Category: Fostering

 

 

Dear Uterus:

 

 

 

 

Sincerely,

Your Employer.

 

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EVICTION NOTICE.

To: Uterus of Mine

We are terminating your tenancy and want to evict you from the following property: 101 South Abdominal Way, Apt #2.

Our reason for evicting you is because: You suck, you leave detritus all over the damn place with no warning, and you cause your landlady emotional and physical pain.

You must move from the property or remedy our reason for evicting you by the following date: Oh, honey doll, there is NO REMEDYING THE REASON. You are OUT OF HERE as of mid-January!*

If you do not agree with this eviction notice you have the right to legal advice and may contact a lawyer. NO YOU DON’T. YOU ARE THE FUCK OUTTA HERE! HA! NO RIGHTS! YOU HAVE NO RIGHTS! NONE NONE NONE!

Name of Owner or Agent: Me.

DO NOT LET THE DOOR HIT YOU IN THE LINING ON YOUR WAY OUT!

*Fred won’t let me tell you the exact date because he’s afraid you’ll come stalk me or steal my uterus. He doesn’t know I’ll be Twittering all over the place before and after, mwahahaHA.

 

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So, yes. Last week I had an appointment with my gynecologist to follow up and see where we were to go from here, with the labs and the ultra-sound not showing anything amiss, and the three different birth control pills not helping at all.

(My period came two weeks early. I think you can imagine how thrilled I was.)

She came into the room, and she looked through my tests and we discussed how the labs and ultrasound showed nothing amiss, and it seemed pretty clear to me that she was going to pussyfoot around some more, and I finally asked if, at this point, a hysterectomy was a possibility, and she jumped on that with both feet.

A hysterectomy is, indeed, a possibility. And it’s gonna happen. AND I COULD NOT BE MORE PLEASED. My ovaries and cervix will be staying, thank you very much, unless she gets in there and sees something weird going on with an ovary, in which case she’ll remove it. (Given that she did an ultrasound a couple of weeks ago and all looked fine at that point, she doesn’t expect that to happen.)

So, in a few more weeks (see the note at the end of the last section about how Fred won’t let me tell you exactly when I’m having it done) that hysterectomy will be PERFORMED and the constant goddamn bleeding will be done and over with.

CAN I GET A HALLELUJAH?!

(I can feel my stupid uterus getting ready for one last period, though. STUPID UTERUS.)

 

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Thanks, y’all, for your book suggestions! I spent a lot of time last night looking through them at Amazon, getting sample chapters (sample chapters on the Kindle: BEST THING EVER!) and making notes of books I want to try in the future.

 

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In a few hours, I will leave to take Gus and Mike…. somewhere. Where they will ultimately end up in their new home. NO DETAILS.

Details tomorrow, I promise. 🙂

I am going to miss these guys SO much, I’m telling you.

Mike and Crazy Jake check out the feather teaser.

Cats on a tree!

Gus is skeptical.

Hello, have I perhaps mentioned ten million times that I LOVE THIS KITTEN? Make it ten million and one!

Mike and Gus sharing a snooze with Hydrox.

“Don’t hate me because I’m beyoootiful.”

“Okay, right. Funny. HILARIOUS. Now PUT ME DOWN.”

A bit dusty, and a piece of some sort of string on his head. My guess: he’s been rolling around under the bed.

Two Wonkas + two Cookies, mix together, shake lightly = a recipe for CUTE.

It hurts me to look at him, he’s so gorgeous.

Keebler and Mike were hanging out in the cat bed, and Keebler got a little too vigorous with the kneading and slurping. See Mike’s claw? He was like “Okay, kid. Calm it down, now. Tryin’ to snooze, here.”

I think the Cookies are going to miss Mike and Gus, too!

 

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We call this Maxi‘s “Tony Soprano look”, because she’s got those flat, dead eyes going on. You SO don’t wanna mess with her, Chris-tuh-FUH will come mess you UP on her behalf.

