Category: Life

who the fuck is calling.) and it was the spud. “The bus isn’t here, and it’s 7:15!” she said. “Every year the bus is late for most of the first week until the bus driver figures out his route,” I reminded her. “Just stay there and wait for the bus.” “I want to be on time today!” she said, even more frantically. “WAIT FOR THE BUS,” I said, then hung up. A few minutes later I left for the pet store, and I was almost there – in fact, I could see the pet store – when my cell phone rang. It was the spud, of course, and when I answered the call she said “Where ARE you??” “I’m on my way to the pet store!” I said. “Why?” “The bus STILL isn’t here, and I don’t think it’s going to come!” she said frantically. “It didn’t come the first day last year!” “Stay where you are, and I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I growled. “What if it doesn’t come?” she said. “Stay THERE, and I’ll BE THERE in a few minutes!” I said, and hung up. I pulled a u-turn and hauled ass toward home. The traffic going from Huntsville to Madison was pretty light, and I was able to get home in a little less than ten minutes. On the way, I called Fred to bitch. “Could you call the school,” I said to him when he answered, “And ask them why it is that the bus driver has his head so far up his ass that he can’t seem to recall from one year to the next that he needs to go down the main road of the subdivision and pick our child up?” We continued bitching in this vein until I was almost to our subdivision, and then I hung up the phone. I drove by the street where the spud waits for the bus, and didn’t see her. “Oh, JESUS CHRIST,” I growled to myself. “Don’t tell me she fucking WALKED HOME and called me from THERE.” I turned onto our street and took out my cell phone to call her and tell her to get her butt in front of the house so I wouldn’t have to pull into the driveway and go into the house to get her. And there was a voicemail message waiting for me. “Um… Hi, Mom,” said the spud. “The bus just came.. it was just REALLY REALLY LATE. Um… just remember, I love you, so don’t kill me!” She’s just lucky she made me laugh, that’s all. I thought about text messaging her and asking her to have one of her friends kick her in the butt for me, but those babies are 5 cents apiece, so I didn’t. On the up side, I didn’t have to sit in the horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad traffic on the road to her school, but I DID have to sit through the traffic by the elementary school on the way out of Madison. At least she has her license and can take herself to Staples and buy her own (with my money) school supplies, so I don’t have to suffer through THAT horror this year. And for those of you who think I should have let her take my car to school on the first day of school: 1. I had pet store duties, or I probably would have. 2. It’s my car, but I’m being kind and allowing her to use it to get to school two days a week. BECAUSE I’M JUST THAT NICE. 3. No, we’re not buying her her own car. She doesn’t have a JOB, why would she need her own car? If she gets a job, she’ll get a car. It’s that simple. I’m sure my father thinks I’m evil for not running out and buying her her own car (I’m sure he thinks she should have a Maserati), because I had my own car when I was her age. But I also got my first job when I was 15, so there you go.

* * * So around these parts, if Fred says something I don’t agree with, instead of saying “Husband. I don’t agree with what you’ve said. Perhaps you need to rethink it and get back to me when you can say it in such a way that I can agree with you.”, I simply say “YOUR ASS.” I think I picked it up from Fred. In fact, I’m sure I did, because who else would come up with such a doofy way to indicate disagreement? So anyway, Friday night/ Saturday morning I was having fucked up dreams – I always have fucked up dreams on Friday night/ Saturday mornings, because we eat crappily on Fridays – about the end of the world. And I don’t mean the end of the world in a nuclear bomb/ everyone dies sort of way, I mean a disease-runs-rampant-and-kills-the-majority-of-the-population/ The Stand sort of way. So I was still alive – OBVIOUSLY – and there were a bunch of people who were still alive also, and I was living in a hotel on the ocean in Ohio (YES, I KNOW; IT WAS A DREAM) with a bunch of other people. And I was handing out dinner to different people, and lo and behold, there were Nance and Jane, and they were all hanging out talking, and I put their dinner down near them, and as I stood back up, my hand brushed Nance’s butt (IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, NANCE. I WAS NOT PUTTING THE MOVES ON YOU), and I said “Oh! I’m sorry!” And Nance and Jane chorused, “Your ass!” And I said “No, actually! YOUR ass!” And we all guffawed. Even in my dream, I’m a dork. * * * Later in the same dream, I was talking to an asian man, who was sitting on his bed (we were sleeping in a dormitory-type setting, with single-size beds) and I looked at the headboard of his bed, where there was a plaque with his name and date of birth on it (I don’t know. IT WAS A DREAM.) and I read it, and it said that his name was Neseus, and that his nickname was Seussie. And I started laughing REALLY hard, and I said “Oh my GOD! They call you SUZIE?!” When I woke up, I was laughing so hard I was crying. But now, two days later, it’s not funny at all. Hmph. * * * We watched Wanted last night (and let me take a moment to say that Gary Cole? IS HOT. Who the hell knew that Bill Lumbergh had it in him?) and were thrilled to see Lee Tergesen show up. Of course, he’ll always be Beecher to us, but we like him in this role, too. If you haven’t checked out the show, you might want to give it a try. It’s not like there’s anything else on right now… * * * The kittens didn’t spend a whole lot of time out running around in the house yesterday. I let them run around for about an hour, then they started getting whiny, which I’ve come to see as a cue to put them back in their room, so I did (whereupon they ran over to the food and began eating as though they hadn’t eaten in a month) and left them there for a few hours while I ate lunch and did some errands. I let them out for another hour in the afternoon until Mister Boogers began whining to go outside, so I put them back in their room for an hour or so, then we let them out for most of the evening. Mister Boogers can’t seem to decide what he thinks of them. Sometimes he’s fine with them, and then sometimes he does this growly-hissy thing which indicates that he’s not to thrilled at their existence. He’s smacked them both a few times, but he hasn’t attacked them. But when he starts with the growly-hissy thing, we separate them from him, because if he attacked them I’d have to kill him. I think he might be all talk, though. Climbing around on Fred. Warning: Cat cannot hold his licker. More spooning… and more spotted belly! You can’t tell from this picture, but she’s got her foot over her head, as if she’s doing kitty yoga. You can see all of today’s kitty pics here. ]]>

Starved Saturday night, and I have to say, I like it. It’s fucking warped, and it’s got my boyfriend Eric Schaeffer in it, and the line “I ate 212 almonds last night really fast and then puked them back so they were still kinda whole. I just washed them off and ate ’em again. I’ve seen dogs do it.” made Fred shoot applesauce out his nose. My only complaint is that the last minute or so of the show got cut off, so I need to tape it again and see what I missed. Fucking people in charge of programming. Is it too much to fucking ask that they synchronize their watches? After we watched that, we watched Dead Calm. I’ve never seen it before, though I’ve kind of always wanted to watch it, because it’s the movie that brought Nicole Kidman to America’s attention and I’ve always heard it’s pretty good. She just looked utterly unlike herself, and I’m not exactly sure why. I think she’s had some dental work done, and her face is somehow… bonier now. I can’t explain, you just have to see it for yourself. Billy Zane was an absolute dead ringer for a young Marlon Brando. Though of course I couldn’t think of Brando’s name, so I had to say “He looks EXACTLY like… Oh, what the hell is his name? “Stella! Stella!”” “Marlon Brando?” Fred said. “Yeah, you’re right. He DOES.” Billy Zane does a good psycho character. It was a pretty good movie; I recommend it. DEAD CALM SPOILER BELOW; SKIP IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT AND THINK YOU MIGHT. The instant Sam Neill went down into the hull of the boat and stuck his knife into soft, rotting wood, I knew he was going to have to eventually get out that way. I also knew the dog wasn’t going to make it to the end of the movie; the dogs never do, do they? Also, Fred got all pissed off because Nicole Kidman left Billy Zane alive when she threw him on the raft and cut him loose. He said “Why do people in the movies NEVER just kill the bad guy? WHY? I would cut his fucking head off, and toss him in the ocean, and if I had to stand trial for the crime, I’d happily do it. Because that would mean he could never COME BACK at the end of the fucking movie and attack me!” Heh.

