First things first, I LOVED the Sex and the City movie. All it was, was a super-sized episode of the show with some endings and some beginnings and it was exactly what I expected and hoped for. I actually kind of hate the fact that we know Big’s name now, though. Also, if you’re going … Continue reading “6/17/08”

First things first, I LOVED the Sex and the City movie. All it was, was a super-sized episode of the show with some endings and some beginnings and it was exactly what I expected and hoped for.

I actually kind of hate the fact that we know Big’s name now, though. Also, if you’re going to have a movie hinge on the fact that emails are coming from john@jjpny.com, hello? Should you maybe be sure that there’s a WEB SITE at jjpny.com, maybe? They at least threw something up over at CarrieBradshaw.com.

I adored Jennifer Hudson in this movie.

Almost every time Charlotte came on the screen I teared up because I LOVE CHARLOTTE.

I preferred Carrie’s apartment before the redecoration.

I am astounded that Bag Borrow or Steal is a real thing.

And lastly, they were only shown for a brief instant, but I believe that Carrie had something over the ends of her keys to differentiate them from each other – ie, the key to her apartment had a little house-shaped thingy that slipped over the end of her key. Did anyone else see that, and do you know where I can get that sort of thing? ME WANT.

Someone asked if I watched the show when it was on – I did, I watched every episode. Seeing this movie was like seeing old friends and I loved it. I’m seriously considering going to see it again. I didn’t want it to end.

I was the ONLY one in the movie theater, which makes me think that Monday afternoon matinees might be the way to go from here on out. Maybe I’ll start going to the movies every Monday. Movie Monday! Why not, right?

The only down side is that the friggin’ theater was SO FUCKING COLD. Like 55 degrees. I thought to bring a sweatshirt but didn’t think to bring socks, and I ended up with the sweatshirt pulled down over my knees and alternated tucking my feet up underneath me.



Oh right, the whole bullshit “Samantha gains 15 pounds, the horror!” storyline. Please. And that whole throwaway “Well you’re fabulous of course at any size, Samantha, that goes without saying, but my CHRIST, when you gained the first pound and a half, how were you able to LIVE with yourself?!” line. PLEASE.

That bullshit could have – should have – been cut completely from the movie. Because I’m sorry, who the fuck notices when someone else gains 15 pounds? SERIOUSLY? I assure you, if I see you in real life on any kind of regular basis, I am far too self-involved and concerned about the size of my own ass to notice the size of yours. And I can monitor the size of my own ass quite well, thank you, I don’t need you to monitor it for me. Shove it up your ass, if you don’t mind, CARRIE BRADSHAW.

I can just about guarantee that if you’ve gained less than 50 pounds, I haven’t noticed. And if you’ve gained more than 50 pounds, I might notice there’s something different about you. Maybe you got your hair cut? And even if I did notice that you’ve gained weight, I probably figured that you might have realized it and didn’t need me to point it out SO VERY HELPFULLY to you. I can’t remember one time in my entire life when it was pointed out to me that I was fat that I didn’t want to go on a stabbing rampage.


I figure the size of my ass is my business. If you don’t get to see it unclothed on a regular basis, there’s no way on god’s green earth it can possibly be any goddamn business of yours. (And I recognize the ridiculousness of someone who has written extensively about her own weight saying such a thing. But I share what I choose to share. Or that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.)

To quote Pepper, When my wife’s aunt asked if I had gained weight, I asked her what kind of social rules she lives by that make that question acceptable.



So, I stopped by TJ Maxx on my way to the movies yesterday, because I need a new comforter. I love the one I got from JC Penney a few months ago, but the problem is that I have CATS who are ASSHOLES and their claws get caught in the threads of the comforter and it’s just a big freakin’ mess. So I stopped at TJ Maxx to look for a new one. The new TJ Maxx is in Madison (they closed the one I used to go to in Huntsville near the mall), and I have to say, I liked the old one better. They had a better selection of comforters and bedspreads; now they’ve got nothin’.

