Brian Ferdman is participating in Mustaches for Kids. That’s right, for the next four weeks, I will be subjecting myself to public humiliation and private doubt by growing what will no-doubt be a ridiculous looking Mustache. In order to justify this endeavor I need your support. Please sponsor my Mustache, El Conquistador, by picking a classroom project from the list to support. And wish me and my Mustache luck.
In my comments for Friday’s entry, m.allen said:
I think you use only Freshstep litter. However, if Challenger’s House has to buy litter, they might be interested in a PetSmart Deal. PetSmart currently has Tidy Cats 35lb scoopable containers on sale for 12.99. They have special containers now that have $5.00 off PetSmart coupons inside. The coupons are good on any PetSmart purchase until 5/2010 with perks card. Also, Purina has blue flyers of coupons as you walk in the door of PetSmart. There is a $2.00 off coupon for any package of Tidy Cats scoopable. It is valid until 11/30/2009. So, with a bit of wheeling and dealing, Tidy Cat will be $12.99 – $2.00 purina – $5.00 PetSmart coupon = $5.99. This works out to about $.17 lb. Freshstep at my Sam’s is 14.49 per 40lb container. It works out to $.36 lb (plus tax).
You do have to buy a container and open it to get the first $5.00 coupon. So there is a bit of work involved but I think it is a good deal.
You may not be interested but if any of your readers are looking for inexpensive shelter donations – this is a good option! Shelters don’t care if the litter has been opened to fish out a coupon. 🙂
That is such a good deal that I wanted to make sure y’all knew about it!
FOAM 8: Food: Jalapeno Jelly. I think I went a little heavy on the food coloring this time around. That is NUCLEAR green, right there.
Outside: Off the side porch into the back yard.
Abstract: Kara’s fur, up close.
Myself: In the recliner in my bedroom. These pictures of myself are starting to all look alike. I need to mix it up!
I have to admit: I’m not entirely sure why this is considered an awkward family photo. I think it’s kind of nice.
On Sunday, Fred and I were both in the computer room talking about something or another. I’m sure it was fascinating. I heard a wasp hit the window, glanced up to see which window it was in, and grabbed a piece of paper towel to grab and squish it. I lifted up the blind, reached my hand (with the piece of paper towel in it) toward the wasp. The wasp reacted by flying at me, and I felt it hit my hand.
Because I am such an utter badass, I ran in place and screamed. Fred turned around to see what the hell I was doing, and then laughed at me. Then I started looking to see where the wasp had gone, so I could grab and squish it. It wansn’t in the window where it had been, it wasn’t in my hair or on my sweatshirt (Fred even checked in the hood of my sweatshirt), it wasn’t in the pocket of my sweatshirt. It wasn’t on the floor or the walls, in any of the windows, none of the cats had gotten it.
It was a total mystery. I shrugged and figured it would show up sooner or later, and headed for the bathroom. Fred followed along, and went past the bathroom into the front room. I had peed and flushed the toilet (and I know if I don’t mention this specifically, SOMEONE will call me on it – YES, I wiped after I peed and before I flushed, okay?) and was saying something to Fred (we do not hold on ceremony in our house, and if it’s only the two of us here, we pee with the door open. I know, I know, it’s horribly disgusting and you’d never do such a thing, but shaddup.)
I was standing and beginning to pull my underwear and jeans up, and then suddenly I felt as though a DEMON FROM THE PITS OF HELL had descended upon my arm and was poking it with his flaming pitchfork. I screamed and danced in place, flinging my arms out. Fred came from the front room just in time to see me, pants around my ankles, pulling my sweatshirt over my head.
And then the DEMON FROM THE PITS OF HELL poked his flaming pitchfork at my wrist, and I screamed again whilst dancing a jig. I got the sweatshirt pulled off, and as I tossed it onto the floor the DEMON FROM THE PITS OF HELL went buzzing by my head.
I screamed again.
“GODDAMN,” I said. “GODDAMN THAT GODDAMN FUCKING THING WAS IN MY FUCKING SHIRT GODDAMN.”
