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3/31/10 – Wednesday

by @ Wednesday, March 31st, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life, Picture Entries

Photo entries all this week in an effort to clear off my hard drive. Of course, I keep taking pictures, so that’s not helping at all.

 

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The Problem with Warm & Sunny Days.


The problem with warm and sunny days


is that the cats hate when it’s warm and sunny. Hate it.


…loathe…


…despise….


…detest…


…abhor…


…scorn…


I mean, come on.


Seriously.


Have you ever seen such miserable cats in your entire life?


No one should have to live like this.

 

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“There are no babies here. Move along. Wait. Bring me a snack and THEN move along.”

 

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A rare shot of all four. Corbett’s refusing to look at the camera, though. Brat.


::thlurrrp::


He may be little, but Corbett is old enough to enjoy a good fart joke. He’s weak with laughter. WEAK, I tell you!


Sweet pink kitten belly? Check.
Kitten toes? Present and accounted for.
Kitten wondering how he got in this particular position? Got it.
Second kitten clearly thinking “Just what in tarnation is going ON back there?!” All set.
World domination to commence in 3…2…1…


Reacher notes that that talon is a leeeeettle too close to his eye. Luckily, he’s got cat-like reflexes (ha!) and was able to close that eye before any eyeball-poking could happen.


Oy, the stripes!

 

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Previously
2009: (reCOOPerating, HA HA!)
2008: Shea Butters would be an excellent stripper name.
2007: No entry.
2006: It was so friggin’ cute I made Fred listen to it, too.
2005: I have my finger on the pulse of pop culture, apparently.
2004: A day in the life.
2003: What makes me crazy.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Okay, enough of the wallowing.

3/30/10 – Tuesday

by @ Tuesday, March 30th, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life

As a reminder, I’m doing photo entries all this week because I LOVE YOU.

 

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The Chickens of Crooked Acres.


This rooster is part Americauna – which I only know because Fred told me so, and which Fred knows because we’ve suddenly had a proliferation of blue eggs in the big coop. The rooster apparently determines whether the eggs are blue or not. Or something. I wasn’t really listening.


Brahma rooster (in the back) does not care for Americauna rooster. Americauna rooster is casually sauntering away from (the much larger) Brahma rooster very very fast. But he is not running, because he is NOT SCARED OF NO BRAHMA.


Teeny tiny Silkie hen. I tried to get a picture of her next to a Brahma so you could see how very tiny she actually is, but she was uncooperative.


“What?”


You’ve met Sassy McGee (the pain in the ass who sleeps in the big chicken yard and spends her days free-roaming around the property. At least she stays on our property and doesn’t wander onto the neighbor’s lawn, I’ll say that for her.). This is Sissy McGee, our second free-roaming hen. It’s entirely possible that she’s one of Sassy’s chickens – it’s hard to know. She likes to scratch around under the bird feeders and eat up any seed left behind by the wild birds.

 

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YOU BETTER WORK IT.

 

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I’m sorry, how could you possibly resist the striped belly o’ Corbett?


Reacher’s a kitten on the move. The instant he sees me (or becomes aware that I’ve entered the room), he races over to howl at me. This makes it somewhat difficult to get a shot of all four kittens.

 

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Reacher, minding his own business, happens upon a crime scene.


“Kind sir!” cries Corbett, reaching out in desperation. “Can’t you please help me?”


“Well, goodness me, no,” says Reacher. “I am but an innocent passer-by who prefers not to get involved.”
“I do not know WHO you think you’re fooling,” says Corbett. “You’re a former military police officer who wanders the country with nothing but a toothbrush and the clothes on your back, but you couldn’t mind your own business if your life depended on it. Now get over here and save me!”


“By god,” says Reacher. “I do believe you are correct! I do have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, don’t I? Now pardon me while I take care of this scoundrel and get involved in a conspiracy that does not involve me in any way, shape or form. I will be the only one with the steely-eyed determined intelligence to identify and solve the problem. Solving this problem will undoubtedly require gunfire and perhaps explosions, and certainly I will need to make sweet love to the first hapless – yet incredibly insightful and brilliant – woman who stumbles across my path. Also, have I mentioned that despite the fact that it’s rare for two clocks to ever agree on the exact current time to the minute, somehow I will always know the precise time of day, no matter how many time zones I’ve crossed, how much torture I’ve been through, how much whiskey I’ve slammed down, and how concerned I am over the location of my toothbrush?”
Rhyme: “Huh?”

(Please note: the above might mean nothing to you if you’ve never read any of Lee Child’s Reacher novels.)

 

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Tommy and Sugarbutt really believe in claiming their space. And everyone else’s space too, while they’re at it.

 

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Previously
2009: IT WASN’T WATER AT ALL.
2008: No entry.
2007: Love you! Mean it!
2006: I am absolutely the last person on Earth you want in the vicinity if there’s an emergency.
2005: Questions answered.
2004: I am absolutely stunned that… I frankly couldn’t give less of a shit.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: I have to wonder, what the hell do all you skinny people do?
2000: Yes, this is a lame, short entry, but since y’all love me, you’ll be back. Right?

3/29/10 – Monday

by @ Monday, March 29th, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life, Picture Entries

All this week, in honor of the fact that I have a million and seventy-three pictures sitting on my hard drive waiting to be shared with you lucky people, I am going to do all-picture entries.

You’re welcome!

 

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Signs of spring – and pics from around Crooked Acres and beyond.


We were going to Nearville yesterday to walk along the river, and as we drove down the highway, I saw a coyote sitting by a large patch of undergrowth, calmly grooming him/herself. “That – there – coyote!” I sputtered at Fred. “Just sitting there! Grooming himself!” Fred turned the car around, and we slowly drove by the spot where I’d seen the coyote. Of course, the instant the poor thing saw us slowwwwly driving by, he jumped up and fled.


Hawk over the chicken yard.


Cardinal, wondering if I’m ever going to fill up the damn bird feeders.


MOCK!


Ever vigilant.


“What YOU lookin’ at, lady?”


The river we walked along yesterday. We’ve kayaked here extensively in the past. We haven’t been kayaking in a few years, but we’re definitely going to be doing it this year.

 

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“Really? You’re sure you want to try touching the belly again? Are you unaware that I have razor-sharp claws and I KNOW HOW TO USE THEM?”

 

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I had no idea when I bought this carrier that it was going to be such a huge amount of fun for the babies. Best toy EVER, apparently!