 

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Previously
2009: Meet George and Gracie.
2008: No entry.
2007: Oh look! It’s been two years since the last time we adopted a dog.
2006: Home again, home again.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: How we met.
2000: And that’s all I have to say ’bout that.

(In case you missed it on Saturday)

New month (new year!), new banner!

This one was created by Christine, who’s done a bunch of them for me lately. Thanks, Christine – it’s time Miz Poo had her very own banner that she doesn’t have to share with anyone else!

 

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Happy New Year!!!

(Thanks, Robin, for the photoshopping!!!)

 

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I Twittered about my black-eyed peas (which we didn’t have for dinner on New Year’s Day like you’re supposed to, because we ended up at the mall earlier in the day, and bought some mall pizza which was REALLY freakin’ good) on Saturday, and got a couple of requests for the recipe. So here ’tis:

Robyn’s Super-Tasty Black-Eyed Peas

1 lb (or thereabouts) of dried black-eyed peas
1 Ham hock
1 onion, chopped
garlic (unless you’re anti-garlic)

Soak the black-eyed peas in a pot of water overnight. Some people rinse the peas the next day and put them in a fresh pot of water before cooking because it makes them less gas-inducing (or so I’ve heard). I don’t do that, because I don’t think they taste as good when you do.

Making sure the peas are well covered with water, bring to a boil, toss in a chopped onion, as much garlic as you’d like (or leave it out), and your ham hock. I like to add a jar of our own chicken stock to the pot, though in the past I’ve added a bouillon (is that spelled right?) cube or two.

Now, obviously I had my own ham hock from one of our own pigs, and it wasn’t smoked. I’m not super crazy about that smoked meat taste, but I’m not so sure if you can buy an unsmoked ham hock at the grocery store. If you can, I recommend it. If not, I’m sure the smoked ham hock will be just fine.

Once the water’s at a boil, turn it down to a simmer, and simmer it for at least two hours. Check periodically to make sure there’s enough water in the pot that the beans don’t burn.

After a couple of hours, take the ham hock out of the pot, scrape the fat off and toss it, then pull the meat off the hock, shred it, and put it back in the pot. Simmer for another half hour or so.

Eat. We like to add a little BBQ sauce to ours. It’s especially tasty when served with corn bread, too.

We got about six servings, with some left over for the chickens.

(This recipe is also posted over at the recipe site, if you’re ever looking for it in the future.)

 

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I finally finally FINALLY finished Under the Dome, and I’ve gotta say, I liked it quite a bit. My intention was to next start a printed book so Fred could read Under the Dome on the Kindle, but he’s reading Duma Key right now, so it’ll be a while before he’s ready to move on to another Stephen King novel.

During one of my daily Kindle store stalkings, I downloaded what I thought was an Amy Bloom novel, Between Here and Here, for 99 cents. I read it Saturday night, and was dismayed to find that it was actually just once piece from the book, Where the God of Love Hangs Out. Which doesn’t come out ’til the 12th. I really enjoyed what I read, and I’m not thrilled about having to wait. I want it NOW, damnit!

But I have to wait, so I’ve started What the Dog Saw. I’ve never read anything by Malcolm Gladwell before (though Blink and The Tipping Point are on my wish list), and I’m enjoying it.

So, tell me – what have you read recently that you highly recommend?

(And for god’s sake – I only read 109 books in 2009! Remember the year when I read 195? Maybe it should be my new year’s resolution to read more in 2010!)

 

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Our New Year’s Eve was very exciting – Fred watched Firestarter, and I snuggled up in bed with many kittens and read. We were sound asleep by 9:30.

We know how to live it up, yo.

 

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It is FUCKING COLD ’round these here parts lately, and it’s not supposed to get any warmer any damn time soon. I keep telling myself that if I can make it through January, Spring will practically be within reach.