From TJ Maxx, I went over to Kohl’s. I needed to pick up some shaping undergarments (after my appointment with the surgeon next week, I get to go from the binder, which is ANNOYING THE SHIT OUT OF ME because it won’t stay put, to shaping undergarments) and look at the comforters and pick up some sheets for the guest bed. I found a comforter I liked, I found the shaping undergarments I wanted, and I found some sheets.

The total at the register was a bit more than I’d expected, but I paid it and when I went out to the parking lot, I looked at my receipt to see what was up, and I found that the two – TWO – pillow cases I’d bought to go along with the set of sheets I’d bought were THIRTY-FIVE GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING DOLLARS. For two pillow cases! What the fuck?!

I actually said that out loud in the parking lot “What the fuck?!” I said, and then was greeted by a disapproving harrumph from an old man sitting in a nearby car. I wanted to say “Go fuck yourself old man, if you’d just paid THIRTY GODDAMN FIVE FUCKING DOLLARS for two pillow cases, you’d be swearing out loud in the parking lot, too!”, but I didn’t. Those pillow cases and sheets will be going back to Kohl’s, believe you me. That’s fucking ridiculous. The pillow cases cost as much as the sheets!


So I went to the movies, and after the movies I went to Sam’s to pick up more packets of Splenda and some other stuff (including the new Lincoln Rhyme and Jack Reacher books, woohoo!), and then I stopped by the post office (I really need to get a PO Box closer to home) and then headed home.

There is a long country road between Madison and Smallville that is the most direct and quickest way to get home. Except that it is a long country road and many times there is farm equipment driving down that long country road. And despite the fact that there’s a lot of commuter traffic going down that long country road at 4:50 on a Monday afternoon, it was apparently deemed a Very Good Idea for some big fucking piece of fucking farm equipment to take a mosey on down that road. I generally drive down that long country road at about 50 miles per hour. Yesterday, I drove the majority of that road at 20 miles per hour. There were 15 cars between the fucking piece of fucking farm equipment and my car, not to mention plenty of traffic coming from the other direction, so there was no passing to be done. I should have turned off and taken the long way home at any number of turnoffs, but I was SO sure that the goddamn farm equipment-driving asshole would either pull over or turn off at any minute that I just kept on chugging along.

It never pulled over or turned off, and I was ready to have a fucking stroke by the time I pulled into my driveway. I parked the car as close to the side stoop as I could, and I got an armload of stuff to carry inside (a light armload, don’t lecture me), and I walked up the steps and reached out to open the door but OF COURSE it was locked. Despite the fact that Fred was home and within view of the house (he was cutting the back forty with the tractor.), he’d locked the side door. I had to juggle the shit I was carrying and unlock the door, and as soon as I stepped over the threshold, everything I was carrying went tumbling to the floor.

I swore a blue streak, threw my keys across the room, and stomped out to get the rest of the shit that needed to come inside. And then I retrieved my keys and parked my car in the driveway in front of the garage.

“Oh OF COURSE the side door would be locked, oh of course, because apparently EVERYONE IN THIS GODDAMN TOWN cannot wait to get INSIDE OUR HOUSE, according to MY HUSBAND, oh they’re DYING to get inside the house and there’s just a LINE of people ready to bust into our house and steal our shit with him right there in clear view of the house! OF COURSE. And I don’t CARE if he spent Sunday cleaning out my side of the garage so I can park in the garage. I DON’T WANT TO PARK IN THE GARAGE AND HE CAN GO FUCK HIMSELF IF HE WANTS ME TO PARK IN THE GARAGE!”

And then I was putting the stuff I’d bought away and he came in all happy and greeted me and I went off on him and he laughed at me and then we ate dinner and I felt better.