“That’s right, I done it, copper. I done it, and I’d do it again. I was loopy on catnip, no judge in the world is going to convict me. They’ll send me to rehab, I’ll come out clean and UNREPENTANT. So get out those cuffs and slap ’em on, I AIN’T SCARED.”


“What’s going on over THERE?”


“I wants to climb Mt. Carrier, but I needs a nap first…”

 

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“::fume:: They think I don’t KNOW there’s a pea under there. They think I don’t KNOW they don’t believe that I am of royal descent. When I am back in my castle, I will order all their deaths, and I will laugh and laugh and laaaaaaaaugh. Testing the patience of King Spanky. PEASANTS.”

 

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Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: (“Why, Robyn, you only sounded like a PARTIAL idiot! I was amazed!”)
2006: “What IS that? Some kind of GODDAMN NICKNAME? You fucking heartless freak? You want me to kick your ass to Seattle, or you want to confess right now, jackass?”
2005: A day in the life.
2004: Naturally, the mental note got lost in the mental clutter, so I forgot she was in there, and only remembered when it had been a few hours and I hadn’t seen her.
2003: No entry.
2002: Don’t look at me like that.
2001: Of COURSE he falls in love with her inner beauty, because EVERYONE knows that fat women don’t have any of that OUTER beauty, for crying out loud.
2000: I can only hope he’ll flash me some butt cleavage.

3/26/10 – Friday

by @ Friday, March 26th, 2010. Filed under CAE, Fostering, Life

I vacuumed the hell out of the house (well, the downstairs at least) yesterday, and not ten seconds after I put the vacuum cleaner away, Joe Bob and Sugarbutt got into an altercation in the dining room, and tufts of cat hair went floating through the house, messing up my perfectly clean floor.

I just cannot have anything nice, EVER.

Fuckers.

 

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A smile for you 🙂

LOVE IT!

 

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I just literally laughed about the poop spoon until I cried.

The best part of the story is one I forgot to tell. You see, Jake and Elwood were hanging around outside the guest bedroom door when I came out with the spoon full o’ poo. Every once in a while, if the fosters don’t finish their plate of food, I’ll let Jake and Elwood eat it, so they’ve gotten it into their heads that every time I come out of that room, there’s a very strong possibility that I’ll have FOOD for them. I walked out of the room with the spoon in my hand, and they saw that I was carrying something, and they started hopping around, CERTAIN I was going to give them some food and perhaps they might not starve completely to death.

(They are the biggest fucking hogs, these two.)

I thought for a moment of holding the spoon down for them so they could sniff it and give me the Face o’ Disgust, but even I am not that cruel.

 

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In the picture of Rhyme, the wood grain to the front right of the picture is very similar to the striped pattern on his head. I bet you didn’t even do that on purpose, did you?

I assure you that on the rare occasion that something cool like that happens, it’s by complete accident. I am no photographer.

 

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“and then it shit the bed”

You’d think I’d’ve heard this before now, but it made me LOL and spray breakfast all over my own computer. Consider it stolen.

Also, I would like to hereby formally request The Rest of The Story behind “earlier this week it came to my attention that I am having RAGE issues over the stupidest shit.” I love your pissed-off stories.

Oh, I don’t have any specific examples, just drama queen THE WORLD IS AGAINST ME temper tantrums. Like, I couldn’t connect to the internet for a little while and I was all bellowing at my computer, “OH OF COURSE THE INTERNET IS DOWN, IT MUST BE A DAY THAT ENDS IN Y, GOOD THING I ALWAYS PAY THE BILL ON TIME, I HATE OUR INTERNET PROVIDER I WISH THEY WOULD ALL DIEEEEE!”, when in actuality, our internet access has been down very little in the last few months.

Just, uncontrollable rage over the stupidest shit that even while I’m raging about it, the calm and reasonable voice in the back of my head is saying “You know you’re being unreasonable, you need to walk away and calm down” and my response is “SHUT UP YOU GODDAMN VOICE OF REASON I HATE YOU I WISH YOU WOULD DIEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

That sort of thing. It makes me a joy to be around, I’m sure.

 

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I was stuck in St Louis for 8 days relying on free wi-fi sources for Internet. Robyn, you’ll be proud to know that, in their infinite wisdom, the St Louis County Library system blocks access to Bitchypoo, while McDonald’s does not. Btw, this batch of kittens is ADORABLE.

If there was one thing I could go back ten years and change, it would be my domain name. I get my ass blocked all over the place just because of the name of my site. I OBJECT. THE MAN IS HOLDIN’ ME BACK! (The other reason my site gets blocked, you’ll be amazed to hear, is because of the language. What the fuck, man?)

 

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WAIT! Stinkerbelle isn’t givin’ you the stink-eye in that picture! Is she goin’ soft???

Nah, she was just taken by surprise. I’m sure that in the next second, she had a good Hate-on going. Although, now that I think of it, yesterday I leaned past her to open the blinds in the front room and she did NOT squeal at me and run off or squeal and swipe at me. Maybe she IS going soft!

 

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Someone should tell Newt that he can have the even bigger box behind him!

Silly – he KNEW the bigger box was there, but that’s not the box he wanted, because no one was using that box. He specifically wanted Joe Bob’s box for the reason that Joe Bob was in it. Once Joe Bob was no longer in the box, it became much less appealing to Newt.

 

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Oh My God. Now see, if I were you and I had this site, it would’ve ended right after “… small black bird with white speckles …” because I’d’ve been filling out change of address cards. Well, after I changed my pants, that is.

I think birds are fine IF they are sitting nicely OUTSIDE. Not inside. Outside. Not flapping. Sitting. A bird in my house? I can’t imagine it. Fortunately my elder statesman cat (who doesn’t go outside anymore because we are moving and I’m afraid that if he goes outside once we move, he will try to return home to the old house, 25 miles away, so we are trying to convince him he was never an outdoor cat) was never a crackerjack hunter so he only once in a while brought home a slightly stunned vole, and we always checked his lips before we let him in (the cat’s lips, not the slightly stunned vole’s lips) so nothing got in the house. (Run-on sentence, much? Geez.)

When we had a dog, many many moons ago, she once brought home a completely dead bluejay that she had not killed (Golden Retriever. incapable of harming anything) but had found and joyfully brought us. I hid behind a living room chair until my husband dealt with it.

I very much admire your quick thinking with the window. I’d still be cleaning my pants.

This comment made me laugh out loud for real. I should start doing like June and have a comment of the week!

(But I probably won’t.)

