to even get up to 60 today, and the overnight temperatures are dropping into the 30s. I expect we’ll get some more warm weather before it’s all said and done, but I think this is the beginning of the end of summer. I know y’all in the cold-weather states are feeling realllly sorry for me right now. * * * Someone mentioned in my comments that they wanted a certain picture on notecards, and since I am nothing but WONDERFUL to y’all, you can get those notecards here. As always, they’re marked up by a dollar, and all profits go to the cat shelter I volunteer (and foster) for. If you look in the sidebar, you’ll note that you can get Flossie swag, Tubby swag, Stupid swag (t-shirts with a picture of General Russel Honore and the words “Don’t get stuck on stupid”, or just a plain “Don’t get stuck on stupid” bumper sticker), and now Kitten swag. Like I’ve said before, if any of y’all see a picture you particularly like and would like to see on a t-shirt or mouse pad or whatever, just say the word. It only takes a few minutes to set up. * * * Sugarbutt, I am convinced, is the second coming of Tubby. He’s got the same barrel-chested bow-legged stance, and he’s a total pig. He’s figured out how to jump up onto the table, and from the table to the kitchen counters, where he can sniff around for something to eat. And when you’re eating, you need to keep a can of air handy, or he’ll just climb up into your plate and make himself at home. He sure is cute. And no, we’re still not keeping him (though Fred does, half-jokingly, keep saying that we should put Miz Poo to sleep so we can keep Sugarbutt. At least I THINK he’s joking…). If anyone’s seriously interested in adopting him, let me know and I’ll give you the number to the shelter, and you can discuss it with the shelter manager. The sweet, innocent “Who, me?” look. The bad boy look. “Bring it ON, man. You see these claws? I will MESS you UP.” “Hey lady, you want to lower that toy a little? We can’t REACH.” “Brains. Braaaaaaaains!” * * *]]>

1. A tacky vacation picture Actually, it’s not really tacky, but it was the only one that came to mind. The spud, in Hawaii. 2. Something your kid (or pet) made A turtle, made when she was very young. It’s smaller than it looks – it fits in the palm of my hand. I keep it on my dresser. A little pot she made in art class in, I think, Kindergarten. Maybe first grade. I keep it in my desk drawer. Sometimes I keep paperclips in it. 3. Your hairbrush/s I very rarely use my hairbrush, usually only when I’m blow-drying my hair, which doesn’t happen very often. Mostly, I use the pick on my wet hair, part it on the side, and let it air-dry.

* * * The spud had a hair appointment yesterday. Back when we were in Maine in July, my sister put highlights in her (the spud’s) hair, and it had grown out quite a bit. Since she’s getting all gussied up to go to Homecoming next week, I thought it might be a good idea to take her to have her hair colored so it’s all one color, and close to her natural color. Actually, I told the spud she could get her hair done whatever color she wanted (kind of hoping she’d go for bright purple to freak my mother out), but she said she wanted to match her natural color. I ended up taking her to the hair place where my current hair doer used to work, because the sixty-three times I tried to call the new place, I always got the answering machine, and I didn’t want to leave a freakin’ message. The first time I tried the old place, someone answered the phone, so I made the appointment. The hair coloring took for-fucking-EVER, because her hair was two different colors. First, the hairdresser had to put something on the blond streaks and then she went through and put stuff on the rest of her hair, and then the color had to process for 45 minutes. When all was said and done, we were there for exactly two hours. If I’d had a clue it was going to take that long, I would have left the spud there and had her call me when she was done. But I thought surely it wouldn’t take any longer than an hour, so I sat in a nearby chair and read the entire time. She also trimmed the spud’s hair, taking maybe a quarter of an inch off the ends, since the spud’s apparently decided to grow her hair out again. Then she blow-dried the spud’s hair straight, because I wanted to see what it looked like straight. It was cute, but I think I prefer it curly. Before: After: It’s funny how much longer it looks when it’s blow-dried straight. * * * Currently reading: The Third Victim, by Lisa Gardner. It’s realllly good so far. Also, it makes me want to visit Oregon. Finished the other night: Their Wildest Dreams, by Peter Abrams. Very, very good book. * * * The weather lately has been incredibly gorgeous. It’s been sunny all week (except today looks like it’s going to be a bit overcast) and warm. Every year I forget how warm and sunny October is, and so every year I’m surprised anew. You’d think after living here for nine years (!) I’d remember, but I don’t. And I’m not complaining, believe you me. Some of y’all are already wearing sweaters, and Fred’s still wearing shorts and short-sleeved shirts to work. This is the month that makes the hell of summer in Alabama more than worth it. * * * “Hey lady. I SAID no cameras!” Cleanliness is next to Sugarbuttliness. Or something. Sugarbutt contemplates how to open the refrigerator and fix himself a burger. Flipping that burger is going to be a pain with no opposable thumbs. He wuvs his brudder. (Yes, I totally talk baby talk to the kittens ALL DAY LONG.) All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2004: I need to win the lottery so I can hire someone to come to my house every day and style my hair while I read. 2003: Which is when Stanley thought “Hey! I shouldn’t just skulk back! I should run and leap! Into the air! Like a big mexican jumping Stanley-bean!” 2002: As if he was going to say to himself “By god, she’s RIGHT! I do not, in fact, reside here. What on earth was I thinking?” and run off. 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry. 1999: “Well, she took that well,” I commented.]]>

