Category: Life

7/10/06

Tigers for Tomorrow in Attalla (not that I knew where THAT was) that rescued exotic animals, specializing in exotic cats. I knew right away that I HAD to take Fred to this place, and when I got home I looked up their web page and found that you can schedule tours of the place during the week, but they’re open to the public on Saturdays from 9 to 4. My intention was to keep secret from Fred where we were going, to ask him to just trust me, and tell him that it was something he’d absolutely love. When he got home, I told him I wanted to take him somewhere on Saturday, and he looked skeptically at me, but agreed that he’d go. Then he hassled me until I showed him the article. He was VERY excited at the idea. So Saturday came, and we left the house around 8. Google Maps had said that it was a trip that would take about two hours, but we made pretty good time and pulled into the parking lot at about 9:45. Since Fred had been mainlining coffee the entire way there, we stopped at the port-a-potty so each of us could pee, and while I was peeing, I could hear him talking to someone. When I walked out, his eyes were absolutely twirling with excitement and he was thisclose to hyperventilating. “She said that we could pay $200 and PLAY WITH ONE OF THE TIGER CUBS!” It’s very unusual for Tigers for Tomorrow to have tiger cubs on the premises. They’d recently done a rescue and ended up with four tiger cubs, who are currently about eight weeks old. On the drive to Tigers for Tomorrow, we’d both said that it was too bad we couldn’t actually touch a tiger, but we also both wanted to keep all our limbs intact and unmauled. We all but ran to the entrance tent, and Fred paid the $20 entrance fee ($10 for each of us), then said to the volunteers that he’d heard you could have an “encounter” with the tiger cubs. Not only did the $200 buy us an encounter with the cubs, it bought us an almost two-hour tour with a volunteer, who knew just about everything there was to know about all the animals. Wolves are one of the exotic animals they rescue. The guide told us that the male of this duo is extremely dominant and sometimes it sounds like he’s killing her, but he’s just asserting his dominance. “I’m not coming out, and YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!” An unfriendly black leopard. The guide told us that she has black skin, black fur, and black spots. Very cool. Tiger. The guide did her best to explain the difference between Bengal and Siberian tigers, but I’ll be damned if I could see any obvious difference. I had no idea, but tigers ADORE playing in water. When the guide went and got the hose, the tiger got extremely excited. Young tigers. I can’t remember how old they are – three months? Six? – but they were very playful and fun to watch. Coatimundi. They’re adorable and look like they need to be snuggled, but the guide told us that they will rip you UP with those claws. “Aww, c’mon. Don’tcha wanna snuggle?” Another wolf. As you can see, he was quite excited to see us. Cougar. There were a male and female cougar in the same cage. Tigers for Tomorrow is a non-breeding facility, so they usually neuter the males, since it’s a less invasive procedure than spaying a female would be. In this couple, the male is neutered and the female isn’t spayed, so she goes into heat, goes looking for some love, and the male is like “What? What do you want? Get me a beer and let me watch the game!” and she has a temper tantrum. Not catlike at all, huh? Mr. Lion didn’t feel like being sociable. This tiger – Blake – got himself a new pool. We were there when they let him back into his cage, and I think it took about six seconds for him to get into the water and just stay there. And then… time to play with the babies! I love the look on his little face. They’ve imprinted on the lady who runs Tigers for Tomorrow as their Mama, so they’d hear her voice and try to get her to come to them. “Where my Mama go?” “Mama!” I never knew this until today, but tigers have white spots on the backs of their ears, and they keep them all their lives. They’re used when they’re little so their mothers can identify them. Fred’s was more playful than mine. Mine just wanted his Mama to come back. “Mama, I killed Eeyore!” Poor dead Eeyore. She nuzzled my ear and licked my cheek. I thought I was going to die from the utter thrill. Check out those paws! On our way out of Tigers for Tomorrow, we stopped by the petting zoo. When these tortoises (turtles? I know not the difference.) saw us, they started moving in our direction. I said to Fred, “It’s a stampede!” and he said “Yeah, and it’s going to take five years for them to get to us. Run!” Does this face crack you up as much as it cracks me up? “Kiss me, darling.” That was, without a doubt, one of the coolest experiences I’ve ever had in my LIFE. If you’re in Alabama and you want to love on some baby tigers, you’d better move fast. They’re only letting the cub encounters go on for a few more weeks, and then the cubs will be too big (and could maul you!) for contact with the public. I have to say that I was extremely impressed with Tigers for Tomorrow. The place did NOT smell zoo-y at all, and the guide explained to us that state guidelines say that they only have to clean out the enclosures once a week; but who wants to let a cat live in its own waste for a week? They clean out the enclosures every single day. The animals all looked very healthy and happy, and while of course in a perfect world they’d all get to roam free in the countries they were born in, that’s obviously not an option. They get the best care possible, and if you have any money to spare, I know they could always use a donation. If you want to see any of the above pictures in the full-size version, go to the Flickr set, click on the picture, and then click on the “all sizes” link at the top. Also, Fred put up his own entries about the experience, broken into two parts, because he likes to drag EVERYTHING out. That begins here.

