Category: Life

1/23/07

here.

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After using the Liz Claiborne Grandma purse (’cause it looks like something your Grandma would carry, apparently, at least according to Debbie and Fred) (not that I care, obviously, since that didn’t stop me from buying it) for a week, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not working for me. I’ve run back to my Healthy Back Bag and am begging for forgiveness. I’d sell my Liz Claiborne Grandma bag on eBay, but I’m a klutz and a dumbass (not necessarily in that order), and I got a splotch of white paint on it and can’t get it off, so it might end up on the Giveaway page one of these days.
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From my comments: Hey, I know you and Fred are considering chickens/ducks, and thought you’d both enjoy reading this blog. Fred and I both read that blog already, actually. I think someone sent me the link back when we first bought the Smallville house and I check it from time to time. Last week or the week before, Fred sent me an email with a link to the blog and said something like “Check it out, she’s got chickens!”, and I got to tell him that I’d sent the link to him months ago (he “discovered” it via Google).
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Okay, so how do you change out switches and plugs? I thought I needed professional help for that and low and behold Lil Robyn does it. Maybe you guys need a DIY blog. I would find it very useful. I intended to do an entry on this very thing this week, but didn’t get to take the pictures to do it over the weekend, so it’ll have to wait ’til after the floors are done!
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I think I might know why people think you’re pregnant, and it might not be as bad as you think. When you were heavier, you were heavier all over. You didn’t look pregnant, just fat. Now you have a thin face, thin arms and thin legs, so if your stomach looks pooched out even a little bit, it might make you look pregnant. How many times do we hear that some movie star looks pregnant, and they’re not? It doesn’t take much on a thin person. That’s why even though you’ve lost tons of weight, NOW is when you’re being called pregnant. That’s Fred’s opinion on the topic, and I think you’re both probably right! We went out to lunch Sunday afternoon, and I found that when I got up from the table, I was sucking my gut in as hard as I could, so the ultra-friendly owner of the restaurant wouldn’t come running over yelling “You’re pregnant!” Heh.
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Hey Robyn – you guys should get a sign for you door that says, “We do not accept solicitations.” It does deter a lot of folks. For those who chose to ignore it, you can always point to the sign and say, “I’m sorry, I have a firm policy of only doing business with people who know how the hell to read.” You can also put it on your voice mail: “This number does not accept solicitations, so please remove us from your call list immediately.” I’ve thought of that, and maybe we’ll do that, at least at the new house. I’ve also considered putting up a sign that says “No solicitation, no religion, no cookies, no candy, no strangers, no thanks. (But cats are always welcome)” I’m sure that would endear us to our neighbors!
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What?!? No mention of the Scrubs musical, the best half hour of television EVER?! Only because we hadn’t watched it yet! We watched it Friday night… and Saturday night. And Sunday, too. In fact, I’m going to see if I can Torrent it and burn it to DVD. It was SO AWESOME, and amazing how many musical numbers they were able to fit into a half hour show. If you’re not watching Scrubs, you’re missing out, is all I’m saying.
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What is cute Tommy wearing in that self-portait? (In this picture) Tommy’s wearing a collar that works with the electric fence out back, so he doesn’t go a-roaming. He, Sugarbutt, and Mister Boogers all wear them on days when we leave the cat door open (which we haven’t been doing a lot of lately because of the weather)
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Hi Robyn – I’m sure you’ve mentioned this a dozen times, but I can’t seem to find the answer! You take such great pictures, what kind of camera do you use? The camera I use is a Sony Cybershot DSC-P200. My only gripe is that it doesn’t have as much of a zoom as I’d like, but other than that, I LOVE it! We’ve always had Sony digital cameras, and have always liked them a lot.
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Old toilets are power flushers for megapoops and are the equivalent of gold to some people… you might want to rethink replacing them! Unfortunately, they’re not that old, just a few years old. They’re the cheap, crappy toilets with hardly any flushing power at all – and in the And3rson household, we need us some flushing power. We’re going to upgrade, though not to the $800 (!) toilets Fred’s stepmother was telling us about!
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I too have a thing for Bam [Margera]. I didn’t realize it until I watched a marathon of his reality show one weekend and I think he is completely hot now although I’m not sure exactly why. Steve-O is completely gross even when he tries to “clean up” which is basically never. There are certain people who just look like they never bathe. They could spend half an hour in the shower with a Brillo pad and a bar of soap, and step out and still look like they’re dirty. Steve-O’s one of them. (Matthew McConaughey, bless his heart, is another. But maybe that’s just because he doesn’t wear deodorant. Also, Cameron Diaz.)
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I love that shirt, where did Spud get it!?! I’m 99% sure she got it at Hot Topic; that where she does a lot of her shopping these days.
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I was wondering though, does the shelter you volunteer for have dogs for adoption as well? Maybe you could foster some dogs and get to know them a little better and at the same time, find one that might work better for you guys. Nope, they sure don’t – they’re solely a cat shelter. They do have a couple of dogs at the shelter that belong to the shelter manager, but not for adoption. (More readers’ questions and comments in tomorrow’s entry!)
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Self-portrait #14: Driving down 65 at 80 miles per hour. SO TALENTED.
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Joe Bob (formerly known as Moonman) continues to make himself at home. Tom and Sugarbutt get their hate on. His name was Tommy! He was a showcat! With his tail straight in the air and a gut hung down to there! At the Copa-Copacatbanaaaaaaaaaa! Music and pimped-out Toms are always in fashion! At the Copacatbana! They fell in love!
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Previously 2006: You can’t ride two horses with one ass. 2005: No entry. 2004: Damn Home Depot. 2003: Yep. READY FOR SPRING! 2002: Sam’s rocks. Just so you know. 2001: I don’t know how on earth I missed it the first time around. But I’m sure it was Fred’s fault. 2000: “Fred, is F-A-G a bad word?”]]>

1/22/07

Newt is anxious to see the new floors!