 

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Newt and Elwood, huh? I never would have imagined them cuddling. You should draw up a chart one day of which cats will associate with which cats. For some reason I would like to see and know which ones have cuddled with which and which ones they want nothing to do with. Not including the fosters of course. Well, unless you want to lol

I shall work on this and post it next Friday!

 

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Is Maura sitting on your purple velour pants or do you have a purple velour cat blanket? She looks cute and I agree she should rest up and hold out as long as she possibly can.

She was laying on/ against my purple velour pants. She seems to really like those pants, and I very well might just let her have the pants as a blanket. I’m all about making the kitties happy!

 

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how on earth do you tell Rhyme and Corbett apart? Sure can’t tell from the pictures. They are adorable — tabbys are my fav too 🙂

I’ll try to get a better picture of the two of them, side by side, but in short this illustrates it pretty well. Corbett, in the back, has a lot of tan coloring in his face and body. Rhyme is all dark brown. Both are equally squeezable, though. Just looking at that picture makes me want to go pick them up and squeeze the stuffing out of them!

 

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I just overheard one of my co-workers telling another that if you have over 2 cats, you qualify as a “crazy cat lady”. If that’s true, you’re in deep trouble!!! ha ha ha 🙂

and

I object. I have 3 cats but am not crazy; I swear!! I’d say over 5 is “CCL” material. 😉

I don’t know what the number is that determines crazy cat lady-hood, but I’ve got to say that two can’t possibly be the number. That’s hardly even cat PERSON level, right there. Five is probably approaching the crazy cat lady neighborhood, but it’s a moot point for me – I don’t think anyone would deny that when you have cats numbering in the double digits, you’re loony for cats. We hopped on that particular crazy train lonnnnnnnnnng ago. I can live with it. As long as you don’t walk into the house and say “Holy CRAP, how many cats do you HAVE?” from the smell, I’m okay.

 

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I’ll one-up your poop story with tales of Mia, our very timid little kitteh.

First vet visit after adopting her. Drive over is ok. Driving home we got less than a mile from vets office and I smell something nasty. Realize poor girl has peed and pooped in the carrier (luckily a hard one). Husband is driving so he pulls over and we grab some napkins that we luckily had in the truck to take care of the mess. He takes off his Tshirt so I can put it in the bottom of the carrier because she was a bit wet from the pee and we only had so many napkins.

Second trip go through whole vet visit and I’m paying the bill. Look over at Mia and she’s cowering over in the corner of the carrier. She’d peed and pooped again. One of the vet techs cleans it up saying they’re use to it.

Third trip (yes there’s more) on the trip over less than two blocks from home, you guessed it pee and poop! Hand the “sample” over and tell them it doesn’t get much fresher than that! It was still warm!

After that trip the vet gave us some sort of anxiety drops to try next time to maybe prevent it. Keep your fingers crossed. Beyond that I’ll go armed with paper towels and plastic bags!

Two years ago, I took Kara’s babies to be spayed and neutered, and they vomited all over their carrier. I had nothing but one single handy wipe to clean up the mess. Since then, before I walk out the door with a carrier of kittens, I make sure I have a big handful of dry cleaning rags and a baggie with a couple of damp cleaning rags as well. That saved me last summer when I took some of the True Blood 6 to the vet, and someone pooped in the carrier. Cat poop can be one of the most vile substances on earth, only outnastied by cat pee.

Wait. Why do I have so many cats again?!

 

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Bolitar’s all “What, lady? What you want?”


Rhyme on my slipper.


Reacher seriously needed those eye boogers cleaned off his face. I cleaned them off, then called him “Boogers McGee” for the next few hours. I amuse myself far too much.

>
“Madame, I don’t appreciate your tone.”


Reacher and Corbett scale Mt. Carrier.

 

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I’m beginning to think that Maura may even have a few more weeks before she drops these babies. I’m still not seeing or feeling any movement, and as Fred pointed out last night, Maura’s not nearly as huge and uncomfortable as Kara was the day we got her (which was also the day before she gave birth). Don’t get me wrong, she’s definitely getting bigger, but she’s got a little way to go, I think.

She’s LOVING the twice-daily canned cat food snacks and personal attention, believe me. Really, who wouldn’t?

 

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Kara, peering over the end of my bed.

 

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Previously
2009: I am the High Priestess of Litter Box Scooping, Pig Treat Making, and Kitten Butt Wiping.
2008: It took me a few weeks, but I finally finished The Washingtonienne and today I am announcing that bitchypoo.com, in conjunction with vituperation.com, is awarding The Washingtonienne the title of The Most Vapid Book of This Century.
2007: I was filled with a black hatred for the goddamn lights and my goddamn husband and every goddamn thing that ever was.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: Another reason I love the man: he makes me laugh every day.
2003: I’ll tell you what, he’s lucky I didn’t go get the cleaver and chop that fucking finger right the fuck off.
2002: My mind is blank…
2001: It’s just the little things that get to me, y’know?
2000: Married people! Having sex in the middle of the day! What IS this world coming to?

3/25/10 – Thursday

by @ Thursday, March 25th, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life, medical crap

First things first – stumbling around the internet, I came across an article about Denis Leary (well, really about his family and their home in Connecticut and their many animals) and from there I found Ann Leary’s blog, and she is funny as hell, and from THERE I discovered that she’s a writer and has published two books.

So I bought ’em.

I finished the first one, An Innocent, A Broad, yesterday, and let me tell you – she is HILARIOUS. Any book that can make me laugh out loud (and I did that a lot) and tear up just a few pages later is a book that gets two thumbs up from me.

 

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This whole section right here is just flat-out NASTY. If you’ve a weak stomach, are a wimp, or are eating, I HIGHLY recommend you skip down to the cat pictures. Don’t whine at me if you get grossed out – I warned you.

I had my six-week followup visit with the gynecologist yesterday. I expected to be cleared to resume all activities, but before that could happen, she had to peer up and see how things were healing. She informed me that while the healing was going well, my internal incision was like a cake.

I nodded, befuddled, wondering whether that was code for something. Saying “What does that mean?” would have been too obvious, so I just lay there in silence and waited.

Not done in the middle, is what she was saying. People heal at different rates, and I wasn’t healed completely. She directed the nurse to hand her a Q-tip with silver nitrate on the end.