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Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: How to kick a sock’s ass. If it had an ass. 2002: “What’s your name?” he asked. 2001: No entry. 2000: Leave it to me to have sex dreams about the gay guy, huh?]]>

7/7/06

* * * Speaking of the visit to the vet, I thought for some unknown ungodly reason that I’d be able to put Tommy and the Sugs into the same carrier for the trip, then I could Miz Poo in another carrier, and that way I’d only have to make one trip into the office. Let me pause to say: Ha. Ha. It is to laugh. I crammed Sugs and Tommy into one carrier, and it was like a little kitty sausage, they were in there so tight. Luckily we do have a third carrier – only because I went to the pet store last weekend and bought two carriers, because it bothered me that we only had one carrier for six cats – so I went and got it out, and moved Sugarbutt into his own carrier. And boy HOWDY did Sugarbutt and Tommy not like being locked in carriers. Because SURE, it’s fun to hang out in and play on the carriers and in the carriers when the doors are open to them, but being locked in so you can’t get out? Not so fun. Both Tommy and Sugarbutt dug frantically at the doors of the carriers, hoping to tunnel their way out, with no luck. Miz Poo, on the other hand, just sat sadly in her carrier and howled forlornly, because she’s been through this way too many times before, and she knew there was no point in trying to get out. And if I should ‘accidentally’ stab Fred in the eyeball with a pencil and need to make a quick getaway, I will be SCREWED because (a) see above about only three carriers for six cats and (b) three cat carriers almost completely take up the entire back of my car. One of the downsides to having a small car, I suppose.

So Sugarbutt and Tommy were quiet the entire way to the vet’s office, and Miz Poo was quiet most of the way, except that every time I slowed down, a little lightbulb would go on over her head, and she would think “We’re at that place where they torture me!” and she’d howl several times. I got to the office in record time, unloaded the cats, brought them into the reception area, and ended up having to wait for about half an hour because they’d had an emergency – a woman had to have her 16 year-old dog put to sleep, and when the poor woman came out, crying, I was thisclose to crying along with her. The actual visit with the vet went pretty quickly. Miz Poo got another Depo Medrol (?) shot to take care of her inflamed lip (and I thought it had been since last year that she saw the vet, but it was really the middle of March. I have no concept of time, I swear) and she got weighed (10.7 pounds, which about usual, I think). I thought I’d have no problems with Tommy because he’s pretty friendly with strangers, but he freaked OUT when I pulled him out of his carrier, and when I put him on the scale he ran off and I had to chase him down. (Oddly, he and Miz Poo weigh exactly the same. I would have guessed that he was heavier, actually.) The vet did a quick check of him, said he looked fine, and gave him his rabies and… whatever the hell that other shot is. Feline Leukemia, maybe? Anyway, he was THRILLED to get back into the cat carrier and then I had to pull Sugarbutt out of HIS carrier, and he freaked out as well. Damn freaky cats. Sugarbutt weighs 9.9 pounds (though he feels heavier, ’cause he’s pretty muscley), and he got a clean bill of health as well, though she did mention that his ears were a little dirty. As much time as Tommy spends licking Sugarbutt’s ears, I’d think they’d be spotless. I’m sure I’ve mentioned it in the past, but I’ll mention it again – I LOVE OUR VET. She’s so friendly and easy to talk to, and she clearly ADORES cats. I swear, I’d drive an HOUR one-way to get to her office if I had to. So all in all, a good visit to the vet. I think once I get home from Maine, I’ll make appointments for Mister Boogers, Spot, and Spanky to have their yearly checkups and shots, too. I like this vet so much more than our old vet (though the upside with that vet is that he’s less than five minutes away!) that I’m happy to make the drive.
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Pet store kitty pics from Monday are here.
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I don’t know how many of you visit my links page on a regular basis, but I thought I’d mention that I’ve rearranged my links into different categories. I’ve put the sites without notify lists in one list, the ones WITH notify lists in another list, the ones that update rarely or are defunct in another list, then the gossip sites in their own list and lastly, the ones that are too freakin’ cute for words in their own list. That last one only has three links in it, but I’m sure I’ll be adding to it as time goes on.
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No, he never did catch that squirrel, but one day last week I saw him leap up and I swear he had his paw on the squirrel. I just know the damn thing is going to end up in the house one day.
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Previously 2005: “It’s cancer,” Fred said. “That’s a tumorous lip if I’ve ever seen one!” 2004: I didn’t tell her that I think scars are badass and it can scar up all it wants. 2003: God, I hate people. 2002: No entry. 2001: So the house situation, oh what a story it is. 2000: This week, the devil won.]]>

7/6/06

SMACK THIS!