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Moonman has earned himself the nickname “Joe Bob” for no reason other than it’s a good nickname for him (also, I occasionally call him “Joseph Robert”). He’s integrated into the And3rson herd of cats pretty well (Mister Boogers continues to show his butt, but not nearly as often), and he does NOT like being put back into his room with Moondance at night. We continue to put him up at night because I value my sleep and don’t want to listen to Mister Boogers’ hysteria all night long. Moondance is a scaredy cat and either hangs out in their room all day (despite the fact that the door is open), or hides under the spud’s bed. She’s a sweet thing, but very, very timid. Poor baby. The Les Mis kitties are doing just fine. They came through the spaying and neutering with flying colors, no problems at all. The three females were pretty sleepy Friday evening and most of Saturday, but Javert was his usual energetic, mouthy self. If it wasn’t for the shaved back end, you’d never know he’d had himself some surgery. All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither.
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Self-portrait #13: I suffer from Severe BedHeaditis. Self-portrait #12 is here, and #11 is here.
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The spud’s paternal grandfather passed away over the weekend. He had prostate cancer, which went into remission for several years, then came back last year along with multiple myeloma. The spud’s going to California on Tuesday and staying until Sunday. She knew it was coming so at least it wasn’t a surprise, but I know she’s going to miss him an awful lot.
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Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: You don’t actually have to say the words “You’re a dumbass” to get the idea across, and thus when your wife is mad at you later and you so very innocently say “Are you mad about something?” and she says “YOU CALLED ME A DUMBASS!” and you say “I did NOT call you a dumbass!”, you are wrong and she is right and you’d best commence to begging for forgiveness, you fucker. 2003: Little bastard. 2002: I can’t believe I’m FUCKING FALLING DOWN. 2001: Oh, wait. I guess the worst part was actually the rectal exam. 2000: One thing you don’t particularly want to see is Tex running at you, let me tell ya.]]>

1/19/07

* * * Sorry folks, but it’s going to be a short one today – I’m dropping Fantine and the bebbes off at the vet, then spending the day at the Smallville house doing many things that I need to get done (door painting, closet painting, switching out switches and plugs), and just have no time for something longer. On the up side, since the floor guy will be working on the floors next week, I’ll have the whole week off (and believe you me, I’m looking forward to it!), and there should be updates in a timely manner alllll next week. ‘Til then, y’all have a good weekend! Self-portrait #10:

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Previously 2006: A SHELL ON A STICK. 2005: Every movie and every show we watch, he’s in there deconstructing it. 2004: Memes. 2003: A day in the life of Spot J. And3rson. 2002: No entry. 2001: Blech. 2000: I now officially have too damn many books to read. ]]>

1/18/07

hands picture, for one – I’ve used the Gorillapod Fred gave me for Christmas. This year, Fred I swore to each other that we were only buying each other one thing. He wanted a mug from me, and I wanted the Gorillapod from him. And I have to say – the Gorillapod is one of the best Christmas presents I got. The other best present is a tote bag from my sister. It looks like this: But the really cool thing is that it folds up, like so: and it fits very nicely in my purse. I carry one in my purse at all times, and I had her buy me another three, which I leave in my car and take into the store with me if I think I’ll need more than one bag. They’re very sturdy, and SO convenient. (And Debbie’s saying “All the stuff I gave you for Christmas and THAT’s your favorite??” What can I say? The simplest things are the best.)