I’m familiar with silver nitrate because back when I had the mole on my abdomen removed, it started to get a little infected, and the doctor cauterized it with silver nitrate, and while the cauterizing of the infected mole wasn’t painful, the idea of it was painful. Before I realized what was going on, she’d applied the silver nitrate to the slowly healing section of my incision (the incision at the end of my vagina, people, try to keep up), and while I was just starting to think “Isn’t silver nitrate what they put on my mole and it bubbled and looked gross?”, she’d applied a second Q-tip of the stuff, and was done.

It didn’t hurt while she was doing it or while I was getting dressed or making my appointment to go back in two weeks, but once I got to the car, I started having cramps that approached the worst period I’ve ever had. Apparently my innards do not care for silver nitrate and were beginning to protest.

A couple of Tylenol took care of that, though.

She told me that I’d probably have discharge that would have black flakes in it and maybe even a little blood. I never threw out my maxi pads, THANK GOD, because I’ve been discharging like nobody’s business. I turned over in the middle of the night last night, and I swear it felt like there was a three-liter bottle of water up there, emptying out, glugglugglug.

(You’re welcome.)

I asked her if I could start lifting heavy objects again, and apparently I took her by surprise because she sputtered for a moment and then said “Such as?”

“Forty pounds buckets of litter – cat litter,” I said.

She looked confused and then like she wasn’t looking forward to telling me that I couldn’t lift them, so I said “Well, I don’t have to, I can get my husband to lift them for me.”

She looked bemused and said, “You don’t buy them in smaller sizes at all?”

And I said, “We have a lot of cats.” Which, ha HA, THERE’s an understatement if there ever was one.

In the end, she said to take it slow and work up to it.

So I promptly left her office, went to Sam’s, and loaded 10 40-pound buckets of litter into a cart.

I AM KIDDING. Don’t email and yell at me, I did go to Sam’s, but I didn’t lift anything heavier than a bag of rawhide bones for the dogs.

I swung by Petsmart to check out the cats, then ran over to Target, then stopped by Publix.

Wednesdays have GOT to be Senior Day at Publix, because that place was PACKED, and there wasn’t anyone under the age of 73 in the place. I dropped off my prescription for estrogen, bought a few things, and went back to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription.

“Your doctor wrote this for a three month supply at a time,” the pharmacist said. “And I do have enough to fill the prescription, but if you get all three months right now, it will cost you $120.”

“I’ll just take one month then,” I said.

I came to the decision a couple of weeks ago to start cutting my estrogen patch in half and perhaps eventually wean myself off estrogen completely, but earlier this week it came to my attention that I am having RAGE issues over the stupidest shit, and thus I have gone back to the full patch. (Yes, I am also on a progesterone cream.)

I paid for my prescription, left, and finally got home a little after 11:00. I put groceries (and Sam’s purchases) away, called Fred, puttered around the house, and then went in to feed the Bookworms. They ate, and then Rhyme went into the litter box.

Now, before I go on, let me tell you that I realized Tuesday that Rhyme and Bolitar both had pretty bad diarrhea, so I added some Forti-Flora to their food, and I dabbed some hemorrhoid cream to poor Bolitar’s swollen backside, and Wednesday morning things seemed to be better. Then after I fed them, Rhyme went into the litter box and had explosive diarrhea. I looked around frantically for something to scoop it up with (so I could take it to the vet for testing), and when I had found a spoon to use (I hope it’s needless to say, that spoon will never see the inside of our utensil drawer again), I leaned down to scoop it out of the litter box. Before I could scoop anything, Bolitar climbed into the litter box and hunched down, and so I just held the damn spoon under his butt, and got the best sample in the history of poop samples.

(Pardon me while I go add a grossness disclaimer to the beginning of this section.)

I called the vet’s office, they said I could bring it in, and off to the vet’s office I went, sample in tow.

I dropped it off, let my number, stopped at Publix again to buy replacements for the plastic dish I’d used to store the sample in (OY the old people. I had no idea that store gets THAT busy. Seniors love their discount; who can blame ’em?), and got home a little before 2:00.

I was going to eat lunch and maybe even watch TV, but I was in the middle of doing something on my computer, and had to reboot, and that was all she fucking wrote. The latest version of Firefox had downloaded, so after I rebooted, Firefox did the updating thing, and then it shit the bed. For the next hour, I swore and raged at my computer, rebooted 300 times, had to resort to using Internet Explorer, and threw myself upon the mercy of the geek I’m married to.

He eventually fixed it, but in the course of rebooting this goddamn computer (DON’T LOOK AT ME, YOU FUCKING THING, YES I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU) I fried my Sansa Clip mp3 player and nothing I did would bring it back to life. Yes, I have an iPod, but I actually prefer using the Sansa Clip, because (1) It cost $10 at Woot, so I’m not worried about dropping it and breaking it, the way I’m worried about dropping and breaking the iPod, (2) It’s a lot smaller and lighter than the iPod, (3) It goes down my playlist in order of the shows I’m listening to, and I don’t have to mess with choosing a show and hitting “play”, it just does it automatically.

I’ll be keeping an eye on Woot and will buy the hell out of a new Sansa when it comes around, believe me.

Annnnd… that was my day. It was lovely and sunny and warm yesterday while I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, and today it’s going to still be warm, but it’s raining like hell. I am going to be one vacuuming fool, believe you me. You have no idea how excited I am to be resuming my vacuuming schedule.

That’s right. You know you envy my super-exciting party ways!

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

The boys are now on Panacur, have been since last night. They did not appreciate this “medication” business, but they got over it quickly enough. They’re far more interested in getting OUT of their room. I go into their room and feed them, and they’re happy enough to eat and to snuggle with me, but once I leave the room, they (Bolitar, especially) stand at the door and howl. And howl. And howwwwwwwwwwl. They have got the most piercing little voices, and I’m pretty sure that one day they’re going to drive me straight out of my mind with those piercing howls. They do eventually give up and go play and sleep and such, but the ten minutes or so that they howl at the door is ETERNAL.


Bolitar, slurping up water.


Reacher, snuggling.


Corbett and Rhyme, fighting.


::CHOMP::


“BRING DOWN THE HAND FOR THE BELLY RUB!”


Gorgeous Rhyme.

 

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::Slurrrrp::

Still no defined kitten heads or movement seen or felt in the Maura belly region. She’s no dummy – she’s like “I have plenty of food and water, toys, and a cat tree to climb. Why on earth would I want to have BABIES to mess it up?”

 

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Maxi keeps an eye on the goings-on from the safety of her box.