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Hey, remember our baby ducks from a couple of weeks ago (okay, maybe not so much “our” baby ducks as “the” baby ducks)?
DSC00171 Then. Now. For reference, the waterer they’re standing next to is about a foot tall. Ah, they grow so fast, don’t they?
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In case you don’t read Fred’s site regularly, I have to admit that his latest entry is kind of funny. However, I would like to add that my nose did not actually TOUCH anything nasty. It just got way too close.
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The spud flew from California to Rhode Island yesterday, and she’ll be spending a week and a half or so with her father before she goes up to Maine. From all accounts, she did a LOT of shopping with her grandmother while in California. Which makes me glad that I insisted that she take a second suitcase with her, even though she could have fit everything in one suitcase. Every year we have the same discussion, about how she can fit everything in one suitcase, then I have to remind her that she always comes home with 63 tons of crap that will NOT fit in one suitcase, and every year I’m glad I made her take a second suitcase. And also every year, her grandmother in California still has to mail a box of stuff home for her because THAT is how much shopping they do.
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About to begin reading: A Density of Souls, by Christopher Rice. Please god, don’t let it suck. I’ve been avoiding it for years now. I just want it to be halfway interesting. Finished last night: Charmed Thirds, by Megan Mccafferty. Oh, how I love that Jessica Darling.
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I have to take Miz Poo, Sugarbutt, and Tom Cullen to the vet later today, the vet that takes half an hour to get to, but I keep going there because I really LIKE the vet. Miz Poo needs to go because her lip has started to swell up again, and this after I sent someone an email detailing how giving her a diet of Natural Balance cat food combined with Advantage-ing her up every three weeks seems to have solved the problem. Ugh. Apparently NOT, damnit. The boys need to go because they’re over a year old ( ::sob:: They grow so fast!) and need their yearly checkup and shots. It is going to be a mighty FUN FUN FUN time getting Miz Poo into one carrier and the boys into another, then driving up close to the Tennessee border with them wailing the entire way, freaking out when they see strangers (Sugarbutt, especially, has a Stranger Danger issue), then wailing the entire way home. If the vet tells me that Tommy’s overweight, I’m going to say, with great dignity, “We prefer to call him ‘portly’.”
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Tomorrow, they’re coming to replace one of our couches. Months and months ago Fred sat down on the couch, only to hear a bolt underneath break off, and his seat dropped down by an inch or so. He called the place where we got the couch and they sent a repairman out, and he fixed all the bolts on both the couches, but Fred warned him that if it happened again, we were going to want a replacement couch. It happened again, naturally – I like our couches, but they are possibly… what’s the phrase? Oh, yes. “Cheap pieces of crap” – and Fred called the place and they eventually ordered a replacement couch and told us it’d be in in about six weeks. About twelve weeks ago they said that, I believe. Anyway, over the weekend we were bitching about how we’d never gotten our new couch, and Fred said “Remind me when I’m at the office, and I’ll call and give them hell”, only lo and behold, he never needed to, because yesterday morning they called and said that our couch had come in. So they’re coming tomorrow to deliver it. Between 9:30 and 12:30, and I believe we all know what THAT means. Yes, I’m sure I’ll be sitting at home waiting for the fuckers to show up until sometime after 5:00. I’m so looking forward to it.
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Did I mention that they like the pillows? Speaking of getting a little porky… Miz Poo is a fan of the Momma-made pillows as well. All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither.
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Previously 2005: Mia. 2004: There were a couple of parts that had me laughing so hard I could barely breathe – especially the line “I see you have a little swimming mouse”. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: Have I ever mentioned that I’m kind of a dork?]]>

7/5/06

* * * I’ve been a hand-sewing motherfucker lately. I went into Michael’s one day last week and while I was wandering around, I came across a section of pre-cut fabric. When I looked closer, I saw that there were several different cat-themed fabrics, so I ended up buying a bunch of them, and some filling to make pillows for the cats. Altogether, I made four pillows for the cats, and they’re scattered around the house in various spots. The cats seem to like them – especially the one I put on the recliner in the computer room – and like to hang out on them. I think this one’s my favorite. Then, last night, I realized that I had one piece of fabric left over. So I cut it into little squares, stitched up three sides of it, turned it right-side out, put a little pillow filling inside, a couple of tablespoons of catnip, and sewed up the fourth side. The cats seem to like them.