* * * Currently reading: Scoot Over, Skinny. Finished late last night: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE SPOILERS BELOW. SKIP TO THE NEXT SECTION IF YOU HAVEN’T READ IT YET AND THINK YOU MIGHT. So now I know the big spoiler, and I have to say… eh. Whatever. I’ve come to realize that I care very little about the adults in the Harry Potter books and reserve my likes and dislikes for the kids. The next book should be mighty interesting, though. When will we see that one, around 2010? * * * Fred’s currently reading Between a Rock and a Hard Place, the book by the guy who had to cut off his arm because it was pinned beneath a boulder and he had to cut his arm off to survive. Now he – Fred, that is – is saying he wants to move to Colorado or Utah. Fucker. I said “Oh, BECAUSE THERE’S NO FUCKING OCEAN THERE, of course.” And then I thought for a moment and said “Wait, wait, WAIT. It SNOWS in Colorado, so if you’re willing to move there, you must be willing to move to Maine, where there are MOUNTAINS and OCEAN.” And then he suddenly changed his mind about Colorado, I’m sure because I was making total sense, and decided he’d much rather live in Utah. OVER MY DEAD BODY. He did, after some haranguing from me, allow that the Appalachian mountains are big and good for hiking, and that he might be okay with moving there, EVEN THOUGH there’s ocean near them thar hills, and that would make me happy. I’m not holding my breath, though. * * * So yesterday, Fred woke me up by bringing the kittens out of their room and putting them on the bed with me. Neither of them was interested in snuggling up, because there was room to explore, and they both hopped down off the bed immediately to sniff around. I let them run around while I got up and got dressed and made the bed and all that stuff, then put them back in their room. They weren’t thrilled about being stuck back in that room, as I’m sure you can imagine. A while later, after I’d exercised and eaten breakfast and was about to head upstairs and take my shower, Fred said “We should let the kittens out to run around…” and then came upstairs with me, and we did just that. Fred sat at the top of the stairs to prevent them from going downstairs, and I sat on the landing, and the kittens ran around and sniffed wildly, and Mister Boogers came out and growled and hissed and smacked at them, and just generally acted like an asshole. We let them run around for ten or fifteen minutes, and then put them back in the room and shut the door. After I took my shower, Fred said something like “If our cats could get acclimated to them, I’d have no problem letting them run around the house, as long as we kept the cat door shut.” I about fell over, because I never thought Fred would go for that; in fact, it had occurred to me to mention the idea to him, but I didn’t because I’d been sure he’d shoot down the idea. After lunch he shut the cat door and went up and let them out of their room, and they were just as happy as they could be, running around and sniffing and playing and having their butts sniffed by Mister Boogers. We let them stay out for a couple of hours, and then they started acting tired, but just couldn’t seem to settle down. I was sitting in the chair in the computer room, reading Harry Potter, and Rambo would climb up on me and settle down, then his attention would be caught by one of the other cats and he’d go running off. (It was while I was reading Harry Potter and petting Rambo that I came up with the perfect name for him – Dobby. Too bad he’s already named, huh? Doesn’t matter, Fred’s been calling him “Bubba” and Jodie “Miss Squeaks”.) When they’d both been wandering around making sad little meows for a while, I suggested to Fred that we should put them in their room for a little while so they could settle down, then let them out around 6:30 and let them stay out until we headed upstairs at 9:00. He agreed with that, and I ran them upstairs and left them in their room. Fred couldn’t wait until 6:30, though. He went upstairs at 5:30 and let them out again, and we let them stay out until 9:00, as planned. It went pretty well, though Miz Poo smacked at each of them more than once, and Mister Boogers made his growly-hissy noise that scares NO ONE. Spot hid under my desk, and Spanky actually smacked one of the kittens, which surprised me – I’d expected him to run from them. I think I’ll wait until I’ve had my shower and vacuumed the upstairs to let them out this morning, partly because I don’t want to scare the shit out of them with the vacuum, and partly because Mister Boogers is running in and out a lot this morning and I don’t want to shut the cat door just yet. I think it’s hilarious that Fred said to me, yesterday, “This is just going to make giving them up harder, because you’ll be even more attached to them.” “I’ll be more attached to them?” I said. “Yeah, you will because they’ll be out and around you more.” “Who’s the one who couldn’t wait ’til 6:30 and had to run up and let them out an hour earlier?” I pointed out. He had no good response to that. They’re SPOONING. How cute is that? This is not the sight Mister Boogers likes to see when he first wakes up. “Hi! Hi! See my spotted belly? Hi!” That ain’t a look o’ love Mister Boogers is giving those damn kittens, who are sleeping in HIS BED. Rambo climbed up on top of the giveaway box and promptly began biting a book. He’s a biter, that one. You can see all of the kitten pictures I uploaded today, here. ]]>

reading: London Transports, still. I haven’t been doing a whole lot of reading lately, due to the large number of naps I’ve been taking and the kitten-snuggling I’ve been doing and that I haven’t been staying up all that late lately. I need to get the damn book read, though, because we finally got the latest Harry Potter, and I’ve been avoiding spoilers like the plague, but I’m sure my luck is going to run out one of these days if I don’t get the damn thing read.