* * * Here’s an odd question. If you’re going to the grocery store and you’re looking for a parking space, and there’s a parking space on both sides of the aisle, directly across from each other, do you always go in one direction or the other, or is it just a random choice? I always go left. I just discovered this about myself, something about going left is more comfortable to me for some reason, even though I’m right-handed. Your fascinating tidbit for the day.

* * * Meme, stolen from Jolene. 1.If you could change places with one of your friends for a day, who would it be? My friend Angelina Jolie. Not because she has sex with Brad Pitt (ick. Too pretty.), but because I’d like to know what it’s like to go through a day as someone who’s drop-dead gorgeous. (Although, have you ever noticed her hands? She has HUGE hands. They freak me out a little.) 2. What were you doing at this time yesterday? Scrubbing down the baseboards in the kitten room with white vinegar. Which didn’t deter the ants, but the baseboards sure did need a cleaning, so it’s all good. 3. What will you be doing at this time tomorrow? God knows. Cleaning or sitting on my ass in front of the computer. 4. In the past month, what was the best moment you had? Seeing the spud in her Homecoming dress. ::sniffle:: 5. When was the last time you were at a hospital? Er. Let me think… Oh! When Fred was undergoing arthroscopic surgery on his shoulder, I guess. Only that wasn’t really a hospital, it was a surgery center. I guess before that… when I went to the emergency room last year because of my achy breaky heart.

6. What kind of car do you have? A yellow 2004 Suzuki Aerio SX. You can call him E’gar. 7. When was the last time you were taken advantage of? Monday night. Three times. Ha! 8. What do you take for granted? Probably just about everything at one time or another. I try not to, but it’s tiring to go through life being incredibly grateful for every little thing. 9. What is the best thing about your job? That I don’t have one! 10. How many times have you been rejected? I.. don’t know. What kind of question is that? 11. Think of the last time you went out with friends. What was the best part of it? Laughing really hard with Debbie and Liz at Vinny T’s. 12. What was the last movie you watched? The Interpreter. 13. What do you like on your pizza? Depends on my mood, but usually sausage, onion, and black olives will do. 14. In the near future, what are you most looking forward to? Seeing the spud all gussied up for Homecoming. 15. What do you dislike about your bedroom? The height of my bed. I practically need a step-stool to get into it. 16. Describe your morning routine? On an average weekday, I get up by 8:00 (I try not to sleep later than that), work out for half an hour or so, putter around on the computer, do laundry, vacuum, whatever else needs to be done housework-wise, and eat breakfast between 10 and 11. 17. What is the one food that you have never and will never try? Organ meats don’t interest me much. I have tried frog legs, and they were surprisingly good. 18. How would you handle it if someone liked you but you weren’t into them? Avoid them like the plague. 19. What was the last thing that got on your nerves? The slowness of my site yesterday afternoon. I was swearing at my computer so loudly that Sugarbutt, who’d been sleeping like the dead upstairs, came running down to see what was going on. 20. What would your theme song be? I don’t know. I’m sure Fred would suggest No Rain. I’ll say Good Riddance (Time of Your Life). 21. Can people tell when you’re upset? I think so. I’m pretty much an open book – which makes Fred my polar opposite. He’ll look at you with a completely pleasant look on his face and announce “I’m so pissed off I can’t see straight right now.” 22. How much money did you spend yesterday?Not a single cent. Fred spent a bunch, though, getting his temporary crown. 23. Would you rather go to the doctor or the dentist? Neither. Probably the doctor. Not a fan of the dentist. 24. Tattoos are: Cool. And maybe someday I’ll get one. 25. Who would win in a fight Solid Snake or Boba Fett? I… do not know. 27. What is a special talent you have that most people don’t know about? I can wiggle my ears. But y’all knew that. 28. Growing up, who did you have posters on your wall of? MICHAEL DAMIAN. My god, I loved that man. I was going to totally move to LA when I grew up so that we could find each other and fall in love. I mean, LA couldn’t be SO BIG that I couldn’t find the love of my life, could it? Also, Donny Osmond. 29. What is your favorite thing about this past summer? All the foster kittens.