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This is the name and brand of the color we used in the living room, for those who asked:
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We went out to the house yesterday afternoon and met up with Fred’s father, stepmother, and their friend. The friend has known Fred for years and she’s moved away from Alabama but comes back to visit from time to time. I guess Fred’s parents had told her all about the house, and she wanted to see it. We spent a long time showing them around the house, talking about what we’d done and what we had left to do. The funny thing is that when I’m in one of the rooms we’ve finished, I look around and see all the small flaws and they bother me – until I look at a picture of what it looked like before, and then I think “This place looks AWESOME.” Anyway, we got the quote from the blinds guy, talked about it, talked about it, talked about it some more, and then decided we’d try putting up blinds from Lowe’s in one of the upstairs bedrooms and see (1) how it looked and (2) how much of a pain in the ass it was, and decide from there whether to go with the professional or not. Later in the evening, after we’d gotten home, Fred opened his email to find a quote from the tile guy (for around the showers). It wasn’t bad – ’til we realized the quote was PER SHOWER rather than for the whole job, and Fred decided to give tiling around the shower a try himself. While we watched American Idol last night, he sat and leafed through his tiling book. I think if the tiling goes well, he should hire himself out on the weekends to make some extra money. Momma needs some bon-bons, don’tchaknow.
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Speaking of American Idol, did y’all see that really tall black woman? Here’s what I don’t get – they ask her how tall she is, she says “I’m 6’7″.” Simon says “In heels?” She says “Yes. I’m 6’4″ in flats.” Well, then. YOU’RE NOT 6’7″, ARE YOU?? NO YOU ARE NOT. IF YOU ARE 6’4″ IN FLATS, THAT IS HOW TALL YOU ARE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD; THOSE THREE INCHES ARE NOT HEIGHT INCHES THAT ARE YOURS, THEY ARE ONLY DUE TO YOUR HEELS AND YOU ARE NOT REALLY THAT HEIGHT. I turned to Fred and said “Well if we’re counting heel height, I guess I’m 5’7 1/2″. Hey! I should go stand on a ladder! If I use the tall one, I can claim I’m nine feet tall! I think that means I’m a little UNDERWEIGHT now, doesn’t it? Just call me Nicole Richie!” Good lord.
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Self-portrait #9:
“What you lookin’ at, lady?”
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In this section, pictures of stuff I didn’t buy when we were in Pigeon Forge, doing an amazing amount of shopping. Why didn’t I buy them? Because I have a limited amount of money and space. When I win the lottery and can buy a 30,000 square foot warehouse to put all my crap in, I’ll run right back to Pigeon Forge and snatch all this stuff up.
Money talks, but chocolate sings. Hike faster! I hear banjo music! (I actually did get this t-shirt for Fred) Sweet Lincoln’s mullet. (Debbie bought this at the Smoky Mountain Cat House) Why suffer in silence when I can moan, whimper, and complain? (My new motto!) Dull women have immaculate homes. Raising a teenager is like nailing Jello to a tree. I love you more today than yesterday. Yesterday you really pissed me off. I can’t remember if I’m the good sister or the evil one. Wrinkled was not one of the things I wanted to be when I grew up. The cops just pulled me over for carrying THESE GUNS. (This is very very “The Todd” from Scrubs, isn’t it?) Paddle faster! I hear banjo music! The nice part about living in a small town: When you don’t know what you’re doing, someone else always does. And my absolute favorite: It’s better to have loved and lost, than to live with a psycho for the rest of your life.
There are even more pictures of stuff I didn’t buy, here.
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The fosters are continuing to do well. Fantine and her babies have been around long enough to garner nicknames from Fred. He calls Fantine “Momma” (and cats who have ever delivered kittens become “Momma” to him – that’s what he still calls Maxi, even), Eponine is “Scaredy Cat” (for obvious reasons), Cosette is “Litter Maid” because of all the time she spent in the litter box with her UTI, and Javert is “Little Brother.” We’ve been letting Moonman and Moondance out of their room for several hours a day. Everyone except Mister Boogers is taking it quite well (Miz Poo and Spot are mostly excited when we open the door because that means there’s another bowl of food they can stick their faces in). Tommy is the gentleman of the bunch; he and Moonman have been seen touching noses several times. Moonman is such a sweet, friendly guy and he’s worming his way into Fred’s heart. (No, we’re not adopting him! But Fred’s going to be sad to see him go.) Moondance. The best pictures are the one you get accidentally, I’ve found. Javert, the squeaky, always-talking little monster. It’s tiring, being this damn cute. Fantine falls asleep with her tongue sticking out. I love the look on her face, like “Do you believe what I’ve got to put up with?” All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2006: I’d be a lobster, ’cause they are yummy, and I would be bringing joy to someone after I die a horrible boiling death. 2005: Saturday I spent at least two hours – conservative estimate – finding and downloading a ringtone that sounds exactly like the “internal call” ring on 24. 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: I’m quite the stylin’ bitchypoo, I really am. 2000: It’s the period that never ennnnnnds! Yes, it goes on and on my friends!]]>

1/17/07

Mister Boogers did not react well when we brought That Dog into the house a few weeks ago. The day before we brought Jake home, Tommy and Mister Boogers could smell the doggy on Fred’s hand and found it FASCINATING. I think the daffodils don’t realize winter’s not over yet. The answer to my “What is this bush?” question of a few months ago: We have winter honeysuckle, one bush on each side of the porch, and it’s blooming. And it smells AWESOME, kind of lemony. I think those bushes will be staying. We had the water oak on the side of the house trimmed back. Fred was afraid it’d look funny, but I think it turned out pretty well. The pond, still full. Don’t you think that pond needs a few ducks? The sunset, from the front porch of the Smallville house. I’ve got a new purse, this one bought at a Liz Claiborne factory store in Pigeon Forge. I like it a lot, but I haven’t forsaken my beloved Healthy Back bags. I just need a bit of a break for a while before I realize how PERFECT the Healthy Back Bag is for me. Who wants Monkey Butt? NO ONE. I swear, she’s enjoying this. This would be the picture that convinced me it might be time to go down a size (to medium) in these pants. (Though I still haven’t done it yet!) If nothing else, looking at Debbie’s pictures from the trip to Pigeon Forge points up (to me, at least) the fact that I’m far more willing to have my picture taken than I was in the past. Hatin’ you. Tomorrow: Stuff I Didn’t Buy. (All of today’s uploaded pictures can be seen here.)