* * * It occurred to me, as I read Jane’s entry from yesterday, that I should have totally made up the name of the shampoo and conditioner. Because I would have liked to read the story of Jane walking into Victoria’s Secret and saying “Can you tell me where the Slap My Ass and Call Me Bertha shampoo is?” Probably she wouldn’t have fallen for that. That Jane, she’s a smart and wily one. Speaking of the shampoo, Fred and I were laying down talking (NOT A EUPHEMISM) the other day after he got home from work, and he pretended to sniff my hair, and then lisped “You thmell THO THEXSAY!” at me. Except that it was a Back to Basics Marine hair day, not a Victoria’s Secret Too-Goofy-To-Mention-The-Name day. Silly man. Any WOMAN would have known the difference. * * * Several of you have asked about Miz Poo’s lip and how it’s doing since we started putting medicine on her big, swollen side lip. To our surprise, the ointment actually worked, and her side lip is pretty close to normal. Of course, now that we have THAT sorted out, the front of her lip is starting to get kind of scabby-looking, so maybe we’ll try the medicine on that, as well. If we could just have one week where one of her lips wasn’t all swollen, or she wasn’t squinting through one – or both – of her eyes, or about to cough up a lung, I’d be happy. * * * Some men bring their wives flowers or jewelry, sing them love songs, write them love letters. Me, I get other things. LUCKY me. * * * We watched The Laramie Project last night – Fred taped it off the HBO high definition channel (high definition rocks, woot!) and we had nothing else to watch last night, so we watched that. It was really a good movie. There was a lot about the whole thing we weren’t aware of – for instance, we both thought Matthew Shepard died that night; instead he lived on in a coma for a few more days. My only gripe about the movie is that there were so many familiar faces in it that we were distracted thinking “Who the hell is that, and where have I seen him before?” through half the movie. Good movie, though – I recommend it. * * * The kittens are doing well. They’re not quite as rambunctious as Flossie, Peanut, Snoopy, Edgar, and Oy were, but maybe that’s just because there aren’t as many of them. Rambo absolutely cracks me up, because he has such big dark eyes and such a small head (though it’s pretty big compared to the rest of his body, I guess) that he looks exactly like a little alien kitty. Am I the only one who sees the resemblance? We weighed them last night. Rambo weighs 1 pound 4 ounces, and Jodie weighs 1 pound 9 ounces (I guess that fur is heavier than it looks!). I expect it’ll be at least three weeks before they’re both big enough to be spayed and neutered. That’s just fine with me. The longer, the better! I really like this picture of the two of them. Oh, yeah. He haaaates having his belly rubbed. Uh huh. Suuuure he does. I wanted to get a shot of Jodie’s speckled belly, but at the last moment she moved her paw to block the shot. Apparently she doesn’t WANT you to see her belly! Rambo with attitude. He cracks me UP. ————————- To find Spot, just look for a patch of sun.]]>

reading: London Transports, by Maeve Binchy, still. What’s up with her obsession with girls having affairs with married men? I’m about a third of the way through the book (it’s a book of short stories) and almost every story features a girl having an affair with a married man.