 

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Previously
2009: For they are fearsome creatures.
2008: “My flabby sections” would be an excellent band name.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: The spud is officially licensed.
2004: Ain’t it always the way that when you call someone names in your journal, secure in the knowledge that they’ll never see it, they always do?
2003: (And before you say it, yes. You shouldn’t give a shit what I think, either.)
2002: Is it just me?
2001: No entry.
2000: If you knew you’d get $341 million for being treated savagely and cruelly for 7 years, would you do it?

3/24/10 – Wednesday (kittehs)

by @ Wednesday, March 24th, 2010. Filed under Fostering


“Shall I run across the room like a little lunatic, or shall I take a nap? Decisions, decisions.”


The thousand yard stare kittens get when they’re in the litter box always makes me laugh.


Rhyme sniffs the kibble (and then he promptly walked through it).


Reacher and Corbett: Brudderly love.


I love it when they flail around with their mouths open. Makes me laugh.

 

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“What babies? No babies here. Just takin’ a bath.”

 

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Pretty Stinkerbelle in the sun.

 

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Previously
2009: You’d think it’s not such a big decision, but I AM a master ditherer, so dither I shall.
2008: And then they tried to say that I was calling Rick’s feet “dainty”, so in one short day I managed to insult everyone in the house.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: I. Am. PISSED.
2004: “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t believe I quite understand. Could you explain this “spoonful” word to me via pantomime again?”
2003: That, or she’s a stalker-reader.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Some people just have a smack-me face, don’t they?

3/23/10 – Tuesday

by @ Tuesday, March 23rd, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life

One day last week, I was walking around the house opening the blinds. In the front room, I opened the blinds at the end of the room near the TV, and realized I could hear a cat growling. I looked down and saw Jake sitting there staring loonily at the corner next to the TV, and looked to see Elwood hunched behind the big square thing that has something to do with our surround sound. The growling was coming from him.

For a moment, I thought that he was growling at Jake because he was tired of getting his ass kicked (Jake is half the size of Elwood, but he can kick some serious butt when he wants to), but then I looked closer and realized that there was a bird hanging from his mouth.

A small one. A dead one.

I reached for Elwood, who responded by running behind the couch. I shot a blast of compressed air behind the couch, and Elwood ran out from behind the couch, and down the hallway. I chased him down the hallway into the dining room, where he outmaneuvered me and headed back to the living room. Back behind the couch. Another shot of compressed air. Back down the hallway. I finally caught him in a corner of the dining room, and picked him up, bird and all, and carried him to the back door. I stepped out onto the top step, forced his jaws open, and took the bird from his mouth.

He hissed at me, then ran back into the house.

I couldn’t figure out where the hell the bird had come from – Elwood doesn’t go outside. I went back to the front room, finished opening the blinds, and then went into the guest bedroom to open the blinds.

(This was before the kittens took up residence in that room.)

As I opened the blinds, I realized there were tiny feathers all over the guest bedroom. Then I realized there were tiny feathers all down the hallway. Also all over the side of the front room we never use. All I can guess is that one of the other cats brought the bird inside, and Elwood took it from them, and probably every cat in the house stampeded after Elwood, and he was tired of them trying to steal his bird from him, and thus the growling.

The entire time, I had to have been sitting in front of my computer, oblivious. Oblivious is my default state, apparently.

AND THEN.

Last night, I was scooping the litter boxes in the laundry room, and I heard the oddest sound, a high-pitched squeal. That’s weird, I thought to myself. I’ve never heard the cats make a sound like THAT before. I started to stand up, and a small black bird with white speckles came flying through the door from the kitchen. He was closely followed by a melee of cats, and my response was to scream (my response is ALWAYS to scream), and the cats scattered.

The bird flew directly to the window by the dryer, and flapped helplessly there.

“BIRD!” I yelled to Fred. “THERE’S A BIRD!”

I considered the flapping bird for a moment, wondered how we’d capture him since I was sure he’d end up behind the dryer when he saw us coming, and then the obvious solution came to me. I walked over, unlatched the window, and opened it. The bird flew outside. I closed the window. Problem solved.

The question here, however, is where the FUCK that bird came from. All the doors were closed, the cats were inside, and the bird didn’t look like he’d been at the paws of torturing cats all day long. My first thought was that perhaps one of the cats had brought it inside during the day, it escaped, and waited until it thought it could make a break for it (which is likely giving that bird too much credit). The problem with that is that there’s no place in this house that the cats can’t go – all the high places are available to them, the bookcases, the top of the cupboards in the kitchens. Had a bird been biding its time atop one of the bookcases, the cats would have found it.

All I can guess is that it came down the chimney in the front room and flew from the front of the house to the back. Which, I don’t know how plausible that is (that fucking chimney in the front room is a nightmare. We had a cap put on it so that birds couldn’t get in, but the fucking cap flipped off and the guys who put it there are no longer in business. Swallows build their nest in the chimney, and then the fucking baby birds fall down the chimney, nest and all, USUALLY while we’re sound asleep, and either die or are chomped upon by cats. Ugh.).

Or maybe the birds are getting in the same way the wasps are. It’s a fucking mystery, is what it is.

 

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Yesterday evening, Fred had to put down a Black Copper Marans hen. She was born with something wrong with one of her legs, but she got around okay, so we let her live. (Here at Crooked Acres, the crippled and lame chickens tend to live longer lives than the perfectly healthy ones, because we feel sorry for them – see Charlie and her twisted-up toes.) Yesterday, he realized she didn’t look right, and when he brought her out of the coop, she went a few steps and then laid down in the mud. He put her back in the coop and came in to discuss with me whether he should wait and see if she improved, or just go ahead and put her down.

We ultimately decided that he should put her down.

Our decision to have a flock of Black Copper Marans was the dumbest move we’ve made since we moved here, bar none. We ordered 40 hatching eggs last Spring, and we now have five of the goddamn things. They were going to be our moneymaking flock, because people pay something like $60 per dozen fertile Marans eggs (it may even be more, I don’t remember). AND NOW I KNOW WHY THEY PAY SO MUCH. Because we get, perhaps, one egg every other day.

I’m trying to convince Fred that we should just move all the chickens out to the big yard, so we can have ONE chicken yard instead of having to deal with two yards, and since George and Gracie are out there to protect the chickens, we could actually go out and stay out after dark without having to be too concerned about the chickens.

Fucking chickens. Fucking moneymaking schemes.

 

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You can’t see Bolitar’s face, but he’s there!

