do have feelings one way or the other about Kirsten Dunst. Hmm.
* * *
Speaking of movies, we watched The Interpreter on Saturday. That is one long fucking movie. I think if they’d really tried, they could have cut about half an hour off it and lost nothing important.
It came out, while we were watching the movie, that I think that Sean Penn is repulsive. Fred thought that was hilarious, but at the point where it seemed that Sean Penn and Nicole Kidman’s characters might hook up, I shuddered and said “If he kisses her, we are turning this movie off RIGHT NOW.” I loathe it when two characters with zero, zilch, zip chemistry end up sleeping with each other for the sole reason that one is male and one is female. And I like Nicole Kidman and I loathe Sean Penn and didn’t want to see him rubbing his liver lips all over her.
Anyway. If you skip the movie, you’re not missing much.
* * *
Saturday night after Fred had gone to bed, the spud knocked on my door (“Come and knock on our door! We’ll be waiting for you! Where the kisses are hers and hers and his, Three’s Company too!”) and we got into this long discussion about how her boyfriend wanted her to get a formal dress for Homecoming and she didn’t want to spend that much money on a dress for ONE NIGHT, that was stupid, and she just wanted to wear a skirt and shirt that she had, GOD!
“So. Wait. You’re going to Homecoming?” I said.
“Yes. Gosh!” she said. (Okay, she didn’t say “Gosh!”, I made that up. Hee.)
“Well, we’ll PAY for a dress for you for homecoming,” I said, remembering last year and the whole “What the fuck should the spud wear?” fiasco wherein all you haters accused me of trying to dress her in middle-aged old-lady dresses (nevermind that it was true, shaddup), and she ended up wearing a denim skirt and it turned out that things were a leeetle more dressy than that.
So even though I offered to buy her a dress, she kept insisting that that was too much money to spend on a dress for one night, and then she came and showed me a few skirts and I picked the nicer one, and asked what she would wear as a top, and she said she didn’t know, and I imagined her wearing her Something-or-Other Brewery t-shirt and her ratty sneakers.
But anyway, she went to bed and then Sunday morning I got up and discussed the whole situation with Fred, and when the spud finally rolled out of bed, I said “We can get you something nicer than what you have, that isn’t a formal prom-like dress, you know.” And she said “Well, I wouldn’t know where to look!” and I said “Well, I would GO shopping with you!” and she said “Uh. No” in that kind of “I’m saying no, but I might mean yes, and probably what I will do is wait until two days before Homecoming to let you know that I changed my mind, I really DO want a new dress, let’s go do some last-minute shopping! Fun!” way. So I said “I will BUY you a dress for Homecoming, but if you want me to, you need to tell me so RIGHT NOW, instead of waiting until two days before and telling me you DO want a dress.”
And she said “Okay. I want a dress.”
I said “We’ll go shopping tomorrow after school.” Then ten minutes later I came to my senses and realized that it would be much better to begin the shopping right away, because if we had a hard time finding something she liked, we’d at least have that much more time to shop. So I said “Let’s leave at 12:30, go to Kohl’s, and then to the mall.”
So we left at 12:30, and Kohl’s didn’t have a damn thing. I don’t know why that surprised me, but it did. We headed for the mall, then ended up stopping on the way at Dress Barn (give me a break, I’ve never been in there, I had no idea what it was like), Marshall’s (ditto on the never being inside. I assumed it was like a nice department store. It was not.), and Ross Dress for Less (ditto again.). We got to the mall a few minutes after it opened, and since we were parked close to McRae’s, we went in there first. There were a couple of possibles, but nothing that really struck our fancy, so we walked up the mall to Dillard’s. I knew Dillard’s would be a good place to look because I’ve been through there and have seen the formal section, and at least it would be a good place to start.
