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2/28/06

by @ Tuesday, February 28th, 2006. Filed under Life

Discussion about 24 in this section. Skip it if you haven’t seen last night’s episode. I have only one thing to say about last night’s 24: for the brief moment when it appeared as though Aaron was dead, I was far, FAR more upset than I was about Palmer dying in the first episode. I LOVE me some Aaron. He’s one of the unwavering, absolute, without-a-doubt good guys. It’s weird to see him being a bit of an ass on the first season of CSI (as the sheriff). Also, how much does Jean Smart rock? She ROCKS. Can we get her back as president next season, maybe?

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Thanks to both Yvonne, who informed me that I could download Sunday’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy on SendSpace.com, and Veronica, who recommended I try YouTube.com. Y’all rock! I downloaded it from SendSpace.com, burned it to a DVD, and I’ll be watching it later today. Yay! So, was Desperate Housewives a rerun this week? I’m not seeing it on iTunes anywhere, and there appears to be no recap or discussion about it on MightyBigTV TelevisionWithoutPity.
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Yesterday was one of those days. You know those days that start out good, but at a certain point you realize that everything you’ve done the entire days has been a great big fuckup or a struggle to finish? Yeah, one of those days. It started out really well, because I woke up to the sun shining, and I got out of bed and puttered around the house for a little while, then got my jacket on and went for a walk. I was a little annoyed by my CD/ MP3 player, because it skipped a lot during my walk (yes, it has skip protection, and it doesn’t work all that well; I CANNOT WAIT to get my iPod. It should be here tomorrow!), but other than that, it was a nice day out. When I got home from my walk, I went into the kitchen to make my breakfast, and immediately dropped an egg on the floor. And when I was wiping it up, I managed somehow to smack Sugarbutt right in the face, poor baby. By the time I tracked him down and soothed him, the pan on the stove in the kitchen was smoking (I’d put it on the stove and set the temperature on medium before I dropped the egg). I managed to clean the pan out and respray the Pam and and cook my eggs with no further problems. And then I sat at my computer and tried to write my entry, only my computer was super slow, and it took FORFUCKINGEVER – TWO HOURS! – to write it, because there were links I need to add to the entry, and I couldn’t connect to Flickr, and in the end I sat at Fred’s computer and finished up my entry, because HIS COMPUTER was working JUST FINE, of course. So I said “Fuck you, you piece of shit!” to my computer and shut it down, and went upstairs. Where I changed the sheets on my bed and on Fred’s. When I reached down to grab my comforter off the floor to put it back on the bed, Sugarbutt fell out (I didn’t know he was there!) and went tumbling across the floor into the wall. I guess if Sugarbutt had a journal, he’d be writing about how yesterday wasn’t his day, either. I comforted Sugarbutt again (with my luck, he’s going to start flinching when I reach for him) and then went into Fred’s room. Only I didn’t shut the door to Fred’s room fast enough, and Mister Boogers hauled ass through the door, and I had to spend ten minutes chasing his stupid ass around – I think his stump of a tail allows him to move faster than any other cat. Lack of wind resistance? – before I caught him and tossed him back out. Then I knocked over the stack of pillows, which I had piled up carefully beside the bed in a certain order, because Fred likes his pillows just so, and with them all knocked over, I didn’t know what went where, so I just guessed, and no doubt when Fred reads this, he’ll call me and say “Now I know why I didn’t sleep very well last night!” With the beds changed, I went into the laundry room to put the first load of sheets in, only there was laundry in the washer, so I put it in the dryer, shut the dryer door, and started the dryer. And then there was this thumping sound – way louder than the sound of laundry tumbling around – and an instant later, a sound as though Satan himself was tumbling around in the dryer and he WASN’T HAPPY hit my ears, and I screamed and opened the dryer door, and Tom Cullen shot out as though Satan was after HIM, and he hid under my bed for a good ten minutes, all fluffed up from head to toe (hey, that dryer is GOOD, it can fluff a cat in three seconds flat!) and trembling. Now, I always – ALWAYSALWAYSALWAYS – look in the dryer before I shut the dryer door and start the dryer, because Sugarbutt and Tom Cullen always get all excited when I’m in there, like little kids who want to show off their bedroom “Look, Mom! This is where we keep the poop! Doesn’t it stink? Ain’t it great?!”, and I’ve always worried that one of them would get shut in the dryer and be tumbled around, I’m practically paranoid about it, and TODAY IT HAPPENED. And it scared the shit out of me. Also, I’m worried that Tommy will start pooping in the closet because he’s too scared to go into the laundry room and I’ll have to kill him. So I soothed Tommy for a little while, then went off to take my shower. And given how my morning had gone thus far, do you think that when I thought “I should shave my legs”, I rethought that thought and thought better of it? Why, no. I shaved my legs, and I ripped a nice long piece of skin from the back of my right calf and cut up my ankles AND my armpit. The left one. Annnnnnnnd then I went downstairs to soothe my troubles in front of Desperate Housewives and Grey’s Anatomy, but as I mentioned in my entry yesterday, the STUPID DVR didn’t tape either of them for some freakin’ reason UNKNOWN TO ME (that’s what I get for not double-checking to be sure they were taping, I suppose), and all I had was one sad little episode of Runway Moms and Oprah. I watched them and cross-stitched, and apparently there’s some kind of magic in cross-stitching, because after that my day improved. Though probably what this entry really needs for a closer is a story about how Mister Boogers and the kittens brought in a bird and viciously killed it while I sat, oblivious, ten feet away watching TV.
Working out is exhausting. “Bob!” “I say, BOB! Bob, where the fuck ARE you?!” “If that little BITCH doesn’t stop calling me BOB, I am going to go in there and kick his fucking ASS.”
All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. ]]>