We’ve now hit the point where when we get up and leave the room, the kittens – even if they’re paying no attention to us and are off playing with each other or a toy – try to follow us out the door. Bolitar, especially, runs for the door when I leave. He’s made it out once or twice, then he just stands there and looks around like “It’s a whole new world!” until I pick him up and set him back in the room.

Then he howls at the door. OH does he howl. Sometimes another kitten will join in on the howling, and OH their hearts are just breaking at the injustice of not being able to get through the door, they are PERSONALLY insulted at this turn of events.

Luckily it doesn’t last for long, and then they toddle off to play or sleep or whatever.


Corbett.


Lap o’ kittens.


::maniacal laughter::

 

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“Babies? No. There are no babies in there. I accidentally swallowed a basketball. It’ll go away. Seriously!”

I have to get a shot of Maura from above – she seriously looks like she swallowed a basketball. Her appetite seems to have ramped up – before, when I’d bring her her plate of canned kitten food in the morning and evening, she’d come over and greet me and rub up against me, maybe inspect my litter box scooping technique, and then wander over to the plate. Nowadays, she dives right into the plate of food and doesn’t come up for air until it’s gone.

I guess she needs plenty of food to grow those babies. I mean, that basketball.

 

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Newt would like Elwood to stop hoggin’ the box. (Those ears at the bottom of the picture belong to Miz Poo, who was sitting on my lap.)

 

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Previously
2009: IT IS SPRING AND IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE HUMID, AND I STRENUOUSLY OBJECT TO GETTING ZAPPED BY STATIC ELECTRICITY IN MARCH IN ALABAMA.
2008: No entry.
2007: No offers yet though, damnit.
2006: “Hookers and blow!” he crowed jubilantly.
2005: Also, there’s that whole pesky “dealing with people” thing, and I don’t like that sort of thing at ALL.
2004: The spud passed the test for her learner’s permit, THANKYAJEEZUS.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: Fred and I chose the names of our future child/ren way before we ever met – Seth Forrest and Samantha Jayne.
2000: On the other hand, I was shopping in Wal-Mart, wasn’t I? What’d I expect, diamonds and furs?

3/22/10 – Monday

by @ Monday, March 22nd, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life

We had a very quiet and low-key weekend ’round these parts. I suspect we would have gotten more accomplished if it hadn’t been RAINING and overcast and ugly and cold(ish) most of the weekend, but OH WELL.

Spring? What Spring?

The high today’s only supposed to hit 49. Also, it’s currently 37 and spitting snow. I OBJECT.

I could use some warm weather, I’m telling you.

Saturday, we got up and headed out later than Fred would have liked. I was making him get groceries with me since I have not officially been cleared to lift stuff, and I like having company at the grocery store, so I was milking it for all it was worth. I expect next weekend I’ll be on grocery duty all by myself. We stopped by Lowe’s first because the light over the sink had gone out, and we needed a replacement bulb. We also needed a new light for the laundry room. I guess three years is about how long those fluorescent lights last, which I’m thinking isn’t bad, especially considering that the kitchen light gets a lot of use.

As we walked into the store, I said “You have the gift card, right?” Fred got a Lowe’s gift card at Christmas, which he hadn’t used and I’d rediscovered Friday afternoon, and which I immediately gave to him to put in his wallet.

“Oh,” he said. “No, you didn’t remind me.”

Remember in the last season of Jon & Kate Plus 8 when Jon went somewhere to buy a shower head for the new house, and he got home and Kate was all “Did you use the coupons?” and he was all “No, I didn’t take any coupons with me” and before our very eyes, she turned into a shrieking harpy, her voice went up sixty-three octaves and she screamed “YOU DIDN’T USE THE COOOOOOOOOOOUPONS?!” in the same tone you or I would scream “YOU THREW THE CHILDREN INTO A CAGE OF HUNGRY TIIIIIIIIIIGERS?!” and yanked open the coupon drawer and held out a handful of coupons in shrieking appeal to him, all “WHY DO YOU THINK WE HAVE THE COUPONS IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO USE THEM?!” and he shrugged and wandered off (that could be a summary of Jon Gosselin’s role on that show, shrugging and wandering off), probably thinking to himself We bought a three million dollar home and I’m a man whore who sleeps with any 19 year-old skank who’ll have me, and your issue is that I didn’t save $1.99 on the shower head?

Anyway.

So I got all shrieking harpy, “WHERE did you PUT the gift card? WHY do you think I gave it to you? WHY wouldn’t you just put it in your wallet when I handed it to you?” and he shrugged and wandered off.

As it turned out, Lowe’s had the laundry room light, but not the one we needed for the kitchen, so we bought what we needed and left. PAYING CASH FOR OUR PURCHASES BECAUSE THE GIFT CARD WAS ON HIS DESK AT HOME.

Hmph.

We went to get groceries, and it was a quick trip, because these days our grocery lists tend to be pretty short.

Once home, Fred made breakfast (over the past few weeks, we’ve gotten into the habit of having a bacon-sausage-eggs breakfast on Saturday mornings), we ate, and then I spent a good long time with the kittens and with Maura.

Saturday afternoon, we headed out to get dinner and to stop by the dollar store. The only place I’ve been able to find simple clay litter around here is at the dollar store. (With kittens, you need to start them out on clay litter, because they tend to try to eat the litter at first, and eating clumpable litter is a bad thing when it comes to tiny digestive systems.) We went into the dollar store, Fred loaded up a couple of bags of litter, and then we stood in line.

We stood in line for, literally, ten minutes. There were four or five people in line in front of us, and in that ten minutes, only one of them finished their transaction and left. (Some issue with the PIN pad or a food stamps card or something, I wasn’t paying attention.) Finally, Fred turned to me and said desperately “Can we go to another dollar store?” I said we could, he put the litter back, and we left.

In town, we stopped by one of the myriad dollar stores to buy litter, and although it was a lot busier than the first dollar store, we were in and out of there pretty quickly. We picked up dinner, and came home.

We spent the evening watching a couple of episodes of the second season of Breaking Bad (we’d started watching that season, but about three episodes in, we switched from one satellite cable provider to another, and we currently don’t get whatever channel Breaking Bad comes on – AMC, maybe?), then hung out with the kittens and then with Maura.

Sunday was a day where we really did nothing at all. It was crappy and rainy out, so we decided to spend the afternoon watching TV. We finished off the second disc of Breaking Bad, and then at Fred’s suggestion, we watched The Girl Next Door. This is not, as you might think, the craptastic Elisha Cuthbert movie, but rather the movie based on the book by Jack Ketchum. Fred read it last week, and said it was “disturbing” and decided he wanted to watch the movie. Since it was available instantly via Netflix, we watched it.

