9/19/11 – Monday

When I read this post, it made me laugh a lot. Have you ever had someone repeat back something you’ve said and you don’t remember saying it but it SOUNDS like something you’d say, and it makes you laugh and laugh and say “I am one FUNNY motherfucker!”? That happens to me all the damn … Continue reading “9/19/11 – Monday”

When I read this post, it made me laugh a lot. Have you ever had someone repeat back something you’ve said and you don’t remember saying it but it SOUNDS like something you’d say, and it makes you laugh and laugh and say “I am one FUNNY motherfucker!”?

That happens to me all the damn time. Just happened last week, in fact. One day, Fred started laughing and I said “What?” and he said “I’m just thinking about what you said yesterday.”

Before I go on to tell you what HI-larious thing I said that made me laugh and laugh when it was repeated to me, I have to tell you that Buster and Corbie share a certain trait, and that is the trait of if there is another cat’s ass nearby, they will get up and go over to the cat and sniff and sniff and sniff until all the stank is off that cat’s ass, and then they will stand there and demonstrate the Flehmen response, which always makes me laugh because they just look SO brain-dead when they stand there like that, totally lights-on-no-one-home. Like so:



So apparently Corbie went over to sniff Maxi’s back end, and Fred said “He’s up her bunghole to his ears! Look at this!”

I was doing something vitally important at my computer, so I didn’t bother to look (I’ve seen cats sniff each others’ asses, I didn’t need to witness it to understand the nuances of ass-sniffery), just said “Who?”

“Corbie,” Fred said.

“Yeah,” I said. “He’s a real asshole connoisseur.”

I didn’t even remember saying it when Fred repeated it to me, but I fell over and laughed and laughed and laaaaaaaughed.

Oh, how Fred disapproves of it when I laugh like that at something I’ve said because he thinks it’s the height of tacky to laugh at your own self. Myself, I say if you can’t laugh at your own wit, what’s the point of living?

(God, I crack myself up. ASSHOLE CONNOISSEUR!)

PS: LOOK what I found on my hard drive. The asshole connoisseur in action!

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On Sunday, I did some work in the garden. I picked the last of the jalapenos and pulled up the plants. I picked tomatoes. I picked okra. I thought about pulling up the weed fabric from around the watermelon plants, but the ground was so dry that it was near impossible to pull up the staples holding down the weed fabric, so I’ll have to wait and do that after we get some rain to soften the dirt to make the pulling up of the staples easier.

Then I went into my raised bed garden area (which is located behind the back yard) and picked the last of the watermelons and stirred up the dirt in the small raised beds in preparation for transplanting cabbage plants later that day. I happened to glance up and saw that the guy next door was standing near their shed, and I nodded at him, then went back to what I was doing.

As I walked back to the house, I glanced over at the shed and saw that the truck belonging to the other guy who lives there sometimes (a woman owns the house; her two sons move in and out pretty regularly. Well. Now there’s a trailer on the other side of the house where one (possibly both) of them live. I don’t know exactly how it works over there, and I’m not that curious.) was parked by the shed, and that a cinder block was basically on the property line. I went into the house and said “I don’t know what they’re doing over there, but they’re pretty close to if not over the property line.”

Fred and I Kravitzed around, staring out the kitchen window to see what they were doing, and then going out onto the front porch to see if we could see any better. Back to the kitchen window, where we saw that while we’d been on the front porch, they’d put another cinder block down and atop the cinder blocks was a truck cover.

“That’s way over on our property line,” I said. “You need to go make them move it.”

Fred dithered for a while, but ultimately went over to talk to them, and they did move it (he reported that one of the men seemed annoyed, but the other one was all “Yeah, okay, no problem.”)

And we spent the rest of the day feeling like nit-picking assholes who couldn’t STAND to be neighborly and let the neighbors’ shit use up a few feet of our property. But damn, it’s not like they’re using their entire property and have run out of space or anything. It turned out that they’d put it behind the shed because they didn’t want it to be visible from the street ’cause it would look crappy (I think?) but there were OTHER places ON their property they could have put it to accomplish the same goal. Ultimately what they did was move it to the other side of the shed.

“We are such assholes,” Fred said. “We’re like those people who lived next door to us in Madison.”

When we lived in Madison, for an entire fucking solid YEAR, the lady who lived next door would come out and walk up and down the property line and up and down and up and down and I’d call Fred and say “She’s doing it again. What the motherfucking FUCK?” Well, as it turned out after she’d passive-aggressively walked and walked and walked the property line for that year, she finally came over and asked Fred not to cut over the property line when he mowed because it looked funny and the yard guy wouldn’t treat their entire front yard with fertilizer because he assumed it was our property not theirs. Which was FINE with Fred, I guess he hadn’t realized he was doing it, but she certainly could have saved her energy by mentioning it way back when he first did it instead of walking and walking and walking and probably talking at length to her husband about what an asshole Fred was.

Wow. I really don’t miss those neighbors.

It’s my contention that Fred needed to nip the property trespassing in the bud immediately rather than letting it go, because YOU GIVES ‘EM AN INCH THEY TAKES A MILE, amiright?

(We still kind of feel like assholes, though.)

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Charlie and Patty Peppers are doing better and better every day. Charlie will meow at me when I go into the room, and if I sit on the floor, he comes right over to be petted, will sit in my lap, and purrs constantly. Patty’s still a little shy. She’ll eventually come over to be petted, but if I make any sudden movements, she scurries away to hide. They’re both playing a lot, and Saturday night Patty knocked Charlie over onto the floor on his back, pinned him down, and bit his neck. She’s no shy, retiring violet when it comes to kicking her brother’s butt!

In the two weeks we’ve had them, Charlie’s gained about eight ounces, and Patty has exactly doubled her body weight. She’s only four ounces smaller than Charlie now. They still get a bit of canned food in the morning and again in the evening, and they finish every last bite.

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“Why you not pettin’ me, lady?”

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She ain’t too proud to beg.

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Sleepy Harlan.

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Shower Inspector inspects again. He’s very thorough!

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Loony Jake in the sun, looking not so loony.

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2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: Confession: It wasn’t ’til I watched the video that I realized he was saying “Children of Thalidomide” (I thought it was “Children of the Little Mai”, figured it was a Vietnam reference), and I thought “Bay of Pigs Invasion” was “Bay of Pigs and Beijing.” Duh.
2007: I have not yet attained the level of dorkitude that would allow me to answer “yes.”
2006: “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “That’s the monkey (ex-boyfriend) gave me. She can crap all over it if she wants.”
2005: We meet Sugarbutt, Tommy, and their siblings!
2004: No entry.
2003: Since he’s a year older than me, that’ll give me two years to theatrically take to my bed and waste away. Sounds about right.
2002: Obviously whoever lives at 308 belongs to the Bitchypoo “If I don’t know you, I ain’t answerin’ the door” school of thought.
2001: I hate you, Mr. Mailman.
2000: Only US Magazine would consider it newsworthy that Michael Douglas is changing diapers he hasn’t been wearing.