2/27/06

by @ Monday, February 27th, 2006. Filed under Life

So, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before – I think I haven’t – but when I come across a cat somewhere in the house and he or she looks up at me, looking all cute, I tend to greet him or her with “What it doin’ (insert shortened version of cat’s name here)?” For instance, “What it doin’, Toms?”, “What it doin’, Boogs?”, etc. Friday I went upstairs to fold laundry and take my shower, and Miz Poo was sleeping on my bed. As I walked in the room, she woke up, stretched, and looked up at me. I opened myself to say “What it doin’, Poo?”, but what came out what “What it doin’, Boobs?” I swear to god, I have NO CONTROL over what comes out of my mouth sometimes.

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After watching three or four episodes of Olympic Ice last week (after Kymm recommended it so highly), I have come to the conclusion that while I love figure skating, I don’t really care all that much for the competition figure skating. I prefer the figure skating that’s entirely for entertainment. I loved the exhibition skating on Friday night, and I love it when big skaters get together and put on a show. The competition skating just isn’t my thing, I guess.
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I watched a TON of television and movies this weekend. In fact, Sunday afternoon there was absolutely nothing taped on the DVR. NOTHING! I don’t know the last time that happened. Plus, I got three discs from Netflix on Friday and one on Saturday, so we were set for stuff to watch. Or so we thought. I might get flamed for this, but I have to say – I didn’t care for Rent at ALL. We watched fourty-five minutes of it and finally Fred asked if I really liked it. I had to admit that I didn’t, and he said, in exasperation, “They just must have gotten so many Tonys because everyone had AIDS!” And then he broke into a rousing rendition of Everyone has AIDS. So we took that out and put Thumbsucker in, and watched half an hour of that before I said to Fred, “You can take it out if you want.” “It sucks, doesn’t it?” he said. “It does.” And so he put North Country in, and third time’s a charm, because I thought it was a really good movie, and even The Grouch admitted that it wasn’t bad. On Saturday we got The Weatherman from Netflix, and we watched the trailer, and Fred decided he wasn’t interested in it at ALL, so we ended up watching CSI all night. Which was fine with me – because did I mention that’s a DAMN FINE show? Except that Jorja Fox’s face bugs me for some reason. But I don’t suppose you can have everything. I watched The Weather Man by myself on Sunday, and I liked it. It’s worth watching, if just for the “Tartar Sauce” sequence. I made Fred come sit down and watch that part of the movie, saying “They’ve captured you on film!”, and he laughed so hard he about cried. Then, Sunday afternoon, I watched the last disc of Season 2 of The O.C. Since I’m walking outside for exercise instead of using the elliptical, the disc has been sitting in the garage, unwatched, for a few weeks now. So I finished watching it (how long do I have to wait for Season 3 to come out on DVD, do you suppose? Sometime this summer?) and now there’s nothing for me to watch. Well, except for Grey’s Anatomy and Desperate Housewives, of course.
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Over the weekend, I finally opened the cat door so that we could start teaching the kittens how to go through it. They picked it up pretty quickly (especially considering that that was the only way in and out of the house, since I didn’t open the back door), and although they don’t really like to have to push the flap open with their faces, they’ll do it to get outside. Sugarbutt doesn’t care to have his collar on – he scratches a lot – but I’m sure he’ll get used to it. The funny thing is that they get SO EXCITED when they come back into the house. Sugarbutt was zooming back and forth like a wild thing yesterday morning. They love to go out there and sniff around, then come inside, drink some water, and run around like their asses are afire. It’s still a little cold out to leave the cat door open all day long, but I think (hope!) that warmer weather’s coming, so Fred can collar up the cats and open the cat door before he leaves for work, and then we can close it when it’s starting to get dark. The collars seem to be deterring Sugarbutt and Tommy just fine. Miz Poo was hanging out in the daffodils the other day, which are up against the fence, and Tommy would start toward her, then remember he couldn’t go that far, and he’d just stop and watch her. I’d almost say she was teasing him, but of course (har!) she’s not that mean.
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SuperSugs! Is there anything happier than a sleeping cat? I think NOT. What cracks me up the most is the long-suffering “Oh lord jesus, how much longer must I put up with The Daddy dangling the feather toy over my head and not letting me get it?” look on his face. Look at the HEIGHT on that jump! Not bad for a rapidly portlifying kitty. This picture just cracks me UP.
All of the flying kitty pictures were taken by Himself. All of today’s pictures are here.
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Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: Dude, what the fuck? I don’t talk for 20 to 30 minutes on the phone to people I know and LIKE, let alone some strange man from the CDC! 2003: A Day in the Life of Mr. Fancypants. 2002: No entry. 2001: But I kinda like the irritability. 2000: My heart stopped, my jaw dropped, and I whispered “Oh, shiiiiiiiiiiit!”]]>

2/24/06

by @ Friday, February 24th, 2006. Filed under Life

reading: The Working Poor, by David K. Shipler. Finished last night: Grave Sight, by Charlaine Harris. Oh, how I LURVE Charlaine Harris. This is the first in a new series, the Harper Connelly series. I loved it. Finished the night before last: She Got Up Off the Couch, by Haven Kimmel. I so very, very, very much didn’t want this book to end. I desperately didn’t want it to end. I went back and re-read a couple of chapters just so it wouldn’t end, but – like all good things – it ended. DAMNIT. If Haven Kimmel thinks she’s going to get away without doing another memoir, she has got ANOTHER THINK COMING. I want to know about her high school years, I want to know why Rose wasn’t mentioned in her dedication or acknowledgements, I want to know what life was like after her father left, I want to know how he died. I will hound that woman until she gives in and writes another memoir just out of self-preservation, I swear I will! And a very cool reader (Hi Cindy!) is lending me her copy of A Girl Named Zippy on CD, and I can’t wait!

