So, I got my hair cut yesterday – it kind of desperately needed it, it had gotten pretty long – and then I stopped by Kohl’s on the way home to see if I could find any sort of sleep pants to wear around the house ’til the swelling in my belly goes down to a reasonable level and I can wear pants again.
I ended up with a $5 pair of purple velour pants. Heh.
When I got home, I put my oversized sleep pants and sweatshirt back on (it’s nice to go out in public, but it’s nice to get my comfy clothes back on, too. Stupid swollen guts. I BLAME YOU, UTERUS!) and puttered around for a little while before turning on the Blu Ray player and putting the last disc of Californication, season 2, in the player. The player thought and thought and thought and then spit the DVD back out. I was all “GODDAMN BLU RAY PLAYER!” and put the disc back in.
This time, I thought to actually pick up the disc and look at it. It was fucking CRACKED. I was all:
“Motherfucker say WHAAAAT?”
But it was okay, because I had some episodes of Ellen on the DVR, and that kept me entertained until Fred got home.
I made dinner last night (it’s not an issue, as long as Fred gets out the pots and pans I need and puts them on the stove so I don’t have to lift them), it was a true Crooked Acres meal. We had pork chops, zucchini pie, and corn on the cob. It was AWESOME. I don’t know if it’s possible to mess up cooking the pork chops we have, because all I do is rub them with spices and then cook ’em in nonstick pan. They come out fantastic every single time.
The zucchini pie was made from zucchini I dehydrated last summer (I rehydrated it in warm water for about an hour before I put the zucchini pie together), and I made it without a crust and it was still fabulous. But seriously, zucchini, onion, and cheese – how can you possibly go wrong?
The corn was a bit chewy (I think I overcooked it), but still not bad, in the scheme of things.
So anyway, later in the evening, Fred was eating his snack of bran flakes in front of his computer, and he suddenly had to get up and go do something (break up a cat fight, I’m thinking), and when he got back to his desk, Elwood was bellied up to the bowl of bran flakes, slurping up the milk.
“Get away from there!” Fred said, half amused and half annoyed. He’s such a bad boy.” I turned and saw that Fred was holding Elwood so that Elwood’s belly was pointed toward me. I cannot resist a fluffy belly, so I reached out and squeezed it.
Elwood, that motherfucker, react by digging his back claws into my hand, and I ended up with a painful puncture wound in my right pinky, and I was all:
“Motherfucker that HUUUUUURT!!!!”
Of course, it’s my own damn fault, because you’d think by now I’d know better than to grab the fluffy belly of a cat. How many times do I have to be injured before that lesson sinks in, you suppose?
*Please note: In the week after I had surgery, something got fucked up, and I wasn’t receiving your comments in my email for that time. It’s since been fixed, and it’s likely that there are comments I didn’t see, even though I went back and read them.
If you left a question, and I haven’t answered it, whether in the comments section or this entry, feel absolutely free to ask again!
We live on a busy street so I really don’t want Snickers to go outside, but he is determined. Whenever we leave he is right at the door trying to sneak past us. At night, when I gather up the newspapers to put in the garage recycling bin, all he has to hear is the papers rattling and he tears for the door no matter what part of the house he is in. We always have to be “on alert” for a possible breakout. What can I do to discourage this behaviour? Of course, he has a pet chip and collar, but it’s the traffic I worry about. Any help would be appreciated.
In the past, we’ve kept a can of compressed air by the door to discourage cats who were insistent on going outside, and it helped deter them from trying to run out the door. I don’t know that that’ll work with a particularly insistent cat, though, so I’m throwing this out to the readers – suggestions, y’all?
So will you go into menopause now?
Technically, since menopause is defined as The time in a woman’s life when menstrual periods permanently stop, then yeah, I’m in menopause. I think you’re probably asking whether I’ll have the lovely symptoms that indicate one is going through menopause, though, the hot flashes, mood swings, night sweats, trouble concentrating and all that. If we’re able to get my hormones regulated properly, then I shouldn’t have to deal with those issues, or at least I’m hoping I won’t. So far, I haven’t had any hot flashes (THANK GOD), and I don’t believe I’ve been particularly irritable. It’s still kind of early, though – two weeks and two days, uterus-free, woohoo! – so we’ll see how it goes.
Glad you are feeling better! Every female on my mom’s side of the family will exit this world without their gallbladder or female reproductive organs (endo, c-section issues, etc.) and they all live to be like 100 (knock on wood).
Now, that’s what I like hearing!