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Self-portrait #8:
At the age of 39, for the first time in my life I have a regular morning skin routine I’ve stuck to for longer than two months. I’m currently using the Grassroots line in the morning and evening, but I’m about to finish out the containers I have, so tell me what you use on your face and really like.
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Previously 2006: I’m not germ-phobic or anything, but GAG ME. 2005: Stuff I Bought. 2004: No entry. 2003: Frequently asked questions. 2002: I love me some messing around with the camera. 2001: I was being subjected to porn without realizing it! 2000: Ben and me, we had sex in the back of a van.]]>

1/16/07

finished the front room over the weekend. Fred spent most of Sunday working on the wood shed, and I spent all of Sunday painting and painting and… oh yeah! Painting. Because I love it so much, you see. On the way home we stopped at the grocery store and I got my ass (or, strictly speaking, my GUT) insulted. Hmph. We’d intended to make Monday a short working-on-the-house day, but I informed Fred that I very much wanted to have the two downstairs bathrooms painted and crown-moldinged before the guy came to do the floors (which he’ll be starting next Monday, woohoo!). Fred pulled the toilet and sink out of the small half bath off the computer room and started painting it. And it’s such a small room that he actually finished painting it, and could even have gone so far as to put up the crown molding except we didn’t want to stand around and wait for the paint to dry, so we left around mid-afternoon. Before we went to the grocery store on Saturday and I was practically told point-blank that I was FAT, we went to a supply store and looked at fencing. Basically, it ended up that we could get a Fred-installed field fence around the back yard for a quarter of what it would cost to have a professional install a chain-link fence, so I told Fred it was okay with me. And then I suggested that since we were saving so much money, we should hire a professional to replace the linoleum in the laundry room, the upstairs bathroom, and to tile the area around the bathtub/ showers in the two full bathrooms. And Fred agreed, and not only did he agree, he actually called and set up an appointment to have someone come out and give us a quote. Things are really coming together out there in Smallville, and I’m getting really excited about moving out there in a few months. On a side note, I should send the fence guy a thank you note for not bothering to show up and mark the yard for the fence we were hiring to have him put in. It gave us enough time to consider alternatives, and save a buttload of money. I just don’t get these service people who make appointments to give quotes or provide a service, then simply don’t bother to show up or ever call again. Because in the future, if someone in the area says “Hey Robyn, who do you recommend to put in a fence?”, I’ll be saying “I can tell you who I do NOT recommend, that’s for sure!” When Fred was removing the toilet and sink from the back bathroom, we decided to put the sink by the road so that if anyone driving by wanted to take it, they could. Less than half an hour later, someone knocked on the door and asked if it was okay that they take the sink. Not only did they take the sink, they took the toilet, and left their name and number for later this week when Fred removes the sink and toilet from the front bathroom. Recycling at its finest.

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I think it’s possible that Newt, who is Not Our Cat, might end up becoming an inside cat. Every time we go to Smallville and he’s hanging out on the front porch, he hauls ass for the front door. If we leave it open for longer than a few seconds, he moseys on in and wanders around the house, meowing in his high-pitched big-baby squeak. He’ll hang out with us for quite a while, usually until he gets on Fred’s nerves, and Fred tosses him back outside. Maxi likes to come in and wander around (Sunday, when Fred was working out back, he left the back door open, and the screen door doesn’t swing shut the way it should, so Maxi and Newt came right in, explored for a while, then went back outside. I suspect this behavior will not go over well with the ass-showing Mister Boogers. “I’m prettier than that cat on the bag, right? The bag of cheap cat food you only feed the cats you don’t love as much, right? MUCH PRETTIER! SAY IT! I’m the prettiest boy in the world!”
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Fred’s new obsession, now that we’ve done the dog thing, is chickens. Oh, how he wants chickens. He can’t WAIT to have chickens. Chickens and ducks. He has PLANZ for the chickens, people. He’s always talking about his mad planz for the chickens, how he’ll blah blah nesting boxes and blah blah fences and blah blah worried blah blah. The one idea he’s brought up and which I can 100 percent get behind is the idea of having the fenced area where the chickens will be right next to the fenced area where the cats will be. Not only will we have the entertainment of seeing the cats freaked out by the chickens (the cats will not be able to get out of the fenced area, don’t worry), but we can occasionally let the chickens into the back yard (when the cats have been locked into the house), where they can eat all the bugs their little hearts desire. Chickens I can live with easier than a dog, I think. Chickens won’t require all the time and attention dogs require, and as long as they’re fed, I can ignore them and not feel bad about it. (I don’t know who I think I’m kidding. I’ll probably end up like Haven Kimmel and her beloved pet chicken, with the damn thing riding around on my shoulder.)
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I think it only fair to tell y’all that I’m currently reading Marley and Me, by John Grogan, and though Marley sounded like a NIGHTMARE to live with, it’s making me want a dog in the worst way. It’ll go away eventually – probably right around the time I finish the book. But that John Grogan can tell one hell of a dog story, there’s no doubt about it. I keep cackling and reading bits aloud to Fred, also cackles.
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The foster babies are doing well, though I have no pictures for you today. Moonman and Moondance have been spending a little more time outside their room in the evenings, though Mister Boogers is so adamant about showing his ass that he scares them, and they tend to spend most of their outside-the-room time hiding from him. In answer to a comment someone left last week, I don’t know how long they’ll be with us. The shelter manager asked if they could come stay with us for a few weeks, because they’d been in the cage at the pet store for so long that they were getting on each others’ nerves. They’re no bother and they’re both pretty sweet, so we don’t mind having them around. Fantine and her babies are doing well. They’re over their upper respiratory infection, so it’s time to have them spayed and neutered, which will be happening on Friday.
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365 Self-Portrait Project; Portrait #7.
On particular days, I hold my hands before me and silently exalt their singular growth like they are the rigid-nylon of a yew’s bark, a thousand-years-old, here to witness my grandmother and her grandmother and her grandmother. I love the mini tree-rings of my fingertips, how I leave stump-marks everywhere I go like the imprints of galaxies, skimmings of the universe’s flesh and blood. I’ve lost 151 pounds, and though you’d think I’d spend time staring at myself in the mirror, looking at the places that once were fat and no longer are, the body part that has me most fascinated is my hands. I didn’t think I had chubby hands before, but I guess you don’t weigh more than 300 pounds and have slender fingers. My largest ring size was a 10; I’m now wearing a size 6. I’m not a graceful person, but there are times I look down at my fingers, and I see a flash of grace.
Saturday‘s self-portrait. Sunday’s. Monday’s.
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If Sugarbutt’s the happiest cat in the world, I think Newt runs a very close second.
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Previously 2006: Things you may not know about me. 2005: No entry. 2004: I put too much perfume on this morning and now I’m sitting here with the stank rays shooting off me in every direction. 2003: And on the way home, he recounted, word-for-word a conversation he, his doctor, and I had had, only he substituted the nurse for me, and had her saying what I’d said. 2002: Ever hear of “Shut up, Junior, that’s rude, and the next time you say it, you’re going to your room for the rest of the day”? 2001: I’m such a ditz sometimes 2000: I’ve turned into such an old lady.]]>