We must have spent an hour or hour and a half looking through the racks. The spud didn’t want to wear anything with spaghetti straps, and the problem was that anything with sleeves looked old-lady. She found a black skirt she liked, and so then the mission was to find a top to go with it. She must have tried on ten tops, and liked none of them, and then she found a camisole top she wanted to try on. She went and tried it on with the skirt, and I went in to check it out, and oh my GOD, I almost burst into tears because she looked so GROWN-UP!
MUH BAYBEE IS ALL GROWED UP!
We decided that was perfect for Homecoming, and so we bought the skirt and top. Then we went upstairs where she tried on three or four pairs of shoes and decided on the pair that was most comfortable and went the best with her dress. THEN it was over to the lingerie section where she had to try on three or four strapless bras before finding one that would work.
All together, it took about two and a half hours to find a dress, shoes, and bra. Not a bad deal at all, considering how damn cute she looks (and keep in mind, this picture doesn’t do her or the dress justice at ALL):
I’m going to make her an appointment to have her hair colored, since her roots are showin’, and probably make an appointment to have her hair did the day of the dance too. Hell, maybe I’ll even take her to get a manicure the day of, too.
I think we did pretty good, for two people who don’t shop for clothes much, and who have never bought a formal-like dress before.
* * *
Look who’s back!
Saturday afternoon – after I’d been to the pet store and filled out the paperwork to adopt Tom Cullen née Barrett/ Bear – the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID (I ALWAYS look at the caller ID) and saw the name of the shelter I volunteer for.
When I answered, it was the shelter manager. She told me that Sugarbutt (only she called him “Sad Eyes”, since that’s his real name and all) had been adopted Friday night, and the guy who’d adopted him brought him back to the petstore because he was dripping blood from his butt. The adoption counselor working that day took him over to the vet, and that’s where he was currently, and the manager wanted to know if I could take him once the vet was done with him.
OF COURSE. I mean, I know that I’d agreed with Fred that we wouldn’t have any fosters ’til Tom Cullen got older, but I still consider myself Sugarbutt’s foster mother (and the one who loves him more than anyone in the whole wide world), and I didn’t even hesitate before I told her I definitely would.
Didn’t even check with Fred. But he understood and didn’t even think of giving me a hard time about it.
So I went to the vet’s around six (the adoption counselor/ shelter co-manager had called and told me he’d probably be ready around six), and ended up waiting until almost 7:00, because the vet was so backed up and trying to get caught up. It turned out that there was a lot of bacteria in his fecal sample and the vet said that it looked to her like coccydia, but they hadn’t found any coccydia in the sample. They gave me antibiotics to give him, and then brought him out, and I was so thrilled to see him I practically ran in place.
(The woman working the front desk went on and on about what a sweetheart he was. And I kept squealing “I KNOW! He’s so sweet, isn’t he?”)
I called Fred on the way home to get the kitten room ready for Sugarbutt, and when I got home with him, Fred took him right up to the room. When we let him out of the carrier, we had a ten-minute discussion as to whether or not it was really Sugarbutt, because I SWEAR he had grown in the four days since we’d last seen him, and he seemed darker than we remembered. Once I got a good look at his face, though, I knew for sure it was him. I swear he got bigger, even though the paper from the vet said that he weighed exactly the same as the last time he was there. He’s longer and has less of a pot belly, I swear he does.
And, because I couldn’t bear to have him in the room alone with only sporadic visits from us, we put Tom Cullen back in the room with him and we’re giving him a prophylactic dose of Albon so he doesn’t come down with Coccydia too. They seem happy, though they do try to sneak out every time I open the door.
PS: I have yet to see anything like blood on Sugarbutt’s butt. I’m not sure what was going on, but apparently it passed.
“Hey! Who’s the new guy? He seems really familiar!”
Almost looks like an advertisement. “We like to use Arm & Hammer Multi-Cat litter! Mom says it cuts down on the stank, so it doesn’t smell like boiled ass in here!”
“Me. And my. Shaaaaaaaaadow! Strolling down the ave. uh. nooooo.”