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So, I started watching a show on WE called Daddy’s Spoiled Little Girl, and I thought for a little while it might become my new guilty pleasure, but then I saw the episode with Karly Urat@, and I got so pissed that I said to myself, I said “Self, it is RIDICULOUS to get this pissed off over someone you don’t know, will never know, and doesn’t know you even exist.” So I stopped taping them, at least for the time being. But let me TELL you a little about Karly Urat@. Karly Urat@ is 27 and has an older sister Kelly. Kelly was about to turn 30, so Karly decided to throw her a surprise party, at Daddy’s expense, of course. She picked Daddy up at the golf course, because she was taking him shopping for Kelly’s birthday present. She was thinking maybe a nice tennis bracelet, so she and Daddy went to a jewelry store and ended up spending (I think) $6,000 (of Daddy’s money) on a tennis bracelet. And then. AND THEN, Princess Karly starts lobbying for Daddy to buy her – Karly – a $90,000 car. This is Princess Karly’s reasoning: “You just bought Kelly a $6,000 tennis bracelet, it’s time to get something for me!” Yes, of course. I see the correlation – Kelly’s birthday present cost $6,000, therefore Karly is owed something that costs 15 times more. So what if it’s Kelly’s birthday and not Karly’s? Karly is OWED a $90,000 car, Daddy! So Karly drags Daddy to the car dealership and they test-drive the car, and Karly’s all “Oh, we’ll take it!” and Daddy’s all “No, we’re going to think about it”, and you know what happens, don’t you? Karly turns instantly into a pouty little bitch. The show goes on and Karly and Kelly and Daddy and a bunch of their friends go to Vegas, because Kelly doesn’t know about the surprise party, so she thinks that the trip to Vegas is her birthday. And of course they need DRESSES, so Daddy buys them dresses, and of course they need a spa day, so Daddy buys them a spa day. And then Daddy buys dinner for everyone, which if I recall correctly cost multiple thousands of dollars, and there is partying and hijinx. And then we come upon the day of Kelly’s birthday, the day of the surprise party, and Daddy shows up to tell Kelly and Karly to move along (possibly Kelly and Karly live together, I’m sure in a house THEY didn’t pay for), and Daddy tells Karly he has a surprise for her. And it’s the fucking $90,000 car. In the driveway. With a huge bow on it. ON KELLY’S BIRTHDAY. 1. Daddy clearly has too much money and needs to be hit over the head so he’ll stop spending. 2. I hate spoiled rotten princesses. 3. Way to make Kelly feel special on her birthday, Daddy. 4. The day my father spends $6,000 on a piece of jewelry for me is the day I slap his ass into a nursing home, ’cause he’ll have gone off his freakin’ rocker. I mean, I know it’s the guy’s money and he can spend it however he wants, and I’m sure a father likes to spoil his daughters from time to time, but GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY. How is this helping to make those girls productive members of society, I ask you? That’s right – it DOESN’T. However, the Secret Lives of Women series still rocks the casbah. I watched Shopaholics today, and I’m looking forward to Plastic Surgery Addicts next week!
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The attitudinous Meester Boogers. (He beesy) We refer to this as his “Paw Paw” look, because way back before we got him – before we were even seriously thinking of getting another cat – I saw his picture on the shelter’s web page (his name was Paw Paw back then), and he had this exact look on his face, and it cracked us up so much that when we WERE ready to get another cat, Fred said “Is Paw Paw here?”, and he was, and once we saw and held him, it was all over. “Sugarbutt! Front and center! I need some snuggle time!” “Mother, may I please go out and explore the garage?” Sugarbutt discovers that his purple nails have magical powers, and that he can FLY!
All of today’s pictures are here.
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Previously 2005: “4.2 billion,” he said suddenly. “Not 4.7. Because a regular signed 32-bit integer only goes up just over 2.1 billion – that’s 2 to the 31st power – and an unsigned would be one more power of two onto that, so–” 2004: Is it easier to write bad poetry, or am I just naturally a bad poet (and didn’t know it)? 2003: Let’s see whether or not I can give Lisa what she wants! 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: Have you noticed that I feel like an idiot a lot?]]>

2/23/06

by @ Thursday, February 23rd, 2006. Filed under Life

This one. Is it not the MOST adorable tattoo you’ve ever seen?? I can’t wait.