Also, when my brother had major hand surgery a few years ago, he woke up claiming he saw my (deceased) grandpa (who was the anesthesiologist, apparently) and BEGGING for his pants. He claimed that someone stole them while he was asleep and that he needed his pants or something horrible could happen (he was SO stoned).
They do steal your underwear if you go in with them on…bastards.
This cracked me UP. I always wonder if I’m going to wake up after surgery and be freaked out. Hasn’t happened yet, but there’s always a first time, right?
How are you managing to keep cats off your lap while you are recovering? I know if I spend more than 3 minutes laying on the couch, esp if I have a blanket, I am fighting off my two furry beasts like I was covered in tuna.
Until yesterday, every time I sat or lay down, I’d have a full-sized bed pillow over my abdomen. In addition, I had a can of compressed air nearby, and any time I sensed a cat thinking about climbing on me, I’d shake it in their general direction. It worked really well – all the cats behaved themselves EXCEPT for Miz Poo, who has a deep-down need to be up in my shit as much as possible. I’m recovered enough now that even if a cat bounced across my stomach I should be okay, but I’m still pretty vigilant about making sure that doesn’t happen.
If you think of it, could you post a photo of the tin that the popcorn came in, or measurements? Walmart and other similar -mart type stores used to sell tins of popcorn around Christmas time which came in sizes of “enormous,” “super-jumbo-tron,” and “holy shit, are you fucking kidding me?!”
Here ’tis, with Jake and Elwood to give you some idea of the size (I really should have taken a shot more from the front of the tin than from the top, I’m thinking!). It measures 8 inches high, and 10 inches across. Can you believe there’s still that much popcorn left? Fred asked me to hide it from him because he was grabbing a handful every time he went into the kitchen. In the act of hiding it from him, I kind of ended up hiding it from myself, and how delighted was I to remember that it’s there? SO delighted, believe me!
I’m glad to hear that this is behind you. You are such a trooper. You seem to breeze through surgery. Do you really not get anxious? I am so envious of people who recover nicely. I am a WUSS about surgery. I do not handle anesthesia well, and am a slow waker upper. I can’t handle narcotics (they make me puke). Not a good combination. I wish I could be one of those people who woke up easily (enjoying the nap) and could take the pain meds, enjoying the ride….For the record, I am a NURSE, you’d think I’d have a better GRIP, eh??? I love your uterus talk. Cracks me up!
This is how I am, anxiety-wise: I am perfectly fine with all aspects of surgery right up until the time I get into the hospital gown and into the bed in pre-surgery. Then I get REALLY nervous. When I went in this time, I was laying there, just this side of terrified, and I was thinking “I’m never this nervous! What if my instincts are trying to tell me something?! MAYBE I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!!!”
Then I remembered that I ALWAYS pretty close to terrified at this point before surgery – when I went in for my weight loss surgery, I was on the verge of getting up and leaving right up to the point where they wheeled me off to surgery.
I think I completely forgot to mention, by the way, that this is the first surgery I’ve had where I felt no nausea at all the next morning. I’m wondering if that has something to do with the fact that I had a cup of chicken broth and a cup of jello the evening after surgery? Maybe the nausea has been caused by hunger?
After Fred’s sister told him (before I had surgery) that I would be bed-bound for two weeks after surgery, Fred scoffed and said “No she won’t! She comes from sturdy Yankee stock!”
Of course, what Fred fails to remember is that on my mother’s side I come from sturdy Yankee stock, and on my father’s side is the man who a few years ago was like TWENTY FEET in the air trimming a tree, fell OFF the ladder, practically ripped his arm off, and DROVE himself to the emergency room. He’s also the man whose gallbladder was basically mush and, according to the doctor, had to have been feeling pain from gallbladder attacks for about a year before the pain got so bad he requested my mother take him to the emergency room.
In other words, on one side I’m sturdy Yankee stock and on the other side I’m stoic ignore-it-and-it’ll-go-away Southerner.
My people don’t take kindly to lollygagging.
Tell the kitties they have to scoop their boxes themselves.
Oh, Fred’s the scooper these days. I originally told him that I thought I could get back to scooping at about two weeks after surgery, but since I do NOT want to do irreparable damage to myself, I let him know that it’s going to be a while longer. (It’s not the actual scooping that’s the issue, it’s the bending AND scooping AND lifting, and having to do it for five litter boxes, twice a day!)
Do NOT be tempted to vacuum or do any other domestic chore. I decided a couple of weeks after my hysterectomy that I’d wash the floors. And promptly slipped on the wet floor and it HURT! Vacuuming wasn’t much fun either.
I am not touching that vacuum until I’ve been cleared at my six-week visit. And then you better believe that I’ll be vacuuming like a motherfucker!