But once the Hate Train gets rolling, it’s hard to bring it into the station and leave it there, so I spent the rest of the evening swearing about pretty much everything, including the fact that Tommy refused to come in at Snackin’! Time! (I went to the back door, all the other cats milling around me excitedly, and I was all “Tommy! Snackin’! Who ready for the snackin’!” and he looked at me and yawned and I yelled “Fine then, fuck you!” and slammed the door shut. And then I was pissed because I always give each cat their snack in a certain spot so they each have enough room and aren’t all up in each others’ shit, and EVERY FUCKING NIGHT they’re all “Where my snack? My snack over here? This must be my snack NOM NOM NOM!” and I have to push Joe Bob away from Sugarbutt and Tommy’s snack and show him where HIS snack is, EVEN THOUGH I DO IT THE SAME EVERY GODDAMN NIGHT, and we always talk about how Spanky is the dumbest cat we’ve ever known, but EVERY NIGHT he waits patiently in his spot for his plate o’ snack while the other fuckheads mill around stupidly.

And then, I don’t know. I hated on credit card companies and banks and what assholes Big Banks and Big Business are (this hatred brought on by a viewing of the first half of Maxed Out) and then we went out to put the chickens up and one of the babies was wandering around making a sad cheeping noise like “I think I’m lost? Hellew? Where my Momma?” and The Cute put me in a good mood, and then we went for a walk around the back forty, stopping to see the pigs, and to feed them some chocolate we bought for them over the weekend at the Russell Stover store* and they were all “You has for us the chocolate to nom?”, and they got all drooly and happy when Fred fed them their chocolate and GODDAMN they stink, but they’re certainly entertaining.

So the day ended up pretty good, which it usually is around here. Just sometimes, you’ve gotta bitch. Y’know?

*Lest you think we only feed those bastards chocolate and cake and crappy food, let me tell you that 9/10ths of what they eat is Pig Chow and vegetables left over from last year’s harvest and leftovers from Fred’s mother and stepfather. But they like chocolate and I like our future food sources to be happy, so what can I say?



Today’s kitten movie is of them playing on that cat toy I got from another shelter volunteer. It came from Target, and they think it’s the best thing EVER.

You can see it here in MPG version.

Over the weekend, Fred started feeling really bad about the fact that Kara and her babies have been stuck in one room (well, one room and a very big closet) for the past eight weeks. We wanted to let them out into the house, but Kara’s still so protective that seeing our cats stresses her out and puts her in fight mode (see: the kicking of Mister Boogers’ ass). So we started brainstorming, and I was all about the idea that we should build something to put at the top of the stairs to prevent our cats from coming upstairs and Kara and her babies from going downstairs, and then I was all about the idea of putting a door at the top of the stairs, and then Fred came up with the most obvious, simplest solution (that wouldn’t require anything permanent to be mounted): baby gates.

After I got groceries on Sunday, I swung by Wal-Mart and made the purchase. When I got home, we tried it out.

To say that it was a hit would be an understatement. The babies LOVED having more room to race around and more things to climb (my bed, the recliner in my room, the bottom shelf of the bookcase; they love to get into the bathtub and chase each other around), and Kara just flat-out loved being out of that damn room. In fact, she was so super friendly and happy that I thought she was going into heat (false alarm, it turned out).

Sunday and yesterday, I let them out for a few hours in the morning and another few hours at night. I would have let them stay out all day yesterday, except that the gates don’t totally cover the doorway and Sunday night Tommy tried to climb them and I was going to be gone for a few hours, and didn’t want to think of the tragedy of Tommy climbing over the gates, going upstairs and getting his ass killed.

Today, I’ll probably let them stay out all day and see how that goes. So far, the pattern seems to be, I let them out, they race around for an hour, and then lay down in various places (my bed being a popular place) and go to sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat.

After I let them out this morning, I put the Roomba in the foster kitten room and let it do its thing. The girls scattered, but River decided he was the big, strong man and needed to keep an eye on things. From a DISTANCE, that is.

There was so much cat hair embedded in the carpet that I had to empty the dustpan twice before it could finish the room. And it is NOT a big room!

More kitten pics over at Flickr.



Newtie say, “Hellew.”



2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: And I so desperately wanted to say “Did I see? Yes. Do I care? No.”
2004: Ten
2003: I’ve never been the patient sort.
2002: Damn YahooGroups.
2001: No entry.
2000: I’ve always felt that I have a lucky life.