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So, a couple of nights ago I told Fred I wanted to start saving for an iPod. He gave me a hard time for a few minutes – since I just bought a $20 CD player that plays MP3s last week – then told me it was fine with him. Yesterday, some unexpected money dropped right into our laps, and he told me to go ahead and get an iPod. I didn’t get one of the newest ones, the ones that play videos and holds 632 years’ worth of songs (I mostly want the iPod for when I exercise in the morning, and I can’t see myself burning many calories trudging down the road watching videos on my iPod); instead, I got a refurbished 4GB iPod Mini. In blue! I am very VERY excited about getting an iPod; more excited that I should be, perhaps. But ever since I found out that there are Grey’s Anatomy podcasts and Lost podcasts, I’ve been pro-iPod. I know I could burn it to a CD and listen to it on my CD/ MP3 player, but I just… I don’t know! I want an iPod, damnit! I want to be one of the cool kids! Not as cool as the kids who can watch videos, but still! Cool! Oh, how stylin’ I will be, walking around the neighborhood every morning with my badass iPod. And when the snobs ignore me, I will hold my iPod up to them, and I will say “Bitches, you WISH you were as COOL as me!”, and they will watch me go with regretful hearts. Bitches.
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By the way, I listened to all three of Kim‘s podcasts this morning while I was exercising – they’re called “What I Watched”, and are basically just Kim talking about what she’s watched recently on TV – and LOVED them. If you have a favorite podcast you think I might enjoy, tell me so in the comments, complete with link, please. Oh, and while I’m thinking of podcasts and stuff, several people have suggested that Fred and I should start our own podcasts. I think that Hell hasn’t quite reached the level of frigidity necessary for that. First of all, any podcast we made would be like such: Fred: Say something, Bessie! Robyn: Baby, what the fuck? What am I supposed to say. (baby talk) Hey, Suggie! Suggie-sugs, come say something into the microphone! Sugarbutt: (purr) Fred: (baby talk) Suggie! Hey, little Sugs! (/baby talk) Holy crap, was that necessary? Robyn: Was what? Oh MAN. Suggie, get your stinky butt out of here! And so on. Second of all, we both hate our voices and to release them forth into the world would be a cruelty beyond measure. So for now, we’ll be sticking to the written word. On the other hand, I think I said just last month “What would I need an iPod for?”, so times change.
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For those of you who asked how the SoftPaws are working out for us: They seem to be working just fine, though Tommy and Sugarbutt have each lost a single cap, so we had to replace them last night. The downside to the SoftPaws is that since it doesn’t hurt when Sugarbutt kneads on me at night while he’s licking my neck, he kneads and licks FOREVER, and I finally have to say “Jesus god in heaven, do you MIND? I’d like to keep SOME of the skin on my neck, you freak!”, and he looks at me with glazed, love-drunk eyes, then gives a few more licks before he curls up on top of my upper arm and goes to sleep. And then I say “Enjoy it while you can, Sugarfreak, my upper arm’s not always going to be the size of a ham!”, kiss him on his little head, and go back to sleep.
Every morning when Fred gets out of the shower, Sugarbutt adores licking the water from his hair. Boogie wants you to kiss him right THERE. Suggie goes after the feather toy. Which, coincidentally, matches his nails. “Word to yer mutha.” He believes he can fly. He believes he can touch the sky-y-y!
All of today’s uploaded pictures (there are a ton) are here.
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Previously 2005: Impromptu day off. 2004: I’m going to save a fortune on tampons, that’s for sure. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: Damn that Sam’s. 2000: Heartless bastard.]]>

2/22/06

by @ Wednesday, February 22nd, 2006. Filed under Life

Spud, you don’t want to read this. Trust me. So, for a brief moment in time, I thought that Bonnie might end up getting her dearest wish. Well, her dearest And3rson-related wish, anyway. See, I had to go off the birth control pill two weeks before I was originally supposed to have surgery (January 23), so the last pill I took was on January 7th. It worked out well, because I had come to the end of the Seasonale pack anyway and was due to stop taking it for a week so I could have my period. Even though I ended up not having surgery until the 30th, I was still off the pill for more than the required two weeks, so I figured everything was fine. Except. Remember how Fred had a vasectomy last April? And remember how he was supposed to bring in a semen sample after he’d had sex a certain number of times? Guess who didn’t bother to do that? Guess who tossed out the specimen cups he was supposed to use to provide said samples? So between the time I finished my period and the time I had surgery, there were many instances of.. you know. You know what I’m getting at, right? HOT MONKEY SEX, that’s what. And me not on the pill, and Fred possibly shooting blanks, but possibly not. My period didn’t start, and didn’t start and didn’t start, and I couldn’t seem to figure out how long it had been since I’d last had my period, and I started to get paranoid. “What if I’m pregnant!” I frantically said to Fred. “You’re not pregnant,” he said. “If there’s anyone on this earth who’d have a vasectomy and have it not “take”, it’d be YOU,” I said. “There will be no more HOT MONKEY SEX until you have your semen sample evaluated by a professional. There is nothing I want on god’s green earth right now – or EVER in the future – less than a BABY.” “Why do you hate me?” Fred asked. “I don’t want to walk in there with a sample cup with EVERYONE in the waiting room knowing what I’ve been doing.” “I’ll TAKE the freaking sample cup to the doctor’s office,” I promised. But first I had to go to the doctor’s office and pick UP a sample cup since see above about someone who is not me tossing out the sample jars we had. And when I walked into the doctor’s office, the waiting room was packed to the gills with men, and I tried to be discreet when I said “I need to pick up a sample cup for my husband”, but the words seemed to come out of my mouth and echo around the room, and my face went bright flaming red. The receptionist gave me a sample cup and I flew out of there as fast as I could. And then, Monday morning (HEY EVERYBODY! GUESS WHAT FRED WAS DOING MONDAY MORNING!) I had to take the actual sample cup avec sample back to the same doctor’s office said sample cup all wrapped up in a plastic grocery bag – since we don’t have any kind of paper bag anywhere in the house – and this time when I walked in to the doctor’s waiting room there were only three people sitting there, but when the receptionist came to the window and I said “I’m dropping off a sample for my husband”, again the words echoed about the room and the three people who were in the waiting room stopped talking and – I presume, since they were behind me and I didn’t turn around to see – started listening. “Is his name on it?” the receptionist asked. I stared at her. “I don’t know,” I said, and let “And I’m not looking” remain unspoken. She gave me a piece of paper to write down his name and phone number. “Will he be answering at this number?” she asked sternly, as though I had taken a semen sample from him without his knowledge, to have it tested, and planned to keep the results from him. “Yes,” I said. And got the hell out of there. Several hours later, the doctor – or a nurse, I don’t know which – called and told Fred that he was all clear. No sperms flailing about, apparently. Let the HOT MONKEY SEX begin! Oh, and I started my period last Wednesday, so (HUGE SIGH OF RELIEF) no baby. Sorry, Bonnie!