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We ended up staying up until well after 10:00 last night, because the neighbors on all sides of us were setting off fireworks, and as Fred said, “If we go upstairs and lay down and have to listen to the fucking fireworks, I’m going to get pissed off.” So we watched the rest of the Rescue Me episodes on the disc we have from Netflix. That continues to be a damn good show. This morning I was up at 5:30 again – I have to admit, I like getting up and getting my walk out of the way early in the morning, before the sun comes up and it gets super-hot – and I just knew I was going to find fireworks crap all over our lawn. Imagine my surprise when I didn’t find a single thing. Will wonders never cease? Of course, there was crap all over the road, which I am dead certain will lay there until the end of time, because it is a proven fact that assholes who will set off fireworks well past 10:00 will never ever pick up their own garbage, because – well – they’re assholes and god forbid they take responsibility for their own garbage. Why would they? THEY’RE ASSHOLES. One more year, and we get to move out to the country where we will hopefully be acres and acres from the nearest neighbors, and children will not treat our yard as their very own. One more year, one more year, one more year…
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Several of you pointed out the fact the other day that Tommy has become a porky little thing. YES INDEED he has. I think he’s on track to become the next Tubby, actually. In fact, we’ve started calling him Tommy Tubs and Tommy Two-Ton (note: it is acceptable to make fun of fat cats, don’t be going all Fat Pride on my ass). It’s only a matter of time before we’re calling him Tubby all the time, I’m sure.
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I saw not one but TWO chipmunks this morning on my walk, along with two bunnies and many squirrels. I need to remember to take the camera with me one of these mornings. Speaking of cute little animals, is this the cutest thing ever, or what?
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Hanging out on the mantel, where he is NOT supposed to be. Brudderly love. All of today’s uploaded pictures are here.
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Previously 2005: I’m all about the quick and easy, wink-wink-nudge-nudge-har-har. 2004: If you set off fireworks for three hours straight, starting at 7:30, you are not only an asshole, you live near me. 2003: No entry. 2002: A bunch of links that are probably no longer good. 2001: Pictures from Maine. 2000: Unfortunately, I forgot that when I say things like “Let’s go skinny-dipping and watch the fireworks”, what I actually mean is “Let’s go skinny-dipping and watch the fireworks”, but he hears “Let’s go swimming naked and get frisky in the pool under the fireworks.”]]>

7/4/06

* * * Tori Spelling has never, for one instant in her life, conducted herself with anything approaching class or dignity. Shut the fuck up and go away, Tori. NO ONE CARES. Also, Matt Dillon and Nicole Ritchie? Seriously? ::shudder:: (Can you tell I’m looking at the cover of US Weekly right now?)