30. When you were really young, what did you want to be when you grew up? First, a vet. Then, an orthopedic surgeon. Then, a writer. Once I found that becoming a vet or a surgeon took years and years and years of schooling, I dropped those ideas like a hot potato. Good thing, because I would have been a horrible surgeon. * * * Someone (or several someones, who the hell knows which?) did many site searches on variants of “September Links” and “Who I Read Links September”. I only have one links page, and it isn’t separated out by month or anything. Recently I went through the links list and took out a bunch of journals/ blogs I’ve stopped reading, so if the link you were looking for isn’t on that list, it’s just ’cause I’m not reading that site anymore. Sorry to be unhelpful. I suspect there are probably at least ten blogs or journals I read that aren’t on that list, but as far as I know, it’s pretty complete. * * * There is nothing on god’s green earth that makes Sugarbutt happier than eating. When he’s eating, he purrs so loudly it echoes through the house. When he’s eating, he kneads while he’s standing there in front of the dish, so it looks like he’s marching in place. It’s unbearably cute. I love how they both look completely annoyed. Like “This is MY bed! What the hell is that OTHER cat doing here?” “How YOU doin’?” “E equals MC… squared? No, that CAN’T be right!” All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2004: More Myrtle Beach. 2003: It’s got to be early-onset Alzheimer’s, y’all. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: I think back on the shit I pulled as a senior in high school, and I’m flat-out amazed that I managed to graduate. 1999: Just an all-around relaxing day.]]>

But the kittens are not particularly neat eaters, and so they knock food out of the bowl to places where the ants can get to it. And when the ants can get to it, they let all their friends know, and they have a freakin’ ant party and bring their thousands of friends. Fred thought before bedtime last night that he had the window caulked so that all the little cracks under the windowsill where the ants were getting in were completely caulked shut, and yet at almost midnight the spud came and knocked on my door to let me know there were a ton of ants in the kitten room. I went in and sprayed ammonia on every one of the little bastards, and they died almost immediately, and then I had to wipe them up. This morning, more ants. For the love of god, it’s CAT FOOD. If I buy a bag of it and toss it in the yard for the ants, will they stay out of the house? PROBABLY NOT. Oh, and I spent an hour wiping down the baseboards with white vinegar last night after dinner, and the ants were not deterred. They can keep coming, but I will KEEP FIGHTING. I WILL BE THE VICTOR, DAMNIT! Also, there are little cinnamon footprints around the food bowl, because little Sugarbutt gets SO HAPPY when he’s eating that he has to dance around in the cinnamon and then drag it all over the room. I guess I’d rather have cinnamon footprints all over the room than poo footprints, though. I’m not complaining.