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Brudderly love. Poor Tommy. He lays in this bed, sound asleep, and Sugarbutt comes up and plops down right on top of him. Hallelujah for the belly rub!
All of today’s uploaded pictures are here.
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Previously 2005: I can tell you this – I’m not terribly fond of my mailman right now. 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: Not bad, since it’s been ten years or so since I read the play, eh? 2001: Resolutions for 2001. 2000: Well, apparently “coke” sounded like “coffee” to the Einstein taking my order. ]]>

2/21/06

by @ Tuesday, February 21st, 2006. Filed under Life

Mo!!!!

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Grey’s Anatomy spoilers in this section; skip to the next if you haven’t seen the most recent episode. First of all, Izzy totally fucked up when she told George that he needed to make Meredith listen to him. What I think she should have said was “George, you should take the fact that she doesn’t hear you as a sign. You deserve someone who not only hears you, but WANTS TO HEAR EVERY WORD YOU SAY.” I mean, Meredith and George? Um, NO. Her fucking eyebrows freak me out, because they’re too LONG for her face. Seriously, they’re about 6 inches longer than they need to be. Also, does anyone else think that McSteamy bears a striking resemblance to (an older, hotter) Leonardo DiCaprio? I think it’s the eyes, but the first time I saw him in the “Coming next week” commercial at the end of the last week’s episode, I totally thought it was Leo, and had to go back and rewatch it a few times before I determined that it wasn’t.
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Sunday night Fred and I watched the first four episodes of the first season of CSI. Holy hot dog! That’s a good freakin’ show! (I know, I know, y’all TRIED to tell me!) The thing that’s really awesome is that we’ve discovered that we really like the show, so now we have five or six years’ worth of shows to watch! That’ll take us months! Woot! Gary Dourdan (Warrick Brown) has got the most beautiful eyes. I kept saying that while we were watching the show, “He’s got beautiful eyes!” They’re the most interesting grayish bluish green I’ve ever seen. Fred thinks George Eads looks just like Sean Hannity. I’ve loved Marg Helgenberger since she was KC on China Beach, and William Petersen since he was Will Graham in Manhunter. I’ve already been told that once we’re finished watching all the episodes of CSI that are out, we will NOT be checking out CSI: Miami, because Fred loathes the ultra pale and pasty David Caruso. And we probably won’t be watching CSI: New York, because I watched a couple of episodes when it first came on, and though I adore Gary Sinise I can’t stand the lighting on that show. I had no idea New York City has such a funny blue tinge to it. No wonder they’re always killing each other up there.
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Currently reading: She Got Up Off the Couch, by Haven Kimmel. I started this book last night, and had the hardest time putting it down again. I’m wishing like hell I’d kept A Girl Named Zippy, because I’d love to re-read it after I finish She Got Up Off the Couch. I’ve never read any of Haven Kimmel’s fiction, but I have two of her books, and I think I’ll give them a try in the near future. Her memoirs are amazing books, and if you’re looking for something that’ll make you laugh out loud one minute and break your heart the next, I suggest you give these two a try. I’m having a run of really good books, lately – I finished Vanishing Acts by Jodi Picoult last night and loved it, and before that I read Cell by Stephen King, and loved that, as well.
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Da Sugs. Look closely at his mouth. OH, how it cracks me UP. Here, here’s a closeup: Hee! Tommy in motion. Tommy in motion again.
All of today’s uploaded pictures are here.
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Previously 2005: Questions answered. 2004: No entry. 2003: “Why, god? Whyyyyy?” 2002: He was in the room with me for less than 90 seconds. Was I happy? Oh, yes. Thrilled. 2001: I don’t know about that man… 2000: New vehicle.]]>

2/20/06

by @ Monday, February 20th, 2006. Filed under Life

Best new blog I’ve discovered lately (I’m sure I followed the link from another blog, but I don’t remember which): Waiter Rant.