Fred helpfully collapsed against the wall of the hallway and laughed very hard.
I ran out of the bathroom and stood in the hall, pulled up my underwear and jeans, and buckled my belt.
“GODDAMN, GET IN THERE AND KILL IT!” I bellowed.
Fred dutifully went into the bathroom and located the fucking wasp in the window.
“GIVE ME MY SWEATSHIRT BUT CHECK IT FIRST TO MAKE SURE THERE’S NOT ANOTHER WASP IN THERE! GODDAMN,” I bellowed from the computer room.
Fred dutifully checked my sweatshirt for further wasps and then handed it over to me.
In the end, that goddamn wasp was in just the wrong position to be smacked by the fly swatter, so we used the Dyson and sucked it into the canister. I hope it died a horrible, painful death. Fucking fucker.
Would you believe I made it almost to the age of 42 without ever being stung by a wasp or a bee? I had hoped it would be a lifelong non-stinging streak. Fucking wasps.
On the other hand, I’ve probably killed 1,000 of the fucking things, and this is the first time one has stung me. It’s CERTAINLY the first time one has flown up the arm of my shirt and stayed there for several minutes before stinging me.
On the other other hand, I can report that actually, it’s not so bad. It hurt like a motherfucker for three or four minutes, but after that, it didn’t hurt at all unless I pressed right on the spot where the fucking thing stung me. The puncture wound Violet gave me in my thumb with her back claw hurt way worse than that, and for a lot longer.
Maybe I need to foster wasps instead of kittens.
(Too bad wasps aren’t nearly as cute. Also, I bet it would be a bitch to get them adopted out!)
If you didn’t check Love & Hisses over the weekend, you missed some pictures of the kittens I babysat on Saturday – and some awesome True Blood news!
Someone commented yesterday that Gus looks like he might be made solely of dryer lint. When I read that, I laughed out loud because it’s kinda true!
Every morning and evening, when the Wonkas get their snack, Gus is always the first to decide he’s full, and then he comes and finds me (which isn’t hard, I’m always in the chair in the foster room, waiting), and he jumps up on my lap and gets me all to himself for a few minutes. When it’s a choice between eating or getting some love, Gus is a lovah, not an eatah.
The past few days, I’ve been a little worried about Blue (TimTam). She’s a good three ounces lighter than the sibling who’s closest in weight (1 pound, 2 1/2 ounces as of yesterday), she only gained half an ounce over three days, and I swear she just seemed too skinny to me. She’s very active, she plays with her brothers and sisters a lot, she loves to be held and petted, she doesn’t seem to be in distress.
So yesterday she climbed in my lap and meowed up at me, and I had an idea. I picked her up, took her over to the food, and put her in front of it.
She proceeded to eat with gusto.
Last night, same thing. She climbed into my lap, meowed up at me, so I put her in front of the food.
She ate with gusto.
So, it’s not that she doesn’t WANT to eat. It’s that her head is filled with marshmallow fluff and she doesn’t always remember that the plate of food, that she passes 300 times a day, is FOOD and is meant to be eaten. My new plan is to set her in front of the food every time I go into the room. We’ll see if she packs on a few ounces – and hey, maybe one of these days she’ll figure out how to walk over to the plate of food on her own!
The whole bunch. From left to right, in the front that’s Blue (TimTam), Orange (Lorna Doone), and Keebler with the big round eyes. In the back, you know Hydrox and Pink (Milano). Pink actually has a white spot on her head; she looks like someone spilled bleach on her head.
2008: No entry.
2007: “I am NOT ‘ratty looking’ and YOU, M’dme, are a pure-d grade-a gutter slutting WHORE. Good day to you.”
2006: He’s such a know-it-all motherfucker.
2005: Elizabeth Wurtzel strikes me as spectacularly self-absorbed (pot! kettle! black!)
2004: Stuff I’ve bought.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: “Hey!” I said, shaking the cage. “Stop that!”
1999: No entry.