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I love the holy hell out of my cats, but I have to admit that I am MIGHTY FUCKING GLAD that for 10 days in Maine I’ll be able to sleep without the little assholes crawling all over me all night long. Sugarbutt, in particular, gets on my very last nerve every morning when he decides – right around 5:30 – that it’s time for everyone to wake up and get up, and he jumps up on the end of my bed and tries to climb the poster (as in, a four-poster bed) on one side, and when I kick at him and growl “KNOCK IT OFF, FUCKHEAD”, he goes to the other side of the bed and tries to climb THAT poster, whereupon I have to stretch my leg across the bed and kick at him again, and then he gets all wild-eyed and throws himself off the end of the bed much in the way I imagine a paratrooper would jump out of a plane – all sideways, with his ears back and a “I’m about to save my country!” gleam in his crazy eyes. On the up side, it’s 7:20, and I’ve already done my walk for the day. All I need to do now is fold some laundry, do some vacuuming, clean out the litter box, take my shower, make 3-bean salad for dinner tonight, and I can spend the rest of the day being a lazy-ass.
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From my comments: Is there nothing wikipedia cannot tell me (ooh, a double negative. Hope that says what I want it to say…). I looked up string cheese, and they obligingly told me exactly what it is. They didn’t have a photo, though. Given your expertise, can you take a photo of string cheese for me? And I’m honestly not being a smart-arse here 😀 I don’t know what it looks like… Your wish is my command!
This is how they come, individually wrapped. I usually buy Cheeseheads part-skim mozzarella string cheese, but apparently my grocery store has stopped carrying them. They were my favorite because they were lowest in calories (60 per string cheese) and highest in protein (9 grams). The string cheese I bought yesterday are 80 calories and 7 grams of protein. I’m going to hit the other grocery store today and see if they have my favorites. Unwrapped – half cheddar and half mozzarella, by the way. They’re called “string cheese” because you can pull pieces of cheese off in “strings.” I usually prefer to pop mine in the microwave (on a piece of paper towel) for about 15 seconds. They can be a little bland, but I really like the consistency. They’re very much like fried mozzarella sticks, without the breading.
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I was just wondering how the laser is working on your moustache. Can you give an update please? I’m asking cuz I have a moustache too and want to get it lasered. It’s going… so-so, I guess I’d say. The problem is that 99% of my facial hair is very blond, and lasers are really made to target dark hair. The lighter the skin and darker the hair, the better the laser works. My mustache has some dark hair in it – and the lasering is taking care of it quite nicely – but the blond stuff is still growing and hasn’t been affected by the laser at all. Once the lasering is through, I think I might have my mustache waxed off and ask my doctor for a prescription for Vaniqa, which is supposed to retard hair growth.
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In this terrible heat do you and your family miss having a pool like you had at your previous house? The only time I truly miss the pool is while I’m actually exercising – I exercise pretty early in the morning, before it gets really hot out (especially days like today when the bastardly cats wake me up at 5:30, and I can get my walk in before the sun is up). But during my walk I get pretty hot, and there’s this house I walk by that has a pool in the backyard you can see from the street, and every morning, without fail, I think “I would SO love to just go jump in that pool right now…” The rest of the time, the heat doesn’t bother me at all – in fact, when I get cold in the house, I’ll go out back and sit on the patio on the 90 – 100 degree heat, and I LOVE it. We are planning to get a pool in the next house, though. Maybe not like the monster pool we had at the old one, but a nice little one we can hang out in when the sun gets hot and heats up the pool.
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We’re completely caught up on The Closer – we finished watching Season 1, and since we were starting to watch it before Season 2 premiered, I had the idea of taping Season 2 each week, just in case we liked the show. We did, so we’ve watched not only Season 1, but also everything of Season 2 that has aired so far (well, except for last night’s episode). I just love the hell out of that Brenda Leigh Johnson. And I was never much of a fan of Kyra Sedgwick until now. Last night we watched the first episode of Rescue Me. Holy crap, that’s a good show! I can’t believe we waited until now to start watching it. I’m glad we’ve found another show we really like. And we have two whole seasons worth to watch! My only gripe is that I think Denis Leary’s hair is too long. Wouldn’t they make him cut it shorter?
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Such a Toms. Brudderly love. Such a rough life.
All of today’s uploaded pictures are here.
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Previously 2005: And I know you fucking lame-os won’t go so far as to PICK THE FIREWORKS SHIT up or even send your kids around to do it. 2004: No entry. 2003: Something on the floor? 2002: Something on the floor? 2001: A bunch of links that probably don’t work. 2000: Because, you know, that’s how someone gets to be 183 pounds over their goal weight – by eating the grapes instead of the strawberries.]]>

7/3/06

new logo! This one was created by the lovely and talented Gertie. Thanks, Gertie!