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So, Sunday I got a bug up my butt (not literally)(at least, I don’t think so) and decided to clean the master bathroom and dust the upstairs and vacuum as well. I hadn’t cleaned the bathroom since the day before I had surgery, which means it had gone for three weeks without being cleaned – sadly, that’s about the average ’round these parts – and the ring around the bathtub was starting to get on my nerves. Anyway, I cleaned the bathroom, dusted the upstairs, and vacuumed the upstairs, then I looked at the stairs and decided they were horribly disgusting and needed to be vacuumed. Since I’m not supposed to lift anything heavy until six weeks after surgery, I decided I’d vacuum halfway down the stairs with the stair attachment, then ask Fred to carry it to the bottom of the stairs so I could do the other half of the stairs (the Dyson doesn’t quite reach to the top of the stairs, or I would have had him carry it down first). So I left the Dyson at the top of the stairs and started vacuuming. I’d done three or four stairs when I glanced up and saw that the Dyson was starting to tip over a little. I decided to do one more stair, then turn it off and yell for Fred. I was in the middle of that stairs, when I heard a horrific crash as the Dyson tipped over and started cartwheeling down the stairs. The main part of the vacuum hit me and stopped, and the canister part detached and continued merrily on its way past me, smacking my hand really hard. By this time, Fred had flown out of the kitchen and was yelling “Are you okay?!” at me. I kind of looked around blankly, trying to figure out why the Dyson looked so funny, and then set it upright and turned it off. “Are you okay?!” Fred asked again. “Yeah,” I said, then pressed my now-bleeding hand against my side to blot the blood. “Did it hit you?” he asked. “Not really,” I said. It had hit my leg, but my leg felt fine. Fred picked up the canister – which had come open when it hit the bottom of the stairs, scattering dust and crap everywhere, and closed it. Then he came up the stairs, took the Dyson, and set it at the bottom of the stairs. There was a bit of plastic chipped off the side of the top of the canister, but it fit back into place with no problem, and when we plugged the Dyson in to make sure it was working okay, it worked like a champ. So I vacuumed the entire downstairs while I was at it. I love my Dyson.
But I’m afraid that now it’s tasted human blood, it’s going to require a periodic human sacrifice. I wonder if cat blood would suffice?
* * *
So, I know I’ve mentioned that Sugarbutt likes to climb in bed with me in the middle of the night and lick my neck while kneading VERY VERY HARD on whatever exposed skin he can find. The thing is, that it really fucking HURTS when he kneads on exposed skin, even if I keep his claws clipped, because they might be blunt claws, but they’re still CLAWS. Finally, I bitched about it enough (and then Tommy tried to climb a tree in the back yard last week) that Fred suggested we give SoftPaws a try. I ordered – at Fred’s suggestion – a set of red nail caps and a set of purple. They came pretty quickly – in a matter of days, I think – and Friday night we clipped Sugarbutt’s claws and Tommy’s, too. Then we carefully put caps on all of Tommy’s nails. It was kind of a production, because Tommy doesn’t much like having his paws messed with, and at one point he even growled at us, so we fell into a rhythm of putting one nail cap on, then letting him down and distracting him with a toy. We got four nails on each paw covered, and decided not to worry about his “thumb” nails. He licked at his paws for a little while, but didn’t seem too disturbed by the nail covers, and was pretty quickly back to running around, chasing Sugarbutt. So on Saturday, we did Sugarbutt. And then we discussed it, and decided to go ahead and cover their “thumb” nails with caps, too, because it became pretty clear that they use those nails more than we realized. And Saturday night when Sugarbutt came to visit me, and he kneaded just as hard as he could, it didn’t hurt at ALL. Thank GOD for SoftPaws!
I think the red goes nicely with his fur. (He now has a purple “thumb” nail, but that was after we took this picture) Pretty in purple.
* * *
“Bob! Dude! I don’t want to get nasty, here, but I NEED SOME FREAKIN’ ‘NIP! I’m going through withdrawal, man!” I guess this is Sugarbutt’s version of working out.
All of today’s uploaded pictures are here.
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Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: The Bean appeared before me, eyes wide and dark, a sad little I’m a poor kitty who has lost his way look on his face. 2003: They freaked out. 2002: Um. In yesterday’s entry, I MEANT to link to Fred with the words “nice butt”, not MYSELF. 2001: We got proof today that we, in fact, do not have two gay hamsters. 2000: No entry.]]>

2/17/06

by @ Friday, February 17th, 2006. Filed under Life

* * * First of all Ace – that really cute guy on American Idol – looks JUST like the bastard child of Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger. Second of all, would someone PLEASE do SOMETHING about Simon Cowell’s hair? I know I’m no great arbiter of popular fashion or anything, but every time I see Simon’s hair, it makes me cringe. It wouldn’t be so bad if there wasn’t a freakin’ PART in the middle of what appears to be an attempt at a flat-top or semi-spiked hair, but the part makes it awful. Third of all, we were thrilled to see Gray Man, Cute Little Geek with Glasses and Bald Man with Facial Hair make it through to the final 12 men, and as for the women we were glad to see Little ‘n Squeaky get through – though there was no doubt she would; the judges loved her the first time they set eyes on her. (Can you tell we didn’t catch anyone’s name?)