Fred complained yesterday because we’ve had several days below freezing, and I haven’t made a fire. Like I’ve said before, I would happily make a fire if I were certain that one of the fluff-brained Cookies wouldn’t throw themselves into it!

 

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Okay, guys – just to prepare you, Gus and Mike are going to their new home tomorrow. I’m still not going to talk about it yet because I don’t want to jinx it into not happening, but I wanted to make sure y’all know about it in advance so you’re not caught by surprise!

 

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Spanky does not approve of kittens.

 

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Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: I really haven’t had any desire to eat squirrel (yes, I’ve eaten it, but it’s been many years. Tastes like chicken, right?).
2007: Awww, it’s been three years since we first met Joe Bob! (He was Moon Man back then, though.)
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: Links.
2001: What sad, sad lives y’all must have led, to never experience the delight of whoopie pies.
2000: I’m feeling like total crap.

I hope everyone’s Christmas or Kwanzaa or weekend went well – ours went pretty well. We went to Fred’s father’s house for Christmas Eve dinner – we had to wait ’til the chickens were up and didn’t leave here ’til 5:00. He had told his father we’d be there about 5:30, and so apparently his father told everyone else (Fred’s sister and her husband, and Fred’s stepsister and her family) to be there at 5:30.

Now, I’ve done a total of 13 Christmases with Fred’s family, and every single year we’re the first ones to arrive. Everyone else tends to run late, we tend toward being early, and thus – we’re always the first to get there. This year, on the drive to his father’s house, Fred fretted and worried and fretted some more.

“We’re going to be the last ones there!” he said. “They’re going to be all standing around waiting for us! Maybe they’ll have already sat down to eat!”

“We’re going to be the first ones there,” I said.

“I bet everyone’s there, and they’re all annoyed at having to wait for us!” he fretted.

“We’re going to be the first ones there,” I said.

Guess who was right? You don’t even need to guess because IT WAS ME, OF COURSE. We were the first ones there by about fifteen minutes.

Finally, everyone else showed up and we sat down and ate, and talked, and ate and talked some more. Fred’s niece and nephew couldn’t come (they were working), but her husband showed up. He’s joining the Army in a few months, and he decided it was time to lose some weight so basic training didn’t kick his ass, and he looked pretty damn good. Sixty pounds, he’s lost.

(Fred whispered to me, out of Dan’s hearing, “Has he lost weight?” and I said “YES.” Clearly he had, but I guess Fred didn’t want to ask and be rude. That was okay, though, Fred’s father didn’t mind asking. Guess how Dan has lost that sixty pounds? GO AHEAD GUESS, YOU’LL NEVER GUESS, IT’S RIDICULOUS, THE WAY HE DID IT! He stopped eating so much and he started exercising. I know! I told him he oughta write a book.)

Also, Dan has a Hispanic background (I swear to you, Fred said to him, “Dan, you have a Hispanic background, right?” and Dan laughed and said “Yes.”) and so Fred asked him what the deal was with our Hispanic egg-buying customers never ever using the word “docena” (which is Spanish for “dozen”), and as it turns out, it’s because it’s slang.

Interesting, the things you learn.

So, we had a good time at Christmas Eve – we brought dessert, Paula Deen’s banana pudding. DAMN that stuff is good. Fred’s sister’s husband, who is French, showed us up by bringing a lemon tart, and DAMN it was good.

We got home after 9:00, which is super-late for us. I took my makeup off and we went to bed almost as soon as we got home.

We are such partiers.

Christmas morning, we had to leave the house at 8:30, and we did even though I lazed around in bed ’til after 6 (SLACKER!).

Even though we were doing breakfast at Fred’s sister’s house, we brought Paula Deen’s Strawberry Cream Shortcake rather than any kind of breakfast dish. It was, to say the least, a hit. Everyone ate it and loved it, and we got to have leftover lemon tart that Fred’s sister’s husband had made, and I even got to bring a big wedge of the lemon tart home with me, and DAMN THAT STUFF IS GOOD.