It was disturbing, I’ll give you that, but it was also horribly acted and I really don’t recommend it. At least it was only an hour and a half long.

Annnnd… that was our weekend! Exciting, no?

 

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Check out this video – it made me laugh out loud.

 

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The Bookworms are doing just fine. They’re down to getting a bowl of (watered-down) formula two times a day now. They could probably go without, but I want to be sure, since they’re not eating canned food, that they get enough liquid in. There’s a bowl of water in the room, and they’ve all sniffed at it, but they’re not terribly interested in it just yet.

They are just the sweetest little guys, I can barely stand it!


Corbett, considering whether he wants to climb up into my lap.


Active little monkeys – Reacher’s biting the stuffed Mama cat. Rhyme is biting the bed. And Bolitar is fighting with the carrier.


Bolitar, scaling the carrier. They ADORE this carrier – they like to hang out inside and fight with each other. They also like to climb up to the top of it and then go back down the other side. It’s particularly funny when three of them are hanging off the carrier.


Sweet, innocent little face. Don’t be fooled!

 

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“What babies?”

 

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Sugarbutt and Tommy: brudderly love.

 

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Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: “What’d you do, come up with some new exercise plan?” he asked.
2006: Why do I feel like an ass all of a sudden?
2005: Damn. He saw through my wily scheme!
2004: She stood and let it sink in, then turned and flounced off.
2003: No entry.
2002: Cat pee, by the way, is the vilest-smelling stuff on this planet.
2001: Don’t you hate it when someone tries to be reasonable in the midst of your tightly choreographed hissy fit?
2000: “Of course they do, they like soft toilet paper. It’s the mafia, babe!”

3/21/10 – Sunday (kittehs!)

by @ Sunday, March 21st, 2010. Filed under Fostering

Happy second day of Spring!

It was partly sunny for our first day of Spring, but today it’s gray and rainy and colllld. We’re staying inside where it’s nice and warm.

Still no babies. Last night, Fred was rubbing Maura’s side and said “Feel this! I think this is a kitten!” So I felt that, and I said “I think that’s her hip.” Apparently whatever Fred felt moved before I could feel it.

We feel bad for Maura, being in that room by herself, worry that she’ll get bored, but she’s always happy to see us come in, and never seems too terribly sad to see us leave. I spent a long time with her yesterday morning, petting her as she sat in my lap, and then when I came back downstairs, I could hear her racing around upstairs, playing. I guess she knows how to entertain herself!

 

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Reacher.


This was the first day I offered them canned food, with kibble sprinkled on the side of the plate. Corbett bellied up, but the others weren’t interested.

This litter is kind of blowing me away – they’ve given up the bottle on their own terms – Friday morning, they showed little interest in the bottle, and by Friday night, they just squirmed away when we tried to bottle-feed them. They’ll drink from the bowls of formula I offer them three times a day, but they don’t finish off what I give them. They show little interest in canned food, but they’re all eating kibble. They’re all gaining weight, and occasionally someone will eat the canned food I leave for them, but for the most part, I guess they’re weaned. They’re all using the litter boxes, and I haven’t found any accidents anywhere except for a puddle under the bed on the second day we had them.

They’re always happy to see us, run right over and climb up on me and purr. Corbett is the snuggly one of the bunch, but they’ll all allow me to pick them up and kiss them. After some snuggling, they run off and play with the toys that are scattered around the room, pounce on each other, and then occasionally wander close enough that I can grab and snuggle them.

I love me some Bookworms, if that wasn’t already obvious!


Corbett (and Fred’s hairy knee).


Bolitar, in my lap. (He had a goopy eye for a day, but after a dab of Terramycin, it’s completely fine.)

 

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Kara, enjoying the sunshine.

 

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Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: “I think you mean ‘oaf’,” I said.
2007: That is a monster shredder.
2006: Someone kill me now. NOW.
2005: And THEN in the car on the way to Mom and Dad’s, I was thinking “Well, THAT was rude, to tell her she was being too loud!
2004: No entry.
2003: Miz Poo has an infection.
2002: And if you unsubscribe from the notify list? A reason for the unsubscription is neither necessary, required, nor desired. Thanks so much.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

3/19/10 – Friday

by @ Friday, March 19th, 2010. Filed under CAE, Fostering, Life

Okay, this is annoying me – it used to be when I hit the scroll button on my mouse to open a link in a new tab, it would open the new tab at the end of the row of tabs (I always have several tabs open at a time). Now, it opens the tab in a new tab directly to the tab I’m in. (Could I have said “tab” more often? TabTabTab!)

Anyone else having this issue and anyone have an idea how to fix it? It’s really bugging me!

Edited to add: Go here, and follow the directions. Fixed! Yay!

 

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We had two Great Pyrs, one just crossed over the Rainbow Bridge, but the hair they leave behind is unreal. You would think they would be bald. most people do not realize that they are nocturnal. They sleep during the day as the animals that prey on their keep are nocturnal too. So they are ready and waiting for that fox that lurks during the night.

I’d never thought of it that way before, but it makes sense – that would certainly explain why George and Gracie spend a LOT of time barking at night!

 

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Ran across a website today I thought you might enjoy:

Strange Maine

From the intro: Founded 2005! Freaks. Weirdos. Unmapped roads. Whispering rocks. Deadening fog. Ghost pirates. Lonely islands. THINGS in the WOODS. Home of Stephen King & Glenn Chadbourne. A place where the 4 seasons really know how to live. Maine: the way life should be! This site is a nexus for conversation about Maine’s unique strangeness, people who love it, people who have experienced it, & people who are intrigued by it. History, mysteries, legends, current events, cryptozoology, & more.

The writer has a deal in works for a book based on his blog. Interesting.

Very neat – thanks for the link!

 

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Lee left this comment that made me laugh out loud.

1) when my friend’s husband got a vasectomy, he decided to make him a bouquet of condoms filled with helium (we used to own a party supply company until party city moved in across the street!).

i bought a box of a dozen cheapo unlubed (cuz gross!) at wal-mart. after she rang it up, she leaned across the bagging area and whispered, “honey, do you want to put these in your pocketbook for later?” UM NO! I THINK I WILL HAVE PROTECTED SEX IN FRONT OF YOUR REGISTER!