* * *
So I went for a walk yesterday morning; I’m up to 2.08 miles in around 40 minutes, which is good for someone with short ‘n stubby legs, I think. Anyway, near the end of my walk as I approached the turn to my street, I noticed that there were a couple of women walking about 50 feet ahead of me, each walking a small and yappy (but cute!) dog. I hoped they’d go straight instead of turning left, because if they turned left on to my street, they’d get to the end before me, and then turn and walk back up the street, and I would pass them, and I would smile and say good morning to them, and they’d look me up and down and smirk at each other and NOT SAY ANYTHING BACK. Don’t call me paranoid – it happens to me ALL THE TIME. Because I’m a fat chick dressed in a shlubby manner, and the instant I start to sweat when I’m exercising, I get bright red and no doubt look like a heart attack about to happen, or in the process of happening. And don’t tell me it’s because they don’t hear me say “Good morning!”, because I say it with a great big smile, and say it loud enough for anyone to hear. They’re just snobs in their spandex and cute little t-shirts with their tiny little dogs. Well, to be fair, not ALL of them, but the majority of them. I’m sure YOU are not a snob in your spandex and cute little t-shirt with their tiny little dogs. You’d say “Good Morning” or “Hi” back to me, wouldn’t you? Of course you would. Anyway. So these women turned onto my street, and I sighed a big martyred sigh of martyrdom, and prepared to smile and say “Good morning!” and be ignored. Only, halfway down the street they stopped, and the little white dog belonging to one of the women trotted over into someone’s yard and proceeded to “use the facilities.” In a big way. Almost as big as the dog itself, that’s how big. And the women looked at each other, and they stood there while the dog did its business, and I grew closer and closer. And then they turned around and they saw me, and they looked at each other again. As if they were mimes, they made big gestures at each other that clearly conveyed “Whatever shall we do now?” One of them pointed out a newspaper (laying in a plastic bag) in the driveway across the street, and the other one made a production of dragging her dog across the street to the newspaper, then gestured to the poopin’-dog-owner about how she was going to carry it up to the house of the person it belonged to, and ask if it was okay to use the plastic bag. At this point, I passed them, not bothering to look at either of them, and just barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes at them. Because I think it’s pretty clear that if no one else had been around, that pile of dog shit would have sat there until the END OF TIME. I mean, who the hell takes their dog for a long walk and doesn’t bring something to pick up the poop with? Is it a complete shock and mystery to these women that their dogs are going to want to stop and poop at some point during a walk longer than three minutes? And how do they USUALLY pick up dog poop? That’s right. THEY DON’T. At least they picked it up this time, because I had prepared a scathing statement* to say to them if they’d just walked off and left it there. *Instead of smiling and saying “Good morning”, I was going to say “Seriously? You’re going to leave that pile of dog shit on a stranger’s lawn? SERIOUSLY?” and scowl. That, or “I’m glad that’s not MY lawn, ’cause I’d kick your skinny ass to hell and back. And your little dog, too!” And those women would have SOBBED like big BABIES, because my mean face is a scary one.
I’ve gotten back into cross-stitching in the last week or so; I think I stopped cross-stitching when we had Rambo and Jodie, because it was just too much of a pain to keep them from playing with the threads, and I just never started again. At the moment I’m concentrating on getting through all the ornament kits I have before I start anything big. Anyway, I think that many times a picture looks better when it’s not outlined. I kind of like the abstract-ness of it, I guess. For instance:
I guess the “after” isn’t too bad – but I really kind of preferred the “before”. Oh, and while I’m sharing pictures (non-cat pictures, I should say), my brother and sister-in-law sent me flowers after the other flowers I’d gotten had pretty much died. When I talked to my brother, he indicated that there was something different about these flowers. And he was right – there was. It was a bunch of yellow and white flowers – daisies, maybe? I’m not good with flower identification – but once I opened the box the whole way, I realized there was something else in the box.
It cracks me up, every time I walk into my bedroom and see it there, smiling beatifically at me. You might not be able to tell, but when the stem isn’t wrapped around the bookcase, the whole thing is about four feet tall. And the “flower” is huge – maybe close to two feet across? I haven’t named her (obviously it’s a “her”) yet. Suggestions?
* * *
Tommy in motion. Spot warily checks out the situation. “Torties are NOT BITCHY! And if you say it again, I’ll CUT YOU, you understand me?” Daffodils are starting to bloom! Woot!
There are a buttload of outside kitty pictures up over at Flickr, here.
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Previously 2005: I feel like every time I run an errand in the Jeep I’m tempting Fate. 2004: I am blogrolling’s bitch. 2003: We figured if nothing else, we’d just start killing and eating cats. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: ***Warning! Adult language and situations ahead! Skip the first three paragraphs if you’re easily offended***]]>

2/16/06

by @ Thursday, February 16th, 2006. Filed under Life

* * * You know, I get the idea behind podcasts, and I understand that some of them are probably pretty cool, but here’s the thing – I can’t stand listening to or watching anything while sitting at my computer that’s longer than two or three minutes. Movie trailers, funny (short) videos, and the occasional movie clip is just fine, but anything longer than that, I just refuse to watch or listen to. I get antsy if I listen to anything longer than that. I don’t usually listen to music at my computer unless I’m doing something that requires little concentration, and if Fred sends me a link to something longer than a few minutes, I’ll watch a few minutes of it, then turn it off. I just don’t consider the computer to be the place to sit and watch stuff, I don’t know why. Probably because there’s always something I could be doing – reading a journal entry, organizing this that or th’other, whatever. Of course, now that I have a portable CD player that also plays MP3s, I could always just burn them to a disc and listen to them while I exercise…