1/12/07

wind silence to announce that Fred And3rson is a great big liar. Well. Except that he isn’t. I don’t know what it is about Lowe’s that makes me so gassy. I suspect it’s a defense mechanism much like that of skunks. Next time we go to Lowe’s, I’ll announce to Fred that I’m feeling gassy and we’ll see how fast we get out of there. I should have tried that last night when we were in Lowe’s and he kept pointing out the god-awful ugliest curtains EVER to me. I wish I’d had my camera with me.

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We watched Jackass 2 the weekend I got back from Pigeon Forge, and let me announce that (1) I have no use for Jackass, because it’s an idiotic show/ movie, and I hate those guys and their stupid things they do, and watching their idiocy always manages to piss me off, and (2) I find Bam Margera oddly appealing. Not Johnny Knoxville (those crazy, twirling eyes betray a certain amount of mental and probably emotional damage) and not Wee Man (though he has a nice-guy face) and CERTAINLY not Steve-O (I would happily pay to appear in Jackass 3 if I could punch Steve-O in the face), but Bam Margera. I don’t know why. It’s a little disturbing, really. I’m going to go jump off a cliff now.
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Speaking of Pigeon Forge, I think I mentioned that we did a lot of shopping while we were there, and more than once I had to produce my driver’s license when I used my credit (debit) card. For the most part, the clerks would glance at the license, the name on my debit card to be sure they matched, and finish ringing up the sale. Because god knows if I’d stolen the credit card I couldn’t have easily stolen the driver’s license too, right? Anyway, a couple of times the clerk noticed that I looked vastly different now than I did on the card, and a couple of them asked how I’d lost the weight (or actually, one asked and the other just commented “Wow, you’ve lost a lot of weight”, to which the only possible response is “Yes I have.” Unless you’re my husband, who would surely have been compelled to tell the clerk how he’d lost the weight, how much he’d lost, and that he likes cheese. Just not on a salad.), but I noticed that neither of them even hesitated at accepting that the woman in the driver’s license picture was me. I guess I still resemble the “then” me enough to pass. I should totally replace the picture on my license with a picture of Miz Poo, and when they looked questioningly at me, I could say it was taken on a bad hair day.
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Someone explain to me, please, what exactly “misses” sizes entail. I’ve been shopping exclusively in the “women’s” section, but occasionally I’ll see something cute in the “misses” section, only I’m scared to go over there, because I think it might be meant for itty bitty size 0 girls who are too cool for skool and if I step foot in that section an alarm would go off (“Woop! Woop! Woop! Old lady alert! There’s nothing for you in this section, lady, move along!”) and security would come running and kick me out. So, enlighten me, wouldya?
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365 Self-Portrait Project #3.
In front of the computer, where I spend far too many hours. I call this one “Robyn and her wattle.” I’ve noticed recently that while I sit in front of my computer and stare with glazed eyes at whatever I’m reading, I always either chew the fingernails on my left hand, or pick at my face. Bad habits (the chewing and picking, that is. Well. The incessant surfing also). I’m not terribly motivated to stop either of them, though.
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Cosette is still at the vet’s (I’m sure the vet hasn’t had a chance to see her yet), and hopefully they’ll be able to figure out what’s going on with her so I can pick her up later this morning, or this afternoon. Last night Fred had had enough of Eponine’s scaredy-cat ways, and he chased her around the room until he caught her, and he picked her up and petted her until she calmed down, and then he put her down and petted her some more until she gave up the fight and threw herself onto her back for a belly rub. This morning, she ran a little less. I think, given enough time, we’ll turn her into a lovebug whether she likes it or not! Eponine, up close. I love this kitty and her tail-wagging ways. Wild boy Javert. It’s hard to play with Eponine when Javert’s around, ’cause if you start waving a toy at her, he runs right over and grabs it. He cracks me up. Cosette, before her trip to the vet. Moondance and Moonman are doing well. I think moving them into the guest bedroom was a good move – they LOVE to sit on the table by the window and look out at the neighborhood, sleep in the sun, play, and greet us when we go in to spend time with them. Last night we opened the door to their room so they could come out and explore. For the most part, Moonman was uinterested in exploring – he just wanted to hang out in his room. Moondance explored quite a bit, especially when Fred brought her downstairs, and of course Mister Boogers had to show his butt again. The good thing is that while Mister Boogers acts like a jerk, growls and hisses and goes into hysterics, he doesn’t attack the cat who’s freaking him out, so we don’t have to worry about the safety of our fosters. (Of course, I think Moondance could kick his butt, anyway, so I’m not too worried about her!) He loves to hang out under the spud’s desk. “What?”   “Dude. Seriously. You’re in my space.” * * * Previously 2006: Right now, Fred’s thanking his lucky stars that I don’t have this much Christmas stuff, because it would drive him NUTS. 2005: (YES, GODDAMNIT! I HAVE CONFIRMED THAT YOU CAN, IN FACT, BEGIN WRITING THE FUCKING CHECK BEFORE YOU ACTUALLY HEAR WHAT THE TOTAL IS, YOU IN-MY-WAY MOTHERFUCKER!) 2004: I need to go crack open a beer, watch the game, scratch my balls, and think about what this means. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: “Yeah, so you‘ll be the one with the big head blocking everyone else’s view.” 2000: No, I’m not on any drugs, why do you ask?]]>

