10/6/09 – Tuesday

Did I mention I’m selling jams and hot sauces? The Chunky Caramel-Apple Jam was popular enough that it sold out pretty quickly, leading me to believe that I need to add it to the supply permanently.   * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * … Continue reading “10/6/09 – Tuesday”

Did I mention I’m selling jams and hot sauces?

The Chunky Caramel-Apple Jam was popular enough that it sold out pretty quickly, leading me to believe that I need to add it to the supply permanently.


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We had leftover Roasted Asshole for dinner last night, and it was as fabulous as the first time.

I love me a good juicy Asshole.

(Go back and read yesterday’s entry if you have no clue what I’m talking about, SKIMMER.)


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Jon Gosselin: not only a douchebag, but unable to run that super-complicated spell check.

“Penelty,” indeed. You’d think, knowing that the media would be all over that sign, he’d have thought about double-checking the spelling (or maybe having someone with half a brain double-check it for him while he was busy being douchey.)


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I read in TV Guide last week that over the summer, the average person watched 32.2 hours of TV per week.

32.2 hours? Are you fucking kidding me? THIRTY-TWO HOURS? That average has got to be thrown off by high school students who don’t have anything to do during the summer but watch TV, right? That can’t possibly people who have JOBS, for god’s sake. I don’t have a job, and I’m almost always two weeks behind in my regular TV-watching (with the exception of Grey’s Anatomy). I’ve been working my way through the second season of Gossip Girl for months now (mostly because I don’t watch it unless I’m traveling). I record every episode of Oprah on the DVR, but tend to delete the majority of them without watching because while some of them look like they could be interesting, I don’t want to take the time to watch them. I’ve given up on Jon & Kate Plus 8, because it got boring when Kate decided to stop showing her figurative ass and act like Happy Kate.

Fred and I generally watch about two hours of TV in the evening (and that’s a very generous number – most of the time it’s more like an hour and a half; Sunday night I whined about being tired, so we stopped watching TV at a little after 8, which gave us about an hour of TV time), we’ve lost interest in Survivor and The Amazing Race. We very rarely watch movies in the afternoon on a Saturday or Sunday IF it’s raining out and we have absolutely nothing else to do. I usually sit on the couch and watch TV for about three hours on Friday (and when I’m watching a Real Housewives show, I flip through magazines and half-watch the show). So I figure I’m getting, at the most, about 17 hours of TV in a week. And let me reiterate: I don’t have a job. I can’t imagine trying to cram 32.2 hours of TV into my week.

So roughly how many hours of TV do you watch per week? Thinking about my days, I could probably watch TV after Fred went to bed, or maybe watch TV in the afternoon instead of reading for an hour or so while warm purring kittens are piled atop me.


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Yesterday morning, I got up and showered and dressed, and then headed downstairs to feed the Wonkas. I was going to get some baby food for the True Bloods, because even though they don’t particularly need it, I still give them some baby food as an early morning treat.

I spoil my fosters, y’know.

When I headed downstairs, one of the True Bloods (I’m pretty sure it was Sam) had his paw sticking out under the door. Elwood was in the hallway, sniffing at Sam’s paw.

I got downstairs, opened the back door to let our cats into the back yard, and started calling for Tom, so I could put his collar on him. When I couldn’t find him in the back part of the house, I decided to check upstairs for him. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, Sam came trotting down the stairs.

“Wha?” I said, wondering if somehow he’d been out of the foster room all night without my realizing it. Stranger things have happened.

And then Bill came trotting down the stairs, followed by Hoyt and Terry. I went upstairs and looked, and the door to the foster room was wide open.

I don’t know who or how, but either a True Blood or Elwood (or perhaps both, working as a team) had gotten the door open.

It didn’t happen this morning, so I’m thinking (hoping) it was a one-time thing. We’ll see about that! Maybe we’ve got some little Houdinis on our hands.


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I’m pretty sure that Elwood thinks he’s a True Blood. He can usually be found in the middle of a bunch of them, playing. He is going to miss them in a big way when they’ve gone off to be adopted! (Please note Lafayette over to the side, complaining about something. Doesn’t he look like he’s in great emotional pain?)

Jake’s a fan of the True Bloods, too.

Terry and Sam, in the cat bed on the chair in my bedroom.

A sprawl o’ kittens.


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The Wonkas are doing well – I’ve seen them all eating Babycat crunchy food right from the dish as well as canned food, so I know they won’t starve to death. I should probably wean them off the bottle, but have I mentioned that I spoil my bratty fosters? They’re just so HAPPY when they’re sucking down their bottle, and they always look so hopeful when they see me coming into the room. And now that they’ve figured out that whole latching-on thing, they are so EASY to bottle-feed. I’m going to spoil them just a little while longer. DON’T JUDGE ME.

“Auntie Hyacinths says you HAVE to spoil me and give me the bottle whenever I want it!”

“I would be very sad if you stopped giving me the bottle, and the internets would call Kitty Protective Services on you!”

“I was just checking out my box, and I heard someone say there’s a bottle in the room?!”

“I am a wee starving kitteh, and I want my bah-bah!”

Look at that smug little face!


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Pretty, pretty Gracie. (I know I don’t put up enough pictures of the dogs. Therefore, the rest of this week I’ll include dog pics at the end of the entry! You’re welcome.)


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2008: Pretty batshit crazy, as it turns out.
2007: No entry.
2006: You all have my full permission to skip the boring stuff to get to the cute kitten stuff.
2005: I forsee a lot of spud-teasing this evening.
2004: Phil Hellmuth is a whiny little bitch.
2003: “And then he told me he likes to have sex with you in the break room every day at 11!” he lied.
2002: No entry.
2001: Recovery.
2000: No one ever said I had a long attention span!