* * *
Miz S asked in my comments yesterday: Is it true that male cats are nicer than female cats, generally speaking? I figure you should know since you have A HERD of cats over there. If our cats are anything to go by, then I would say that yes, male cats are nicer than female cats. But then, we only have the one female cat to go by, and she’s always more than willing to reach out and smack the shit out of her brothers. For instance, if she walks into the bathroom – where the cat food dishes are – and there’s a cat in front of each food dish (there are two food dishes, because we serve our cats four – YES, FOUR – different kinds of food*) and she can’t get to the food dish, she’ll sniff the behind of one of the cats at the food bowls. And if they ignore her, she’ll sniff again. And she’ll keep sniffing until one of the cats who is eating thinks “Is something touching my behind?”, and they’ll turn around to look at her, and she will SMACK THE HOLY HELL out of them. She’s pure evil. On the other hand, she’s the only cat who will come sit in your lap if you call her. The other cats are always all “Yeah, I don’t feel like it. Go blow it out your ass, Chuckles”, but Miz Poo will ALWAYS come sit in your lap, give you a look o’ love, and purr very loudly. Until we got Sugarbutt, she was also the only cat who would snuggle with me at night. Sugarbutt will snuggle with me at night (on his own timetable, you understand), but during the day he’s anti-snuggle. So, in summary, if we are to judge all female cats by Miz Poo, then male cats are nicer, but female cats are clingier. I’m sure other readers have opinions on this particular subject. Got an opinion? Leave a comment! *In one bowl we mix Science Diet Kitten food and… crap. I don’t remember what we mix with the Science Diet Kitten. Purina One Urinary Tract Health, maybe? Yeah, I think that’s it. And in the other bowl we mix Science Diet Adult with Nutro Max Senior. Because we spoil our cats rotten, in case you hadn’t noticed.
“Hallelujah and praise the lord for belly rubs! CAN I GET A WITNESS?!” “Bwahahaha! Mom thinks she’s going to sit at her computer and type things, but she CAN’T. What does “rapidly portlifying ass” mean, anyway? I think it must be a compliment. Maybe it means “prettiest cat ever”? I always knew I was Mom’s favorite.” “Incredibly good-looking SNOK (single neutered orange kitty) looking for someone to snuggle with. My heterosexual life partner, Tommy, comes as part of the package. I like long walks in the back yard (not too close to the fence, please!), a good stiff snort of catnip every now and then (I have a good supplier), snacks at 7 pm sharp, and peanut-diving when the opportunity arises. No bitchy head-smacking torties need apply. Respond to sugar.buttocks@gmail.com with picture.”
All of today’s uploaded pictures are here.
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Previously 2005: Don’t you wish I was responsible for your books? 2004: I WANT TO FUCKING KNOW WHAT HE SAID. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001.: And almost wet my pants in terror. 2000: So, the nausea continues.]]>

2/15/06

by @ Wednesday, February 15th, 2006. Filed under Life

Grrrrr. That fucking Stephen Deken and his fucking failure to back shit up. Do you know how behind I am in my journal reading? Why, I’m two and a half WEEKS behind in my journal reading, because for almost a week after surgery I wasn’t reading any journals, and I haven’t had a chance to catch up. And when I do find time to read journals, I tend to catch up on one at a time, and do you know how many diary-x journals I read? A LOT. And now I’ll NEVER know what they said, DAMNIT. You diary-xers, you can find a better place than that, trust me. Hell, at this point it’s almost cheaper to buy your own domain and pay for hosting. Okay, I don’t know that it’s cheaper to get your own domain and pay for hosting; I just made that up. But please, for the love of god, ditch that diary-x shit. Get a free account at Opendiary.com! Diaryland! Anywhere! Of course, I guess this means it’ll take a lot less time for me to get caught up on my journal reading, huh?

* * *
So, y’all know that I have a Netflix account, and that I love me some Netflix, right? Well, last week I had it set up just right so that I mailed a movie back to Netflix on Saturday, knowing that at the very top of my queue was In Her Shoes, and since they’d receive the returned movie on Monday, they’d mail out In Her Shoes on Monday, and I’d have it on Tuesday. I was really looking forward to seeing In Her Shoes, since I’d meant to see it in the theater, but I ALWAYS intend to see movies in the theater and never do. Still haven’t seen Brokeback Mountain, and I’m dying to see it! Anyway, Netflix received the movie on Monday just like I figured they would, and sent me an email saying that they were sending In Her Shoes my way, and so all was well in BitchyLand. Then Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday came and went, and no movie. So I went to Netflix and reported it as missing in the mail, checked the box that indicated that I wanted a replacement movie, and waited. That one came two days later, and all was once again well in BitchyLand. Then I got an email from Netflix telling me that they’d received the “lost” movie back in the mail. Which means, I think, that either the envelope got trashed and they couldn’t read who it was supposed to go to, so they sent it back. OR it means that the mailman delivered my damn movie to the wrong damn address, and the person who got it opened it to see what it was, then either watched it and sent it back, or just sent it back. I suspect the latter, personally. Fuckers.
* * *
So, the spud had a Valentine’s Day gift sent to her by her boyfriend (not the one she went to the dance with back in the Fall. He’s a jackass and we don’t like him, got it? The current boyfriend seems okay.). Guess what it was? A balloon. Poor Sugarbutt. I instructed the spud to keep the balloon in her room so as not to traumatize the Sug, but I can only imagine what his little face will look like when he moseys into her room for a nap on her bed, and he sees the dreaded balloon sitting there smiling evilly down at him.
* * *
Miz Poo thinks that cute little Jason Priestly grew up pretty nicely. She’s also aghast that they canceled Love Monkey. Damn them! Sugarbutt must be very, very dirty, because his brothers sure do clean him a lot. Is that a happy Tommy, or what? Tommy was sitting on a pillow on Fred’s lap, and Fred had to get up to do something, so he put Tommy – pillow and all – on the floor. Tommy waited patiently for Fred to come back, in this exact position the entire time.
All of today’s uploaded pictures are here.
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Previously 2005: Collab 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: William Fichtner is a hottie. 2001: I hope I’m not doing serious damage to myself, but if you saw how clean the showers get, you’d know how much it’s worth it. 2000: I highly recommend a warm, purring kitten laying against you when you’re feeling nauseous.]]>

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