* * *
There are many reasons I love my husband – his intelligence, his sense of humor, his hard work, his love of animals, his nice butt (it’s so cute and round and squeezable) – but the thing that makes me look at him with Eyes of Love is his brilliance with computers. That laptop I bought last month and which made me tear my hair out and threaten to sell it on eBay? After hours of hard work on his part, he’s made it work the way it should, so now the wireless network stuff works, I can watch movies on it, and it runs like the wind (a slow middle-of-summer hot and sticky wind, maybe, but it’s much, much improved).
If it weren’t for him, I can promise you this – I’d still be surfing the internet on the $50 286 I bought from Liz’s husband, using a BBS to get online, and never having a clue what web pages look like.
I don’t say it often enough, but I think it every day – thank god (and the internet) that man came into my life.
* * *
It appears as though the house next door has sold. Fred came in from the garden yesterday and said “Someone’s been looking at the house for quite a while.” I went and looked out the kitchen window to see what I could see, and the man who owns the house next door was standing on the porch next to his wife, and they were talking to a man and woman.
“Are they old?” I asked Fred, since I couldn’t see their faces. We’ve been hoping that an older couple would move in next door. A QUIET older couple.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
I peered through the kitchen window some more, then went up to the front room – where there’s a recliner next to the window – and sat down and watched them talk.
I’m such a Gladys Kravitz, I swear to god.
The man appeared to be in his late 40s or early 50s, and the woman appeared to be around our age if not a little younger.
“Is she pregnant?” I asked Fred.
“I don’t know. Yeah, she kind of looks it, doesn’t she?”
I watched some more. “Pregnant or fat, I can’t tell.”
(I’m allowed to say that, since it wasn’t so terribly long ago that I was mistaken as pregnant.)
I watched some more, and they kept standing there and talking. TalkingTalkingTalking. Finally, the woman walked across the front yard.
“She’s walking across the front yard toward the sign!” I said.
And then she pulled up the “for sale” sign and put it behind the house. The two men shook hands, and soon after, they left.
Looks like we’re going to have new neighbors. I hope they’re nice neighbors. I hope they’re quiet neighbors. I hope they’re neighbors who respect property lines. I hope they like cats, since Newt and Maxi like to hang out under their deck. I hope they’re friendly and nice, but not so friendly they get all up in our shit. (The Gladys Kravitz in me hopes they give me something interesting to watch when I’m standing in the kitchen doing dishes.)
When they’ve moved in, I’ll make cookies and take them over and welcome them to the neighborhood. I’ll make Fred go with me, because he’ll fill any awkward silences with babble, and he’s good with strangers.
Y’all keep your fingers crossed for good neighbors, ‘k?
* * *
Good lord, the sound that cicadas make feels like a drill through my brain. We have discarded cicada shells on just about every fence post, I see a fresh new green cicada every once in a while (they’re creepy, but cool looking), and now I think it’s just time for them to get laid, move ON and stop making that goddamn noise.
Speaking of bugs, I discovered a huge-ass spider living behind the coffee maker. Considering how often I clean behind the coffee maker (um… never? I think the last time that coffee maker was pulled out and cleaned behind was in May, when my parents were visiting), that spider’s probably the third generation of spiders who’ve lived back there.
She doesn’t live back there anymore – there was a small web back there with bug debris in it, and as I believe I’ve mentioned many a time, if the spider doesn’t keep her web clean, she’s not welcome.
So I squished her.
Damn bugs.
We had our first bird in the house (first bird brought in by the cats, I mean) yesterday afternoon. I was making dinner and turned around to find Mister Boogers and Sugarbutt circling a very quiet small bird, laying on the carpet with its beak open. I gasped (which always makes Fred mad because it scares him, but I cannot HELP it, it’s an automatic reaction!), and then Fred scooped it up and took it outside. He tried to get it to latch onto a branch in the bush next the porch, but it wouldn’t, so eventually he left it on the ground next to the bush.
Later, it was gone. I don’t know if it flew away or was gotten by a cat or what, but it was gone and its dead body was nowhere around, so I’m happy.
Speaking of birds in the house, I fully expect that one of these days one of those damn chickens is going to come through the cat door. They like to hang out on the back steps (there’s a bowl of water there), and every once in a while when I open the door to go out, Frick is sitting on the top step.
I tell you what, a goddamn chicken comes in the house, she’s going to get booted back outside,
tout de suite. I’m stupidly soft when it comes to spoiling animals, but chickens in the house? NOT GONNA HAPPEN. My floors aren’t always sparkling clean, but they don’t have any damn chicken shit on them, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Bad enough that we’ve got Spot, who reacts to a vacuuming of the entire house by walking onto freshly vacuumed carpet and dropping three pounds of cat fur.
I should make Spot go live in the chicken coop, now that I think about it.
* * *
Yes, miss Maryanne has made herself at home here, but no – we’re not keeping her (I know y’all don’t believe me – but we’re not!). She’s doing her best to fit in, though.
Miz Poo lets her inner hellion glow through her eyes – miss Maryanne does the same.
Mister Boogers hets.
Maryanne hets.
Maryanne’s favorite Anderson cat continues to be Tommy. She LURVES her some Tommy.
* * *
Previously
2006: Hey, as long as she’s going to be an adult about it, right?
2005: “WAIT FOR THE BUS,” I said, then hung up.
2004: I do love the stumpy little bastard, but I wish he hadn’t killed that poor damn bird.
2003: No entry.
2002: Finally, I said “Would you CALM DOWN? I’m not going to divorce Fred and marry the cute waiter. Jesus!”
2001: (Dr. Phil likes to go for the sound bites and has drama queen tendencies, but I love him)
2000: Pictures from Maine.]]>