* * * So, Fred’s going in for surgery next Friday. In the interest of full disclosure and TRUTH, I’m going to tell y’all that I would most likely be okay with wiping his ass. I mean, it’s not something I’d WANT to do, but I could do it, and I’d be okay with it, and I’d just figure it’s practice for when I have to change his diapers in another ten years or so (ha ha! See that? I made a thinly veiled joke about his age! I am SO FUNNY!). But the truth is that Fred would rather hold it in for two weeks than let me do such a thing. Because he’s too goddamn independent, and would rather suffer in silence than ask for someone’s help. Damn the man. I expect that by the end of spending two weeks with his arm in a sling, he’s going to be bouncing off the walls, since he won’t be able to go on one of his gentle hikes directly up the side of a mountain while looking for poisonous snakes to poke with a stick. I’ll entertain him the best I can, but since I won’t be able to throw him on my back and carry him up the side of the mountain, I imagine we’ll both be a little stir crazy. He should be able to go back to work pretty quickly, even though his job requires a lot of typing. He can type with one hand if he needs to. I’ll let you make your own joke out of THAT. * * * The spud and I did a little mother-daughter bonding this morning. I’ve been saying for a long time (probably even as long as a few years) that I was going to take her to have her upper lip waxed (she gets that from my side of the family, unfortunately) and her eyebrows waxed. Since school starts on Monday, I was running out of time, so I finally called a local dayspa and made an appointment for both of us to get our eyebrows and upper lips done. I’ve only had my eyebrows and lip done once before – a few years ago – and it REALLY FUCKING HURT, but this time I made sure that we both took a couple of Advil before we went, and it ended up not being too bad. We both have wax remnants left all over the place, though, so that’s fun. I guess this means I’m set for another two years, huh? * * * So, I went out to the shelter yesterday to drop off the last of the donations made in Mia’s memory. I sat and chatted with the shelter manager, and held and snuggled a tiny little white blue-eyed kitten named Timon. I looked around the area where there are usually quite a few small kittens in cages (if they haven’t been tested yet, they’re kept in big cages and let out a few times a day to run around and play), but the cages were all empty. “It cleared out, huh?” I said. “Yeah, but we’re getting ready to fill back up,” she said. She took at least two calls while I was there from people who had found small kittens that they couldn’t keep. “Well,” I said. “I’m back, so if you need foster care…” Meet Jodie and Rambo. Jodie. Rambo. They came pre-named, by the way. Despite their resemblance to each other, they’re not siblings. Jodie was born on 6/11 and Rambo was born on 6/9. They’re both incredibly friendly, very happy to be held, and they purr REALLY loudly. Jodie, especially, likes to have her tummy rubbed. I haven’t gotten a good picture of her belly yet, but it’s gray, with dark gray spots. Very, very cute, both of them. Rambo’s quite the character and likes to beat up on Jodie. She holds her own quite well, though. It’s a little easier getting in and out of the room with only two kittens rather than the five we had before, I’ll tell you that. Rambo did get out of the room this morning when I opened the door, and the spud chased him down. He’s FAST for a little kitten, though maybe he was moving a little faster than he’d wanted to, since Mister Boogers was right behind him with his nose up his butt. They both weigh just about a pound each, so they’ll probably be here for about a month. They’re healthy and bright-eyed and friendly, so I think we’re going to have a good time with them. ——————– Doesn’t Mister Boogers look thrilled that he has to share the chair with Spanky?]]>

Janie-Jane!