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Is it weird that I’m pleased for Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban? I’m just glad she found a way away from The Crazy, and they appear to be very happy together. I wish he’d cut his hair, though. His hair is too fine (not FOIN, but fine, texture-wise, YOU KNOW WHAT I’M SAYING) to hold that particular shaggy style well. And speaking of hair, I’m glad she went a little darker/ reddish, because that platinum shade she was sporting was just washing her out.
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Saturday morning, Fred had gone hiking (more on why I didn’t go with him in a minute), and I was out in the back yard, cleaning out the bird bath. I glanced over toward the nearest tree, to see Miz Poo staring up into the tree in an agitated manner. I figured the squirrel was up there, teasing her, as he likes to do so often. I went closer to see if I could see the squirrel… And it wasn’t a squirrel. It took me FIFTEEN minutes to coax the little bastard out of the tree, and then all the cats gathered around the tree, staring upward, thinking “How the hell did he do that?” “How did he….” ::lightbulb:: Bastard. At first I thought he was jumping up and grabbing the lowest limb, and pulling himself up that way, so Fred went out and cut a bunch of limbs down. Then later, Fred was out back with the cats, and he watched Tommy shimmy up the trunk of the tree into the higher branches. He’s NOT supposed to be able to do that, because he’s got the friggin’ SoftPaws caps on! Fred went out and put fencing around the trunk of the tree, which appeared to only help Tommy shimmy up the tree trunk, so he resorted to cranking the electric fence up as high as it will go, which will keep Tommy and Sugarbutt and Mister Boogers away from the tree, or else they’ll get their asses zapped. All I need is for one of the little fuckers to climb the tree, and drop down on the other side of the fence, and THEN not be able to get back over the fence, and then they’d be gone. And I happen to like the little fuckers.
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So, the reason I didn’t go hiking with Fred on Saturday: I’ve stopped hiking for the time being. Not because of the hills and the fact that every time we went hiking I wanted to stab Fred in the eyeballs with a spork, but because, honestly, hiking is SO GODDAMN BORING. It’s getting hot out (the last couple of times we went, the temperature was over 100), and the animals are staying in their nice cool… places. Bunkers? And so, not only did we trudge and trudge and trudge along trails that all looked the same, we also weren’t seeing any chipmunks or squirrels or ANYTHING cute and furry, and I got so enraged at Fred last Wednesday when we went because we were on this trail that he SWORE was only about a mile long, but it felt like the fucking Bataan Death March, and then we had to go uphill at the end of the hike, WHICH I HATE, and I finally said “I love you, but GODDAMN DO I HATE HIKING.” Thus, for the time being I will not be hiking with him. Maybe I’ll start again once the weather cools off – I really do need to get some training in before next summer, when we’re supposed to do Mt. Katahdin – but for now, I won’t. And I couldn’t be happier!
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Something else that makes me want to kill Fred: he’s under the impression that if HE is hot, YOU must also be hot. Thus, when I walk into the living room wearing a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt and slippers, and immediately get under not one but TWO blankets when I sit down on the couch, he makes a face and says “Howwwwwwww can you POSSIBLY be COLD?” And it makes me want to kill him. Because losing over 100 pounds in 5 months, losing all that fat as insulation, and the fact that I was always cold BEFORE I started losing weight, that right there is a great big goddamn hint as to HOW I could POSSIBLY be COLD, motherfucker. This is me, every night: Yes, sometimes I need to pull my sweatshirt up over my nose, because my FACE gets cold. The only time I’m not cold when I’m in this house is if I’m (a) doing housework, (b) in a hot bath, or (c) in bed, in my bedroom, where the air vents are closed tight, I no longer run the ceiling fan at night, and I have a quilt and a heavy comforter covering me. And it helps if I have a cat or two pressed up against me.
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Currently reading: The Book of the Dead, by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. Pretty good so far, but I haven’t spent much time reading in days and days, so it’s going slowly. Finished recently: The Other Side, by Marian Keyes. I do love her books, and this one was a good one, but not my favorite.
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Man on a mission. Cranky, crotchety old man. All of today’s uploaded pictures are here.
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Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: Miz Poo vs. The Intel Man. 2002: Fred tries to poison me. 2001: Letters. 2000: It occurs to me that that’s perhaps far more detailed than y’all need.]]>

6/30/06

* * * So, it used to be that wherever Fred and I went, people would ask him to take their picture. He always say it’s ’cause he looks so approachable. However, I may be stealing that title from him. When we were in Florida, we were sitting in The Lucky Snapper, waiting for our food to arrive, and I pulled out my camera to take pictures out the window. In the booth behind us, a woman leaned over and asked if I’d take a picture of she and her two compatriots. Of course I was happy to do so. Yesterday, I was walking through the neighborhood a little after 7 am when a woman standing in the driveway of a house that recently sold gestured to me. I obediently turned off my iPod and went over, and she asked me to take a picture of she and her friend standing in front of the house. I did – in fact, I took two – and then I took another couple of pictures with her friend’s camera. Must be ’cause I’m so approachable.