1/11/07

* * * Did I mention that I got a Keith and the Girl hoodie from Fred for my birthday? I did! And Patrice wasn’t kidding when she called it the most comfortable, warmest hoodie on the face of the earth. It’s AWESOME.

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I am feeling oddly scattered today, so cannot solidify my thoughts into an entry (but if I could, it’d taste exactly like cinnamon!), so I’m going to post my 2nd self-portrait (only 363 more to go!), put up some cat pictures and call it good enough!
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Do you feel lucky, punk? Well, do you? (With staple gun (and fancy ear protectors) at the Smallville house.)
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After two days of Amoxicillin, Cosette is still spending way too much time in the litter box straining to pee, so I’m taking her to the vet this afternoon, where she’ll stay overnight and see the vet tomorrow morning. Hopefully they’ll be able to figure out what’s going on with her. Poor Cosette – she runs from us now because almost every time we go into the kitten room, we grab her up and shoot stuff down her throat. That Javert, what a pretty boy. I don’t know how it is that his sisters and mother all have the Goopy Eye and he doesn’t. Lucky boy. They adore standing at the window looking out. They’re our own personal security system! Now if we could only train them to bark when an intruder comes near… Eponine the scaredy cat. Cosette and Eponine. Javert’s not too old to hang out with his mama. Javert from above.  
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Previously 2006: Oh, how I love my books. 2005: I need a nap. 2004: Stuff I bought in Maine. 2003: No entry. 2002: Firsts. 2001: You rock, maaaaaaaan! 2000: I’m blue.]]>

1/10/07

reading list for 2006, I only read 129 books in 2006. In 2005 I read 191, and in 2004 I read 195. I read 62 books less in 2006 than the year before. What the hell have I been spending all my time doing? Ah well – 129 books in a year isn’t a bad total. I’d like to bring it up for 2007, maybe closer to 200, but considering that it’s January 10th and I haven’t finished the only book I started this month, it’s not looking good! No wonder my bookcase is stuffed so full of books. Well, less reading combined with the fact that I won’t stop buying the damn things, anyway. Maybe once we move into the new house and life settles down, I’ll get back to reading the way I used to. Maybe not, though – there’ll be chickens to feed and gardens to hoe!