* * * My hand, which was bitten by Ashwin on Monday, is perfectly fine and requires no medicine. It did break the skin, and it did throb for the rest of the day, but when I woke up on Tuesday it wasn’t sore or swollen, or red. No hand amputation for me! * * * I drove up into Tennessee yesterday morning to buy Powerball tickets. The Powerball jackpot, you might have heard, is up to $340 million. And then I had a dream that I won the lottery Monday morning, and if that’s not a sign that I need to go buy lottery tickets, I don’t know what is. Anyway, I drove up across the Tennessee state line and stopped at the first gas station I saw in Ardmore. The parking lot was packed, and I parked and went in, and there were at least fifty people in the ticket line, and I said “Oh HELL no” and turned around and walked out. I knew that there were gas stations further up the road, and for that matter I could hop on the highway and head for Nashville and surely find a gas station selling Powerball tickets with fewer people in line. Two miles up the road from the first place I stopped, there are two gas stations directly across the street from each other, and both were selling Powerball tickets. I turned into the one on the right side because it didn’t have scary bars on the windows, and when I walked inside, there were only four people waiting in line for lottery tickets. So I waited less than five minutes, got my tickets, and headed for home. When I passed the first gas station I’d stopped at, the parking lot was even fuller than it had been when I’d stopped. Dumbasses. Fred and I spent a good twenty minutes discussing what we’d do if we won the lottery, which – according to the laws of Fate and all – means that we won’t even come close to winning. It’s probably more fun dreaming about what we’d do, than it would be if we actually won, anyway. If we win the lottery – exterminators for everyone! * * * The kittens are doing well. The ant infestation isn’t bothering them at ALL, though my coming into the room while they were sleeping last night at almost midnight, wielding a spray bottle of ammonia, might have scarred them a little. But they’re fine, they’re having a lot of fun playing and jumping in and out of the boxes in the dining room and playing with bubble wrap and standing in the kitchen whining about how they’re starving to death when I’m making dinner. Fred has been calling Tom Cullen “Stinky”, even though Tom Cullen doesn’t stink at all. I don’t know if that’s going to end up being his nickname, only time will tell. Right now, on my desk. To the left of me: To the right: When there’s always at least one cat within reach, life can’t be all bad. * * * Previously 2004: More Myrtle Beach. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: I’ve turned into a crazy cat lady for real, haven’t I? 2000: The spud turns 12 next week, can you believe it? 1999: I’ve been out of sorts all day.]]>

that parent or guardian receives less of a sentence than they would have if they’d molested a child they didn’t know? This horrifies me so much that I am without words. Contact your Representative and ask him or her to co-sponsor the CARE Act of 2005. Do it now.