* * * Well, Jennifer Aniston did a pretty straightforward and open interview with Vanity Fair. In it, regarding the Jolie-cavorting Brad’s been taking part in, she says “There’s a sensitivity chip missing.” If THAT ain’t the truth. Christ, it’s only been a few months since they broke up; can’t he keep it in his pants out of respect for her, for the love of god? I suspect people as beautiful as Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have to be a little bit nuts, anyway. When the whole world bends over to lick your feet, that’s got to be crazy-making. You expect that whatever you do is A-OK with everyone else and don’t have to consider the consequences. Or so I’d imagine. And if I can just weigh in on the Jude Law/ Sienna Miller thing: I hope she leaves him in the dust. I mean, I don’t really know a single thing about her, but I do know this: if the man is fucking around with the NANNY (god, such a cliche) before you’re even married, he’s going to keep screwing around even after you’re married. Isn’t the rumor that screwing around is what broke up his first marriage? I don’t get the Jude Law love, honestly. He’s a good-looking man, but something about him gives me the ookies. This has been your Bitchypoo Hollywood report. Personally, I get my entertainment news from Perez Hilton and The Superficial, not to mention various and sundry sources I stumble across during my daily surfing marathon. * * * Oh lord, speaking of surfing, a few weeks ago Mo mentioned Yvonne’s site, and I’ve been reading her ever since. So yesterday I went back to an entry from about a year ago when Yvonne was waiting to go into labor with her daughter (who’s now a year old and GOD SHE IS CUTE), and I read forward from there about six months, and then went back to the current entry and read back to the beginning of July, and I ran across this entry where she puts quotes around a phrase and then links to a picture of herself doing the air quotes, and I laughed so hard I thought I was going to shoot a lung across the room. So Yvonne, if you check your stats and see that someone hit a thousand pages on your site, an IP that resolves to Alabama, I admit it! (But I swear I wasn’t cutting and pasting. Well, except for the url to the air quotes entry, because I had to share the love.) * * * God. I ended up staying up until, like, close to 1:00 last night, because I came downstairs to check my email (EVEN THOUGH I have the laptop upstairs) and I got caught up in looking at my stats and then surfing to bizarre locations, and then realizing I hadn’t been to Dana’s site in a long time and catching up there, and I don’t know where the fuck else I went, but I came out of my daze and realized I’d been hunched in front of the computer for almost three hours and I had to pee and my back hurt and I could barely keep my eyes open. The internet? It’s a drug. It’s a drug, Matt. It’s a street drug. You don’t know the history of the internet the way I do, Matt. You don’t, Matt. You really don’t. I do. You don’t. They sell the internet on the street. To CHILDREN. The internet is a street drugs, and the children are addicted, Matt. Look at me, Matt. Look at my crazy eyes. Be hypnotized by my crazy twirling eyes. You don’t need a computer, Matt. Computers are highly overrated. They’re hocus-pocus. They are, Matt. People don’t need computers. They don’t, Matt. Matt, they don’t. All they need is a rotary phone and a pad of paper. What can you do with a computer that you need to do, that you can’t do with a rotary phone and a pad of paper? NOTHING, Matt. Anything you can do with a computer that you can’t do with a rotary phone and a pad of paper, you don’t NEED to do. A rotary phone and a pad of paper and a bottle of vitamins and you’re set for life. Don’t be glib, Matt. Glib is unattractive. Computers are the devil and I’ve given up all computers and the internet and I’ve never been healthier. And in love! Whoo! * * * I did some looking around online over the weekend, and found that we could cut our cell phone bill almost in half by switching from an 850-minute/ nights and weekends free plan to a 400-minute/ weekends free plan. I don’t even care about whether nights and weekends are free, because if it’s at night or on the weekend, chances are good that we’re at home and can use the home phone. What sucks is that the cheapest family plan at Verizon (where we intend to switch when our T-Mobile plan is up in December) starts at $69.99 for two phones. I don’t know, that just seems like craziness to me, to pay that much for phones that we don’t really use all that much. We’ve already decided that Fred’s going to give up his cellphone in December (when the contract’s up) because the only time he really needs it is when he goes hiking, and he can take my phone for that. We actually considered giving up our cellphones altogether, but I’m not comfortable with the idea of the spud driving around without a cellphone, and my cellphone comes in pretty handy sometimes. Ugh. Fucking cell phones. Is it really so ridiculous that we don’t want to pay $70 a month for phones we rarely use? I’m open to suggestions, y’all. I know we’ve got a few months left before we can even do anything about switching our cell service, but even though Verizon was the company rated highest by Consumer Reports, I’m not sure I want to pay $70 a month for the privilege. * * * In our back yard, we have platform bird feeders. Occasionally, we get a squirrel visitor, who plops his big butt in one of the feeders and partakes of the scrumptious seeds we’ve provided for him. He spotted me looking at him, and headed for the tree. Nice of me to put the bird feeders so close to the tree, wasn’t it? It was unintentional, believe me. Annnnd… he’s outta there! * * * Spanky in the sun.]]>

reading: London Transports, by Maeve Binchy. I’m not far into it, but I almost always enjoy Maeve Bincy’s books, so I’m sure I’ll enjoy this one, as well. Finished late last night: We’re All in This Together, by Owen King. It was excellent, from beginning to end. I think Owen King’s a very talented writer, and I recommend his book.