2) i used to work for a company that filled commissary orders from jails. when we would run out of things between shipments, we would buy stuff at the little discount place down the street- they were open to the public but we could use for bulk orders at a discount. i was down there one day doing a pick up and the check-out line was extremely slow. i was shooting the breeze with the woman in front of me and i told her i didn’t care how long it took because i was in no hurry to go back to work.

the woman looked down at the stuff in my cart and looked up at me with the crazy eyes.”where exactly do you work?” she asked.

i looked down at the basket and realized i was pushing a cart with 4 CASES of medicated douches in it!

i explained it to her, we laughed it off and finally i made it to the car with my purchases.

then i got that thought that makes you laugh so hard you almost pee your pants: if i needed 196 medicated douches to get through my day, i would probably, in all honesty, would REALLY be in no hurry to get back to work!

 

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Is derogative a word? It sounds like a marriage between “derogatory” and “pejorative.”

Damn it, Jane, how am I supposed to depend on you to reliably answer my grammar and punctuation questions when you don’t know that derogative is, indeed, a word? Dictionary.com defines it as lessening; belittling; derogatory. But when I first read the comment, I was like Joey in Friends after Chandler says that “supposably” isn’t even a word. I was all “Derogative. Derogative. Sir, that is a derogative term!”

And of course, the more you repeat a word the more made-up it sounds. But it’s a real word! I swear it!

 

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I remember that you quit drinking soft drinks after having weight loss surgery. I thought that meant giving them up for life but it sounds like you’re drinking them again. How long did you go without diet coke (nectah of the gods!)before drinking them again?

I did give up Diet Coke for a while after surgery. When it comes to soda, weight loss surgeons are in two camps. One camp says that drinking any soda will stretch your pouch out, the carbonation will do it. The other camp says it’s fine in moderation, because if you think of your pouch as a balloon with an opening at each end, it’s impossible to stretch out with carbonation because the gas created by the carbonation will escape from one end or the other. My surgeon is in the first camp…. and I’m in the second.

I actually sent out an email in July of 2006 – so, six months after I had surgery – saying that Fred and I were at the movies and he had gotten a Diet Coke and offered me a sip of it, since it was kind of flat. I took a sip… and it tasted HORRIBLE. I was like “Why on EARTH did I ever drink that stuff?!”

Over the next six months or so, I slowly went back to drinking Diet Coke, and I’ve been drinking it ever since. I still drink lots of water – about 2 liters a day – and I occasionally drink other flavored stuff, but the problem is that I was never able to find anything with flavor that I loved as much as I loved Diet Coke.

Of course, this is MY experience and I’m not necessarily recommending it for anyone else. You should never go against your surgeon’s advice, of course. Ahem.

 

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Glad you’re back in action but please, Robyn, DON’T overdo. We’ll all get really peeved at you if you’ve got a litter of kittens you can’t photograph because you’ve had to return to bed. Just remember, you have a responsibility to your readers to satisfy their prurient kitteh-gazing interests. 😉

I am absolutely not overdoing it, I promise, I’m fully aware of my responsibilities to y’all! Yesterday, in fact, I took it super-easy, did nothing but hang out with Maura, snuggle and love on the new guys, and the rest of the time I caught up on my TV-viewing.

Less than a week, and I should get clearance from my doctor to resume normal activity, yay! I swear, I will vacuum this house 100 times once I’ve got the okay to do so!

 

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Thanks, you guys, for your kind words yesterday. I do know that the mama cat wasn’t alone at the end, and even if I’d been there, it wouldn’t have meant anything to her, but I still felt bad. I still do, a little, but I told her boys about her yesterday (they seemed unimpressed, but it made me feel better!) and what a fighter she was, and what an awesome mother for taking such good care of them. I’d like to say that they looked wisely at me as though they understood, but their reaction was more along the lines of “O HELLO, IS THIS FINGER EDIBLE?”

 

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Okay, they’re named. Please keep in mind that Fred was the namer this time around, so I wasn’t ignoring your name suggestions; he was. Heh.


Meet the Bookworms.


That’s Rhyme (as in Jeffery Deaver’s Lincoln Rhyme) in the front, and Corbett (Robert McCammon’s Matthew Corbett series) in the back.


Reacher (Lee Child’s Jack Reacher series).


And Bolitar (Harlan Coben’s Myron Bolitar series).


Corbett bites Rhyme’s behind. Rhyme does not appreciate this.


Rhyme and Corbett, lookin’ guilty.

The Bookworms are doing well. They’re definitely older than the Wonkas were when we got them – they’re already lapping formula out of bowls, and though they’re showing no interest in eating canned kitten food, they’ve all been spotted belly up to the bowl of dry kibble. For now, what I do three times a day is put a couple of bowls of formula in the room, leave while they lap it up, then go back into the room after about ten minutes to offer them the bottle. They’re still taking the bottle, but they’re not desperate for it or anything – they’re like, “Oh, there’s a bottle? Well, okay. I suppose I’ll chew on it for a few minutes.”

They’re all using the litter boxes, and except for the first day, I’ve spotted no accidents. Of course, NO ONE ever goes to the litter box alone, even if they want to. Yesterday, Reacher was in the litter box, and one of other kittens was sitting outside the litter box swatting at him.

Thus far, I’ve only had to give one bath (Bolitar was kind enough to tromp through someone else’s poop), so that’s pretty good, right? I feel like I was bathing the Cookies every single day. Of course, the Cookies were a few weeks younger when we got them, too.

I’m declaring these guys to be about five weeks old, which gives them the birth date of February 8th. If you were wondering. 🙂

 

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“Okay, lady, I’ve been thinking. If I were to actually give birth to these babies I’m carrying around, then I’d have to start with the cleaning and feeding and all that. I really like my current life of leisure. If I want to sleep for six hours, bat a toy ball around, and then sleep for another six, there’s no one to stop me. No one screaming to be fed, no one needing a poopy butt cleaned.”


“So I’m just going to NOT give birth, okay? That a problem for you?”

 

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Snugglin’ Newt and Elwood.

 

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Previously
2009: Someone’s always fucking up the risotto, sending Chef Ramsay into apoplectic rages wherein he bellows at whichever hapless fuckup is in his crosshairs.
2008: That Pioneer Punk is a bad, bad influence.
2007: I am such a prize, I really am.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: “Have you noticed that it smells like the bodies of fifteen [gentlemen of Chinese descent] laying in a pile in the ditch, rotting?”
2003: Always something, you know?
2002: “I’m starving to death. Meh. STARVING, I’m STARVING. Meh.”
2001: My baby’s growing up!
2000: No entry.

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