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Meme, stolen from Bonkrood. 1. How old do you wish you were? 19 or 20, with the wisdom (ha!) I currently possess. 2. Where were you when 9/11 happened? On my ass in front of the computer in my workout clothes, putting off working out (not much has changed THERE). Fred called and said “Turn on CNN.” 3. What do you do when vending machines steal your money? Swear. 4. Do you consider yourself kind? Most of the time, but I think I have the occasional mean streak. 5. If you HAD to get a tattoo, where would it be? I do plan to get a tattoo one day, and it’ll be on my right shoulder. And it will most likely be cat-related. 6. If you could be fluent in any other language, what would it be? Spanish. A lot of places around here are looking for bilingual office people. Plus, I think it would just generally come in handy. 7. Do you know your neighbors? Not really. I know the first name of the guy who lives to our left, and that he and his wife have three kids, and I know the names of the couple to our right, and that they have two kids, but that’s about it. 8. What do you consider a vacation/Holiday? In a chair on the beach under an umbrella with a cold drink in my hand. In other words, a few days AWAY from home. 9. Do you follow your horoscope? Nope, not at all. 10. Would you move for the person you loved? I did! 11. Are you touchy feely? Not at all. 12. Do you believe that opposites attract? They certainly do, but I’m not sure how often that sort of relationship works out. 13. Dream job? Something that pays a lot of money for very little work and would allow me to surf the web all day long. 14. Favorite channel(s)? I like to leave the TV on the VH-1 Country Music station. Other than that, I’m fond of FX. 15. Favorite place to go on weekends? “Go”? What is this “go”? 16. Showers or Baths? Shower in the morning (or whenever I get around to it after I’ve exercised and done some housework), and a bath at night because I am ALWAYS COLD. 17. Do you paint your nails? Nope, not since I was a teenager. 18. Do you trust people easily? Probably too easily. I think the word to describe me would be “gullible.” 19. What are your phobias? I don’t like things flying at my face. Thus the reason I was a horrible softball player, I suppose. 20. Do you want kids? Just the one. 21. Do you keep a handwritten journal? No, not in years and years. If I wanted to keep a private journal, I’d probably keep it in Word on my hard drive. 22. Where would you rather be right now? On the beach. 23. Heavy or light sleeper? Both. Sometimes I sleep so heavily that I never feel Sugarbutt do his 60-minute kneading-and-licking routine, and sometimes the slightest movement on the bed wakes me up. 24. Are you paranoid? A little. Why?! What have you heard?! 25. Are you impatient? It depends on what I’m doing, where I’m going, what time of day it is, and whether I’ve eaten or not. I thought my head was going to pop off yesterday afternoon on my way home from the movie, because it was after 2:30, I hadn’t eaten a single thing all day, I was starving, and people would get THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY. If I’m properly nutritionized, I’m pretty patient in traffic and most other things. 26. Who can you relate to? Angelina Jolie. It’s so difficult to be rich, beautiful, and be seen as the next Mother Teresa. 27. How do you feel about interracial couples? I feel that as long as they love each other, everyone else (HI MOM) should butt the fuck out. 28. Have you been burned by love? Actually, no. 29. What’s your favourite pick up line? “Hi.” 30. What’s your main ringtone on your cell? The sound of a phone ringing, actually. At Christmas time, I’ll switch over to Cartman (from South Park) singing “O Holy Night.” 31. What were you doing at midnight last night? Sleeping, and probably being molested by Sugarbutt. 32. What did the last text on your mobile phone say? “Thanks for the flowers! Love, Dad.” (I sent flowers for Father’s Day) 33. Whose bed did you sleep in last night? Mine, of course. 34. What color shirt are you wearing? Burgundy red. 35. Most recent movie you watched? Superman Returns! 36. Name three things you have on you at all times? If I leave the house, my cell phone, my keys, and usually a bottle of water. At home, it’s just a bottle of water. 37. What colour are your bed sheets? Blue. I have two sets of sheets, the same color dark blue. 38. How much cash do you have on you right now? Approximately $26, plus whatever change is in the bottom of my purse. 39. What is your favourite part of the chicken? The thigh. I can’t eat chicken breasts, because they’re too dry. 40. What’s your favourite town/city? At the moment, Ft. Walton Beach, Florida! 41. I can’t wait till: I leave for Maine in two weeks. 42. Who got you to join myspace? The spud, when she started up her Myspace page. Then I announced it in my journal when Nance announced hers, so y’all could befriend me. 43. What did you have for dinner last night? A hamburger patty with mustard, ketchup, a slice of onion and a slice of tomato on it, and three-bean salad. 44. How tall are you barefoot? 5′ 4 1/2″ 45. Have you ever smoked heroin? Good god, what kind of question is that to be tossing right there in the middle of all these innocuous questions? NO I’ve never smoked heroin. I never even smoked pot. I don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t do drugs – and now I don’t even drink Diet Coke. I shoulda been a Mormon. 46. Do you own a gun? I don’t actually own them (they’re all under Fred’s name), but there are several in various places in the house. 47. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Either water or Diet Snapple Pink Lemonade. 48. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex? I don’t gotta lure in the opposite sex. He’s already a caught fish. 49. Do you have A.D.D.? Nope. 50. What time did you wake up today? Uh… 6:30ish, I think, when Fred left for work. 51. Current worry? Nothing at the moment, really. 52. Current hate? That I’m freezing to death. I guess if you go out, exercise, sweat, then hang out in an air-conditioned house, you’re going to get cold. Go figure. 53. Favorite place to be? In bed with a good book in my hands, knowing that I don’t have to get up for hours and hours. 54. Where would you like to travel? The list is endless: Australia, New Zealand, Scotland, Ireland, England, Greece, among many, many others. 55. Where do you think you’ll be in 10 yrs? In my dreams, I’d be living one hell of a lot closer to the ocean. In reality, I’m sure I’ll be somewhere in the Huntsville vicinity. 56. Last thing you ate? A string cheese, melted in the microwave, and 1/2 cup baked beans, for a snack last night. 57. What songs do you sing in the shower? I don’t really sing in the shower. 58. Last thing that made you laugh? Something in the Keith and the Girl podcast I listened to this morning. Those two make me laugh every single morning. 59. Worst injury you’ve ever had? When Fred blithely splashed oil atop my bare foot and burned the fuck out of it almost 9 years ago. (He DID say “Watch out”, but only AS the oil was hitting my foot) 60. Does someone have a crush on you? Uh… not that I’m aware of. 61. What’s your favorite candy? I like the occasional chocolate-covered almonds Fred sometimes has (I only have one or two, though, since more than that would make me sick). I also like the Weight Watchers Pecan Crowns; even though they have sugar in them, they don’t make me sick. 62. What song is stuck in your head? I made my bed, and I sleep like a baby, With no regrets and I don’t mind saying, It’s a sad sad story That a mother will teach her daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger. And how in the world Can the words that I said Send somebody so over the edge That they’d write me a letter Saying that I better shut up and sing Or my life will be over (Not ready to make nice, Dixie Chicks)
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Cuddly Poo. “Hellew.” Tommy loves to watch the sprinklers. “Go out, or stay in? Stay in or go out?” All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. ]]>