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I was catching up on some of my blog/ journal reading over the weekend, and I stumbled across the fact that Mac is doing a 365 self-portraits project, and I looked at her pictures, and I thought to myself “Self, wouldn’t it be kind of neat to do the same sort of thing to chronicle my 40th year?” And my Self said “Wow, that sounds like a pain in the ass.” And I said “Yes it does, and I know I can never take a picture nearly as good as this one that Mac took for I have not the Mad Skillz, but it would still be neat to look back upon when I am one hundred years old.” (For the record, this is my favorite Mac self-portrait.) And my Self said “WhatEVERRRRR. God. You’re such a pain in the ass.” And I said “Shut up.” So I was using the self-timer to take a picture of myself when my parents called to wish me a happy birthday, and I kept taking pictures of myself, and I think I got a very “me” picture.
(I wasn’t rolling my eyes; I was talking and in the process of moving my gaze from the camera to something off to the side, and that’s when the camera snapped the picture OF COURSE.) This should be an interesting project, no? I’m thinking I’ll get about 10 days in when y’all will say “GODDAMN woman, enough with the self-portraits!”
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Thanks for all your birthday wishes yesterday. I had a very nice, very relaxing day wherein I did not much at all, just sat on my ass in front of the computer, ran a few errands, and then went out to dinner at Outback with Fred and the spud. Rather than order a cake from the good bakery in Huntsville, we had the spud go to the grocery store and pick up some cupcakes and ice cream and called it good enough. Well, except that the cupcakes were completely tasteless. The ice cream wasn’t bad, though! I’m thinking for my 40th, I should do something a little more exciting, like spend a week traveling around New Zealand. Hey. We should all do it! Who’s up for the Bitchypoo tour of New Zealand??
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At someone’s request, I created a 2007 calendar (pay no attention to the fact that we’re practically halfway through the first month of 2007, ‘k?). I included pictures of all our cats (except Maxi, because I couldn’t find a picture I liked well enough to put in the calendar)(also, Maxi is not our cat), a couple of Maddy pictures, and some foster kitten pics. Anyway, you can get it here, if you’re interested, and I’ll leave the link up in the sidebar until the end of the month. Or until I remember to take it down, whichever happens first.
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Over the weekend, Fred and I were watching TV when the phone rang. He checked the caller ID and handed the phone to me. It was the shelter manager, calling to see how Moonman and Moondance were doing, and then to ask me if I could take a mother cat and her three kittens. They all had crusty eyes and upper respiratory infections, so she was keeping them in the bathroom to keep them away from the other cats. I had the option of picking them up that day (Saturday) or waiting until Monday ’til they’d been tested at the vet’s. I covered the phone, told Fred what was going on, and told the manager I’d pick them up Monday afternoon. We originally planned to move Moondance and Moonman to the other house, but we’re not out there every day, and I preferred to keep them here, where I could go up and hang out with them several times a day, rather than having to drive twenty minutes to get to them. Sunday, Fred and I moved the bed out of the guest bedroom and moved Moondance and Moonman into the guest bedroom. They’re very sweet, well-behaved cats and I knew that the spud wouldn’t have any problems with them (her computer is in there; I imagine when we move to Smallville and she gets to have her computer in her own room, it’ll be like Christmas for her). Monday, in a kind of convoluted way home (we stopped in Smallville to check out a leak in the ceiling of the computer room and (the real reason we stopped) leave a snack for Maxi and Newt, who hadn’t been around on Sunday, so hadn’t gotten a snack and THEY MIGHT STARVE) then drove to the shelter, then from the shelter home) we stopped by the shelter and picked up the mom and her kittens. The kittens are about three months old and slated to be spayed and neutered on Friday. They all have upper respiratory infections (though they already sound better than they did the first night) and all but one have crusty eyes, requiring the application of an ointment to their eyes three days a week. In addition, I’m pretty sure one has – or had – a urinary tract infection, because she’d get in the litter box and squat there for several minutes, eventually producing only a tiny bit of pee (I started her on amoxicillin yesterday and she seems already like she might be getting better). My hands are practically raw from all the hand-washing I’ve done since we got them (we’re hoping not to spread the upper respiratory infection to our cats). The mom is very, very sweet. A little feisty, too, but mostly sweet, and very friendly. Like all the momma cats we’ve had, she’s taken to Fred and seems to regard him as her property. Oh, and the best thing – she has a little three-inch stump of a tail that she wags, just like Mister Boogers. There are two female kittens and one male. The females are very skittish; the male is less so. He’s a bit of a Chatty Cathy and loves to walk around the room making little peeping noises for no apparent reason. I laid down on the floor for a few minutes this morning, and he curled up against me and went to sleep. He doesn’t like to be picked up, but he’ll tolerate it for a minute or two. Because I named the last batch of kittens (the Christmas kittens), Fred was given free reign to name this bunch. I actually kind of like the names he came up with. Fantine, the mom. Fantine again. She’s a tiny thing. Javert. Cosette (left) and Eponine. Cosette (standing), Eponine (brown tabby), and Javert. Yesterday afternoon I emailed Fred and said That Javert, he’s a talker. He emailed me back with “Valjean! At last, we see each other plain. M’sieur LeMeow, you’ll wear a doggie chaaaaaaaaaaaain!” Make sure you keep him away from water. Ha! (Those names are from Les Miserables, for those of you in the dark.) All of today’s uploaded pictures are here.    
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Previously 2006: “I had a double serving of beans last night/ and I’ve got some hard gas going on/ Pull my finger, baby.” 2005: Back from Maine! 2004: My parents’ Christmas decorations. 2003: And yet, show me a zit and I’m on it in two seconds flat. 2002: “IF YOU WERE THAT FUCKING INTERESTED IN HOW MUCH EVERYTHING COST, YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN PAYING ATTENTION WHEN SHE WAS RINGING IT ALL UP!” 2001: My body gave me two birthday presents yesterday – my period (a day early) AND a mild return case of conjunctivitis. 2000: In his narcotic cough syrup-induced haze, he nodded sympathetically and hacked a big green chunk of lung onto his plate.]]>

1/9/07

Happy birthday to me! What you see above is one of the few candid pictures of me that exists (Debbie took it when we were in Pigeon Forge). Probably because I’ve been fat my entire life, I have an uncanny awareness of who’s got a camera and when it’s pointed in my direction, so I can pose or make a funny face, or hide my bulk behind a pillow. I don’t know if I was laughing or talking, but I was definitely having a good time! I don’t know that it’s a particularly flattering picture – Fred says he thinks it’s pretty good – but I like it. (And on the other end of the spectrum, Nance used a picture of me in her shout-out that made me laugh so hard I thought I was going to pass out. Hee!)