I adore this picture. It’s a good one of him. Also, CRAZY EYES!
There’s a new cat movie uploaded, direct YouTube link here. It’s Tom Cullen in the grass, with Spanky. You can tell he doesn’t like the feel of the grass under his toes, but he’s so curious about all the smells that he can’t help but walk around on the grass.
All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither.
* * *
Previously
2004: No entry.
2003: Poor Stanley. All he wants to do it play, and none of the big cats will play with him.
2002: That’s a lot of poop to scoop.
2001: “I don’t like it,” he said haughtily. “It’s not even REAL lemon juice. It’s citric acid!”
2000: Now I just have to decide what to spend it on.
1999: When I got to the top of the stairs I found Tubby huddled there soaking wet, and Mr. Fancypants circling him in a hostile manner. ]]>
Saturday afternoon – after I’d been to the pet store and filled out the paperwork to adopt Tom Cullen née Barrett/ Bear – the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID (I ALWAYS look at the caller ID) and saw the name of the shelter I volunteer for.
When I answered, it was the shelter manager. She told me that Sugarbutt (only she called him “Sad Eyes”, since that’s his real name and all) had been adopted Friday night, and the guy who’d adopted him brought him back to the petstore because he was dripping blood from his butt. The adoption counselor working that day took him over to the vet, and that’s where he was currently, and the manager wanted to know if I could take him once the vet was done with him.
OF COURSE. I mean, I know that I’d agreed with Fred that we wouldn’t have any fosters ’til Tom Cullen got older, but I still consider myself Sugarbutt’s foster mother (and the one who loves him more than anyone in the whole wide world), and I didn’t even hesitate before I told her I definitely would.
Didn’t even check with Fred. But he understood and didn’t even think of giving me a hard time about it.
So I went to the vet’s around six (the adoption counselor/ shelter co-manager had called and told me he’d probably be ready around six), and ended up waiting until almost 7:00, because the vet was so backed up and trying to get caught up. It turned out that there was a lot of bacteria in his fecal sample and the vet said that it looked to her like coccydia, but they hadn’t found any coccydia in the sample. They gave me antibiotics to give him, and then brought him out, and I was so thrilled to see him I practically ran in place.
(The woman working the front desk went on and on about what a sweetheart he was. And I kept squealing “I KNOW! He’s so sweet, isn’t he?”)
I called Fred on the way home to get the kitten room ready for Sugarbutt, and when I got home with him, Fred took him right up to the room. When we let him out of the carrier, we had a ten-minute discussion as to whether or not it was really Sugarbutt, because I SWEAR he had grown in the four days since we’d last seen him, and he seemed darker than we remembered. Once I got a good look at his face, though, I knew for sure it was him. I swear he got bigger, even though the paper from the vet said that he weighed exactly the same as the last time he was there. He’s longer and has less of a pot belly, I swear he does.
And, because I couldn’t bear to have him in the room alone with only sporadic visits from us, we put Tom Cullen back in the room with him and we’re giving him a prophylactic dose of Albon so he doesn’t come down with Coccydia too. They seem happy, though they do try to sneak out every time I open the door.
PS: I have yet to see anything like blood on Sugarbutt’s butt. I’m not sure what was going on, but apparently it passed.
“Hey! Who’s the new guy? He seems really familiar!”
Almost looks like an advertisement. “We like to use Arm & Hammer Multi-Cat litter! Mom says it cuts down on the stank, so it doesn’t smell like boiled ass in here!”
“Me. And my. Shaaaaaaaaadow! Strolling down the ave. uh. nooooo.”
I adore this picture. It’s a good one of him. Also, CRAZY EYES!
There’s a new cat movie uploaded, direct YouTube link here. It’s Tom Cullen in the grass, with Spanky. You can tell he doesn’t like the feel of the grass under his toes, but he’s so curious about all the smells that he can’t help but walk around on the grass.
All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither.