Saturday evening, Fred and I had to leave the house to look for Italian dressing. We were having Pizza Pork Hoagies for dinner on Sunday and I’d cut up the pork chops to marinate in Italian dressing, but then realized I had no damn Italian dressing. We stopped at the Dollar store first, and not … Continue reading “9-22-08”

Saturday evening, Fred and I had to leave the house to look for Italian dressing. We were having Pizza Pork Hoagies for dinner on Sunday and I’d cut up the pork chops to marinate in Italian dressing, but then realized I had no damn Italian dressing.

We stopped at the Dollar store first, and not only did they have Italian dressing, they had THREE kinds of Italian dressing (we opted for the ZESTY! kind), so we bought that and then drove to Closeville. When Fred started replacing our miniblinds with plantation blinds last year, he got the front room, the guest bedroom, and my room done, then stopped completely. I’ve been wanting to get the blinds in the computer room replaced and thus have been harassing him, especially because I want to replace the blinds on the doors with cordless blinds (you use a button on the bottom of the blinds to raise and lower them). The cords on the current blinds are all kinds of in the way during the day, because I like to raise them close to the very top so I can see what’s going on outside, and so there are cords hanging all over the place and it annoys me.

We got to Lowe’s to find out that, naturally, the cordless blinds they have in stock don’t come any longer than 64 inches, and we need 68 inches. And, naturally, the woman who orders blinds was on her lunch break. So we got the blinds for the three windows over my desk and told the blind-cutting people what width we needed them cut in, and then we wandered around the store for half an hour.

But wait, I got off my point. What I meant to say is that before we left the house, I turned to Fred and I said “Do I have any stains on the front of my shirt?”, and Fred looked me over carefully and told me that I did not, I was fine to appear in public.

So when we were in Lowe’s and still under the delusion that we’d be in and out pretty quickly, when they were beginning to cut blinds, Fred pointed down toward the end of the aisle and said “You should go see if they have any inexpensive mirrors that we can hang on the wall in the computer room.”

We want to hang a mirror on the wall near the door of the computer room so that if someone’s coming down the driveway we can just glance in the mirror and see them, rather than having to get up and look out the door. We’re lazy like that. Also, we don’t like surprises. Well, SOME surprises we like so go ahead and send that ten million dollars, but people popping up in front of the computer room door when we’re not expecting it, we don’t like that.

I went down the aisle to the mirrors, and as I usually do, I looked at myself, and then I marched back down the aisle and grabbed Fred’s upper arm very hard and hissed “Remember when I asked you if I had any stains on my shirt?”

“Yes,” he said, looking at the front of my shirt. “Why?”

“It might have been NICE if you’d MENTIONED that I was wearing a BLACK BRA under a LIGHT PINK t-shirt!”

He laughed. “I didn’t notice!”

Me = total class act.

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Many evenings, we feed the pigs their snack and then take a walk around the back forty. Last night, as we approached the ditch that separates the back forty from the front part of our property, Newt came running over and then went all flat in the ditch. We talked to him and he rolled over and presented his belly for rubbing, and then Fred picked him up and carried him for a minute while petting him.

“I think he might have a tick,” Fred said with concern, his fingertip feeling around Newt’s armpit area “We need to check him when we get inside.” Newt gave him an ears-back I get no respect look, and then flailed to be let down so he could follow us into the back yard, as it was just about Snackin’! Time! and he needed to run across the back yard, climb the post, go over the fence to the side yard, and run up on the stoop so he’d be ready when I put his plate of Snackin’! Time! (which he shares with Maxi) on the stoop.

Naturally, we forgot all about the lump in Newt’s armpit, and went off to watch TV.

We were about halfway through Made of Honor (cute, but I honestly don’t remember a damn thing about the movie today, except for the exceptionally HOT Kevin McKidd, ::drool:: ) when Fred paused the movie.

“Shit!” he exclaimed. “We forgot to check Nick for toots!”

I am sad to report that I stared at him and said “Who the hell is Nick?”

We did get up and check Newt’s armpit, eventually. Newt did not appreciate his armpit being probed twice in one day, but he allowed it, and he was tick-free. Apparently the lump Fred had felt was a rash rather than a tick.

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I unexpectedly had a whole chicken the other day and needed to figure out a way to make a good dinner from it, so I made chicken enchiladas and they were DIVINE. Also, simple.

I’ll definitely be making those again!

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Fostering news! The shelter manager told me that Kaylee got herself adopted Friday evening to a nice couple with an older cat. This is good news because yay! My little raccoon got adopted!

This is bad news because boo! My little peanut is sitting in a cage by herself!

I am seriously keeping my fingers crossed that Zoe gets adopted during adoption hours Tuesday night because you KNOW she’s always been my favorite*, and I don’t know that I’ll be able to leave her there if she’s still there on Thursday.

*Okay, they’ve ALL been my favorite from time to time. I don’t like to think of her being alone and scared, though. My poor baby!

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There cannot be enough orange in one’s life.

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2007: No entry.
2006: If I were manic-depressive (wait. Do they call it bipolar now? I haven’t kept up on my psychiatrically politically correct terms lately), I think I would have been considered to be in a manic state yesterday.
2005: Never-ending.
2004: If you had any idea how much time I spent backspacing and retyping words when I write my entries, you’d burst into tears of sympathy.
2003: Who the fuck are Nikki and Paris Hilton, and why would I give a good goddamn what they’re wearing or doing or driving or fucking?
2002: No entry.
2001: You know you’re getting old when you have to ask a 12 year-old girl who’s on the TV.
2000: No entry.