6/28/06

This bra and these panties were what they were wearing, to be exact. I think that I have, for sure, seen just about everything.

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Sunday night, Fred and I decided to watch Eight Below, which I’d gotten from Netflix last week, and which we took to Florida with us along with the laptop, with the idea that we might watch it down there. Not only did we not watch it, we never so much as took the laptop out of the case while we were there. So we started watching the movie, and it wasn’t bad, though I found myself flipping through magazines while simultaneously keeping an eye on what was going on. And then suddenly there was this part, with a dead whale that I won’t go into specifics about in case you haven’t seen the movie yet, that scared me so badly that I actually screamed out loud, and it scared Fred so badly that he ran in place in his spot on the couch. I swear, for a very brief few seconds, I thought that somehow everything had gone badly wrong, and the movie wasn’t actually a feel-good Hollywood tale of a man and his love for his dogs (that sounds dirty, doesn’t it?), but rather had somehow shifted into a horror movie, where very bad things were about to happen. It was the weirdest hyper-real instant of cognitive dissonance I have ever experienced in my life. It’s worth watching, just for that. Well, that and seeing Paul Walker shirtless a few times, anyway.
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I was planning on sleeping in a little this morning, but right on the motherfucking dot of 5:30, I was awakened by a low growling sound. I sat up and saw Tommy sitting on the end of the bed, looking down, and I thought “Ah, fuck. Someone’s caught a bird and brought it in, and is warning the other cats to stay away from his toy.” Then I looked closer at Tommy and rubbed the back of his neck, and realized that he wasn’t wearing his collar. Which meant that Fred hadn’t finished working out and let the cats outside, which also meant that there was no way there was a bird or small animal in the house. So I put my earplugs back in and tried to go back to sleep. But of course I heard it again, and when it didn’t stop, I got up and looked under the bed to see if there was something going on under there. There were no cats under the bed, so I looked around, and noticed that Tommy, Sugarbutt, Spanky, and Spot were clustered at the top of the stairs, and Tommy had his tail puffed out. They were staring down at the bottom of the stairs, and I looked to see what they were looking at, and saw nothing. I headed downstairs and found a pile of white cat fur in the middle of the hallway, meaning that Spanky or Spot had gotten too close to someone – most likely Mister Boogers, who has turned into SUCH a crotchety old man in the past few years – and as a consequence gotten his ass kicked. I walked into the kitchen, and Mister Boogers was stalking back and forth, his stumpy little tail puffed out. As soon as he saw me, he stopped growling, and I spoke to him and petted him, and he seemed fine. I went out into the garage – scaring the bejesus out of Fred – and told him what was going on, and then came inside to check on Mister Boogers, who had fled the downstairs (“He’s fleein’ the interview!”). I went out back and saw immediately what the problem was – there’s a black and white cat who occasionally visits our back yard, and he freaks Mister Boogers out every time, because there’s an INTERLOPER in the BACK YARD, and even though Mister Boogers is, deep down, a great big wimpy wimp (I would call him a pussy, but that’s really too easy), he likes to act like he’s a badass, especially when he can’t actually GET to the interloper and instead can attack one of his brothers instead (of course, he’d never attack his SISTER, ’cause bitch is CRAYZEE). So I clapped my hands at the strange cat, who looked at me like “What the hell is YOUR problem, lady? I just wanted some water from the bird bath!”, then ran to the fence and looked at me again. Whereupon I clapped at him again, and he ran off. Since I was up already – THANK YOU MISTER BOOGERS, YOU FUCK – I got dressed and did all my morning crap. Then I took Fred to work, because we’re going for a hike tonight (expect an entry tomorrow about how much I hate him), and it’s easier to just pick him up from work and go for our hike than to have him come home, get me, and then go on our hike, since it’s on the other side of Huntsville. Now I need to go do some housework. Ugh.
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“Beotch, it is TIME to clean the bird bath! Bawk!” Crotchety old man. “MY bird bath. MINE.” All of today’s uploaded pictures can be seen here. ]]>