* * * There are Mondays when I go to the pet store and the cats are all sweet and friendly, they play nicely with each other, and I leave so relaxed I feel like I’ve had an hour-long massage. Yesterday was not one of those days. Yesterday, all the cats were hissy and growly, and wouldn’t play with each other, and they kept jumping into the cage I was trying to clean, and I’d have to shoo them out and fix the newspaper they’d messed up, and they were just all OVER my nerves. In the top cages, there were a couple of cats that just didn’t want to come out. In such cases, I do my best to clean around them, because I figure they’re traumatized enough already, if they don’t want to be put down on the floor to play, or put in another cage while I clean their cage, I’m not going to force it. So I was down to the last cage, which housed Ashwin, who was adopted out about a year ago, and then returned on Saturday. The shelter has a life-long return policy on all the cats they adopt out. If I suddenly, six years after I adopted her, decided that I didn’t want to have Miz Poo anymore, I could return her to the shelter, and they’d take her back. Not that I have any intention of returning Miz Poo. Or any of the cats, really, though Mister Boogers needs to WATCH HIS STEP. (Just kidding. We could discover that Mister Boogers sneaks out of the house and murders people while we’re sleeping, and Fred would totally cover it up.) Anyway, I tried to pick Ashwin up a couple of times, but there’s that tensing-and-backing-up thing that cats do that gives off the clear “Back off, lady” signal, and Ashwin did that. So I shrugged and began cleaning around her. She was no problem, moved from one side of the cage to the other when I needed her to. I tossed the dirty newspaper, swept out the cage, and wiped it down. The problem came when I needed to put fresh newspaper on the floor of the cage. Ashwin had apparently decided that she’d had quite ENOUGH, goddamnit, and she wasn’t going ANYWHERE. I tried coaxing her to the other side of the cage, sweet-talking her the entire while, but no luck. Finally I decided to just try picking her up and moving her, and when I reached into the cage, she sank her fangs into the meaty part of my right hand. I am, I believe I’ve mentioned many times in the past, not good in situations that require fast reflexes. For at least five full seconds a big cartoon question mark appeared above my head and my brain flipped frantically through the instruction manual trying to figure out just what the fuck was going on. Finally I let out a loud gasp which surprised Ashwin, who let go of my hand, and I pulled my hand out of the cage and held it against me. “Damn… CAT!” I said, my feelings hurt. After all, had Ashwin not GOTTEN the memo that I’m a friend to all cute and fuzzy four-legged creatures (though the creatures with more than four legs are on their own)? Did she not KNOW that I loved all cats, that I was doing my best not to traumatize her stupid ass? Ashwin gave me a look of “Try to get ME to move to the other side of the cage, will you?” look, got up, and sauntered to the other side of the cage, then flopped down again. Keeping a wary eye on her, I put down the rest of the newspaper, put her litter box back in the cage, gave her clean water and fresh food (THOUGH SHE DIDN’T DESERVE IT), and shut the door. This, after having to drag Samoa down from atop the cages (stupidly, I’d left the cage door open while I was cleaning Samoa’s litter box, and turned around when I heard a rattly sound, only to see the end of a fluffy tail disappearing over the top of the cage, far out of my reach. My solution was to get the stepladder and a feather-on-a-stick toy, climb onto the stepladder, and wave the toy in Samoa’s direction, juuuuust out of her reach. No cat can resist the feather-stick toy for long, so when she came closer and grabbed the toy, I grabbed her and put her back in her cage), you can believe that I was more than ready to get out of there when I was done. Damn cats. * * * We’re still dealing with ants, as you may have read. Fred’s interest is in killing the ants; my interest is in making sure they don’t get in the damn house. Fucking presumptuous ants with their “Oh, food! You don’t mind if we SWARM all over this food, do you?” Since Friday, we’ve been dealing with them coming in the kitten room, though each time we thwart them, we get less of an invasion the next time around. I know that what I really need to do is go in there with a bucket of hot water and ammonia and scrub down the baseboards so the next time they find their way in, they won’t be able to follow the tracks of their dear departed predecessors. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow. I tried cinnamon along the windowsill with no luck, though it’s worked before. Last night, I realized that the cinnamon wasn’t working because they weren’t coming in under the windows, they were coming in through cracks underneath the windows, and so Fred caulked the fuck out of every crack in or around the windows, and today I haven’t seen a single ant. I did stuff Bounce dryer sheet under the windows, though, because someone said that ants don’t like them at all. I don’t know if it’s the caulking that’s keeping them away or the dryer sheets, but it certainly smells good in the kitten room. I note that Jane is dealing with an ant invasion, too. My theory is that the last time she mailed something to Jane and I, Nance sent some ants, too. I think she’s trying to drive us into the loony bin so that she can have the Smart and Sassy empire for herself. Hahahahah! “The Smart and Sassy empire”! Oh, I slay me. * * * Currently reading: Their Wildest Dreams, by Peter Abrams. Finished last night: The Survivors Club, by Lisa Gardner. GOOD book, I always like Lisa Gardner. Finished before that: Not Tonight Honey, Wait ’til I’m a Size Six, by Susan Reinhardt. Funny title and there were some funny parts in the book, but I have to say that I wasn’t thrilled with it at all. I don’t recommend it, I’m sorry to say. With a title like that, I WANT to recommend it, but I don’t know – it’s just as though the author was trying a little too hard to be funny, and ended up being not so much so. She’s apparently a syndicated newspaper columnist who’s won a lot of awards, so I’m probably in the minority when I say the book’s not very funny (“Yeah? Well YOU aren’t very funny either, bitch!”). It’s just my opinion; take it with a grain or six of salt. * * * Sugarbutt seems to be doing just fine. He cracks me up, with his little barrel-chested bowlegged stance. If he was a dog, he’d be a bulldog. He’s little, but he’s solid. Kind of like Tubby was. I’ve put up so many kitten pictures in the past months that y’all are probably forgetting what our adult cats look like. How about some adult cat pics? (Fear not, I’ll still upload some kitten pics over at Flickr.) After chomping on a kitten, Mister Boogers licks his lips and reflects upon the fact that they taste startlingly like chicken. The most indecisive cat in the house – and that’s really saying something. “Do I want to go out, or don’t I? In or out? Out or in?” Miz Poo and Spanky, hanging out in the yard. “Heyyyyy, Macarena!” Miz Poo hides from those kittens. (See the ear of one of those kittens on the left side of the picture) I put this bed on the floor to clear space on my desk for it, and within 60 seconds, Miz Poo had climbed in, curled up, and gone to sleep. Miz Poo really likes this bed, can you tell? Kittens, snoozing under my desk. All uploaded pictures from today (including more of the kittens), are here. * * * Previously 2004: Myrtle Beach recap. 2003: No entry. 2002: Poor, deformed Miz Poo. 2001: Ya gotta love the Poo. 2000: Remember that episode? 1999: I just love it when I don’t have to cook.]]>