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Thanks for your nice comments about Jake. Jake is, no doubt about it, a good boy, and I’m sure he’ll be very happy in his new home. It took us four hours to get to Meridian, Mississippi yesterday to meet the guy who was taking Jake. We only had to stop four times, but most of those times were because I had to pee, rather than Jake. But here’s what dumbasses we are: about an hour into the trip, Jake sat up in the back of Fred’s car and did a little whining. “Maybe he’s car sick,” one of us suggested. “Or scared. He’s never been in a car going this fast.” “Maybe he’s hungry.” It wasn’t until about five minutes later that a light popped on over my head. “Maybe he has to pee.” Yep, he sure did! Duh. I was a little concerned about the guy who was taking Jake, because I don’t hang out on the message board Fred hangs out on (I don’t hang out on any message board these days, really.) and so I didn’t know the guy. “Does he seem like a good guy?” I asked. “Yeah, as far as I can tell,” he said. “His posts are pretty level-headed and he seems pretty sensible.” “Well, we’ve seen pictures of his dogs, and they look happy,” I said. “Yeah.” We pulled up to the gas station where the guy was waiting for us, and Fred tentatively waved at him to make sure he was the guy. He was. He was one of those guys who’s very soft-spoken and doesn’t have much to say, but I watched him watching Jake (who was wildly sniffing at every blade of grass on the area next to the gas station) and I watched him talk to Fred, and I noticed that every time he looked at Jake, he smiled. And not in a “You’ll taste mighty fine with a side of grits” way, either. No, this guy was definitely a dog person, and he liked Jake right away. Fred’s traded a few private messages with him since we got home, and it appears that Jake is adjusting pretty well. He’s timid and submissive and feeling his way around. I suspect that in a few days when he relaxes into his new home and gets to really know his new siblings (why do I suspect there’s a lot of butt-sniffing going on right about now?), he’ll be thrilled. By the way, Spot is fine. He was favoring his leg a bit yesterday, but today he seems completely back to normal. We didn’t take him to the vet (we decided to keep an eye on him instead to see how he did), but I’m still keeping an eye on him (and he looks at me like “WHY YOU KEEP LOOKING AT ME, LADY?”) just in case. He’s also getting lots of love, lots of petting, and lots of brushing (have you ever noticed that the more you brush a cat, the more fur they produce? It’s like they don’t actually have any organs or blood and guts on their insides, just more cat hair). I hadn’t noticed it while Jake was here, but last night I realized that except for Spot and Tommy, the cats had been hanging out exclusively upstairs. Last night they started coming back down, and in fact I think at one point we had all six of the cats in the living room with us, which doesn’t happen all that often. So life is going back to normal, Jake’s in a good home. It’s all good.
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While the whole thing with Jake was going on, someone I will refer to as That Jackass who posts on the board Fred hangs out on (yeah, I’m not providing a link) private messaged him, tried to get Fred to call him, and basically tried to pressure him into keeping the dog. When Fred told him that he’d found someone to adopt Jake, the guy was unhappy to hear that (!) and sent a patronizing private message asking how long we’d been married, and lecturing him that “Marriages are give and take, not one person rules.” Good god, what an asshole. “Oh! And did he tell you that if I were A GOOD WIFE, I’d submit to your will?” I bellowed, after he’d read the private message to me (you’d think the man would know better). “WHAT A JACKASS.” I love that That Jackass doesn’t know me except through what Fred has mentioned in passing, and has decided he knows that the problem is that I don’t understand that I need to shut up with all that stupid “I should have a say in this” bullshit and just submit. SUBMIT, BITCH! Yesterday morning when I woke up, I thought of That Jackass and what he’d said, and when Fred was about to step into the shower, I went into the bathroom. “Please private message That Jackass and thank him. Tell him that your wife is so incredibly grateful that she’s married to YOU and not HIM that she promised you an extra special (sexual favor)*, and it’s the best (sexual favor) you’ve ever gotten in your life.” Yesterday afternoon when we got home and were sitting in front of our respective computers and I went on the message board to read what people were saying, because I am a sucker for punishment, and That Jackass had a big old diatribe wherein he compared dogs to children and said something along the lines of “What if you brought a child home and it didn’t go well? Would you then turn around and take the child back?” Good christ. What a fucking idiot. You’d think we’d taken the dog out back and tortured him before shooting him in the head instead of finding a really good home for him. IDIOT. And now I’m going to stop thinking about That Jackass because it’s my birthday and jackasses have no place in My Special Day. *You don’t need details. Hey, my KID reads this!
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I should point out that though I refer to myself as “Not a dog person”, I love reading stories about dogs, looking at pictures of them, petting and hugging them when I see them. I just don’t necessarily want one living in my house, you know?
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Last night we let the foster kitties out of their room for a few minutes. We’d like to be able to let them out to run around the house in the evenings, because as much time as I spend in there loving on them, I don’t feel like it’s enough time and I’d like them to be able to come hang out with us while we’re watching TV. Moondance and Moonman are the first foster cats we’ve had who didn’t start rushing the door after a few days. They’re curious about what’s on the other side, but perfectly happy looking out the window and being loved and petted several times a day. I opened the door to their room, and sat down on the floor outside their room, waiting to see what they’d do. Fred encouraged them to come out and do some looking around, and after a few moments, they did. Naturally, Mister Boogers heard us talking to them, and came up to be a jerk. He growled and hissed at them, and scared them enough that they decided they wanted to just hang out in their room, thanks. We’ll give it another try tonight and see how it goes. They sure are good kitties. All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither.    
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All six cats on one bed. That NEVER happens!
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Previously 2006: Happy birthday to me! 2005: No entry. 2004: Happy birthday to me! 2003: Happy birthday to me! 2002: Happy birthday to me! 2001: Happy birthday to me! 2000: Happy birthday to me!]]>