Love the sound of that popcorn. We don’t have fancy schmancy pop corn like that down under (although I stand to be corrected if any antipodean readers know of a source).
Come on, Australians, SURELY you guys have some fancy popcorn? Share the knowledge!
When you wrote that Stinkerbelle didn’t like to go out, it reminded me of the first cat I had after getting married (Punkin, she lived to be 20 years old!) Punkin insisted on going out to roam a few hours every day, always returned before night. If I didn’t let her out, she’d go nuts — climbing the door trim, yowling, etc (and she was spayed early on). Anyhow, after about 5 years, one day I let her out — and instead of taking off like a shot, she sat on the porch awhile, looking around. Went out into the yard, sniffed at the grass a couple of times, then came back to the door. And that was it — she NEVER wanted outside again. I even put her on the porch a couple times, and she would zoom right back into the house. I guess she decided she was “retired” from outdoors, and preferred being inside!
I love that!
Maxi has been spending a LOT of time inside lately. In fact, I think she went almost five days without stepping outside at all. She’s spending her nights inside, and even over the weekend when it was warm and sunny out, she had no desire to go outside. It’s very weird, because over the past three years, she’s been outside more than in; even on the coldest nights, she’s preferred to stay outside all night and just come in long enough to warm up and eat.
I suggested to Fred that maybe she’d had a run-in with something (a dog or raccoon) and it scared her, but now I’m thinking maybe she’s decided it’s time to retire from being an outside cat!
Love the pics of Newtles. He looks like he has taken to regular meals juuuusst fine. Or is that winter weight?
I think it’s just winter weight – he and Maxi both generally slim down a bit in the summer. But make no mistake – Newt does adore his regular meals!
When i had my full hysterectomy in 1995, it wasn’t laparoscopic. When I woke up in recovery, a nurse came over to tend to me. She had a list of questions to ask me, and one of the first she asked was, “Is there any chance you may be pregnant?” I stared at her and responded, “Not if y’all did your job right!”
This reminds me that before surgery, they had me pee in a cup, and after the IV had been started, the nurse came in and said “Well, you’re not pregnant!” Um, yeah, good goddamn thing, I guess, huh?
HEY! In addition to all the other good stuff (no more pap smears, no more worries of ever developing endometrial/ cervical/ ovarian cancer, no more periods EVER), this means I’ll never have to take another pregnancy test again!
Did we all mention how much we missed you last week?
That cracked me UP!
I have to admit that I didn’t read any comments this time because there were just too many – BUT – to answer your question re: Californication – my husband watched and watches all episodes on NinjaVideo.net . It’s not a “trusted” site yet, and you have to download an applet to play it. But he watches movies that are still in the theaters! (Also, we haven’t had any problems with it.)
I think I’m going to have to get over my dislike of watching movies and TV shows on my laptop! (And thanks for the tip!)
Was Stinkerbelle always… less-than-social? Or did she grow into her attitude?
Stinkerbelle was actually the worst of a litter of four of the MOST feral kittens we’ve ever had (pics of all of them here). The fact that we are actually allowed to occasionally pet her these days is a source of endless amazement for me. In fact, all of her siblings went to the adoption center before she did, because we thought she needed more socialization. As soon as she was alone in the foster room, her attitude changed completely (thus proving the concept that separating feral kittens from each other changes the way they interact with humans). We kept her for a while longer (a few days, I think), then I took her to the adoption center.
A few days after that (possibly even the next day, it’s been 2 1/2 years and I don’t remember the specifics), I had my regular stint at the adoption center, cleaning out cages, and I made the mistake of reporting to Fred that it looked like she’d spent the entire night digging at the door, trying to get out of her cage.
That was all she wrote. Fred, who was half in love with her to begin with (he’s a sucker for a blue-eyed girl), demanded that I let him stop on the way home and get her. I eventually gave in, and she came home with him that night.
Her name was originally “Maryann” (we went with a “Gilligan’s Island” naming theme, kinda), and when Fred suggested “Stinkerbelle” as a new name, we both laughed. She’s been Stinkerbelle ever since.
Her deep love for Tommy has never wavered, either. BOY she loves her some Tommy, and has from the first moment she laid eyes upon him. Poor Tommy – it ain’t easy being The Ambassador.
2009: “What’s this ’sit’ they keep saying to me?!”
2008: “You (kick) are such (kickkick) an asshole (kickkickkick) get in that goddamn house!”
2007: Christ, what a weekend we had.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: God, why why WHY do women do this to themselves?
2003: A Day in the Life of Spanky.
2002: No entry.
2001: Saturday was my dumbass day.
2000: No entry.