So, we ate breakfast and sat around and talked, and then went into the TV room where Fred and his niece and nephew and her husband and his sister’s husband all played Rock Star. Fred sang three or four songs, and his sister sang a few, and Fred tried to get me to sing a song, but HELL TO THE NO, I wouldn’t inflict my singing voice on other people. Fred’s mother and stepfather seemed to enjoy watching, but I strongly suspect that Fred’s mother would have liked to get up and sing a few.

We finally left there close to 12:30, and intended to go to the theater to see Avatar. Unfortunately, when we pulled up to the theater, we found that the listings Fred had seen online were WRONG, and nothing was showing until after 3. We went by the movie store and then went home.

We eventually sat down and watched The Taking of Pelham 123. Well, I should say Fred watched it – I slept through the first 45 minutes of it, then watched the rest and that 45 minutes I missed? I didn’t miss a thing. I’m starting to think movies are MADE so you can snooze through the first 45 minutes and not miss anything.

Around 4:30 or so, we decided to go up into town to see if there was anything open where we could find something for dinner. It didn’t occur to us to think ahead and make sure we had food in the house (that didn’t have to be thawed and cooked), of course. As it turned out, the only place open was Waffle House, which was PACKED. We ended up getting some stuff from a gas station deli, and it wasn’t bad (corn dogs, chicken fingers, and an egg roll, if you must know), but next year we will definitely think ahead. Though I think what threw us off was that most years we bring food home from Fred’s father’s house. This year we had spaghetti and meatballs for Christmas Eve dinner, which doesn’t really lend itself to leftovers, so we had nothin’.

And the weekend was pretty low-key. Saturday, I took Violet and Veruca to the adoption center, then ran over to Target to grab a few things. Later in the day, we went to see Avatar, which I highly recommend because it was fucking AWESOME.

Sunday, Fred processed 10 more chickens. We watched movies, we read, we snuggled kittens.

You know, the usual.

 

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I finally got my Kindle version of Under the Dome, but I was in the middle of a Laura Lippman book (the more I read by her, the more I like her). Yesterday morning I finally finished that book, and then had to beg for help from my fellow Twitterers. If there’s a way to go to a certain page in your book, I haven’t discovered it yet, but I knew I had gotten to page 150 before I gave up on the printed version. Then I sold the printed version on half.com, so I didn’t have any way to figure out where the holy hell page 150 was on the Kindle version. I Twittered, asking if someone would tell me what the first sentence on page 150 was, and got several responses.

My fellow Twitterers, you rawk.

 

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We made another attempt at getting a good Christmas card picture for next year. While we were shooting pictures, a Cookie came along, and well, I’m pretty sure she was screaming “I ARE NOT SANTA!!!!” after Fred put the hat on her tiny little head.

Santa make kitty scared.

I don’t know what it is, but something about Mike’s sweet profile just melts me. He is the sweetest cat on earth.

Gus and his floof.

“Ah, zees lahf. Eet ees, how you say? So deefeecoolt to be thees beyootifool.”

I can’t stop taking pictures of the floof. It fascinates me.

Cookie say, “PARDON ME, COMING THROUGH!”

That cat bed (well, really, TWO cat beds) Miz Poo is laying on over there to the right? I had no idea that location was going to be so popular, but there’s ALWAYS at least one cat over there. It’s Hydrox’s favorite place to knead and suck fleece.

 

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Fred put this poor, unsuspecting Cookie (I think it’s Blue) in the cat bed with Sugarbutt. As you can see, it didn’t go so well. Sugarbutt has no use for little kittens.

 

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Previously
2008: No entry.
2007: “Your flight’s been canceled.”
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: Let’s see if this puts you in the mood for a nap, huh?
2003: If you’re wandering through the Cincinnati airport around 10 am tomorrow and see someone with a hideous bag, say hi. It’ll be me.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.
1999: Best laid plans, and all that.