* * * Reader Lisa forwarded me an email entitled “When cloning goes bad.” Now, I’ve seen pictures that people have Photoshopped, combining two (or more) animals into one picture, but these pictures were pretty much the best ones I’ve seen yet. Go check them out – When cloning goes bad. If you’re easily freaked out, though, you might want to give it a miss. Especially the kitten/ penguin one. * * * Hey. I know you’re looking for a worthy charity. Go check out Save Wampi and do what you can to help, eh? I just will never ever understand how someone could hurt an animal. I mean, look at that sweet face! What kind of person could look at that face and want to hurt it? Poor Wampi! * * * Penny sent me this months ago, and I’ve been meaning to post it in here, but kept forgetting. Sometimes I think I need a great big dose of this stuff: * * * Pet store kitty pics from yesterday are hither. * * * When I was in Maine (“Yeah, yeah, yeah, SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT YOUR TRIP TO MAINE! We’re sick of hearing about it, already!”), at some point when we were hanging out together, I noticed that Debbie smelled especially good, and I made a mental note to ask her what perfume she was wearing, and immediately forgot about it. So a few days after that, we were in the Maine Mall in South Portland, and she said “I just want to run in to Victoria’s Secret for a minute!” and I said “Why the holy fuck would you want to go in THERE?” She said “I need to get some more shampoo! I love the way this stuff smells.” A distant bell clanged in the far reaches of my mind, and I stopped in place and stared off into space (poet! knowit!) and tried to make whatever it was come to the forefront of my brain. I’m sure, staring blankly off into space, I bore a striking resemblance to Tom Cullen. “Hey…” I said slowly, following her into the depths of Hell store. “You smelled really good the other day. What was that perfume you were wearing?” “It wasn’t perfume!” she said. “It was the Victoria’s Secret shampoo!” She stopped and picked up a bottle of the shampoo to show me. When I was done gagging over the name, I flipped the top open and sniffed. “Yeah, that’s it. DAMN, that smells good!” I ended up buying the shampoo, conditioner, and gel, all in the same scent. Who would have thought Victoria’s Secret would have something I could use? So I’ve been using it since I got home, though not every day. I use it about every third day, switching off with my favorite Back to Basics shampoo and conditioner. This morning when I woke up, my hair was hanging over my face (I was sleeping on my stomach) and my hair smelled SO DAMN GOOD, because not only had I used the Victoria’s Secret (forgive me for not being able to say the name of the shampoo, but it is SO FREAKIN’ GOOFY I can’t bear it) hair care products yesterday, but I also made a batch of blueberry bran muffins last night, and my hair had a cinnamon-y tinge to it, and the combination was just amazing. I wanted to lay in bed and sniff my hair all day long. Alas, there were things to do, people to see, etc. etc. I think they should make a perfume that smells like a combination of cinnamon and vanilla. They could call it Cinnilla. (Okay, maybe Fred came up with that name. M-O-O-N, that spells dork!) * * * For those of you who follow or have followed American Idol, you might be interested to know that Josh Gracin has had two hits in the country music genre, and he’s working on the third. It’s odd to turn on CMT and see him with hair. It’s also odd to see him on a bed (by a waterfall!) making out with some woman. I like Josh Gracin, I liked him when he was on American Idol, but seeing him on a bed making out with a woman just totally gives me the ookies. I have no idea why. Now, put Blake Shelton or Dierks Bentley or even any of those Rascal Flatts boys on the screen making out with a woman, and I’m A-OK with that. But Josh Gracin, doing the same? Ookies. * * * I’m now apparently officially 100 years old. I just went and watched the new Gretchen Wilson video for Jacked Up, and when drunk Gretchen got into her truck, I got all horrified. “Gretchen! WHAT KIND OF MESSAGE IS THAT SENDING TO THE CHILDREN!” Yep. 100 years old. Possibly even 101. * * * Things I purchased while in Maine (click on the small picture to see the larger version, if you’d like): This is a bird house – the birds are meant to go in and out through the ears – but I like it so much that I think I’m going to just keep it in the house. A Quarry Cat, which I collect. I didn’t have this one, though, so had to buy it! I should take a picture of all my Quarry Cats so I can keep track of which ones I already have. Egg Creatures. I collect these, too, and always buy some from the Hallmark at Cook’s Corner in Brunswick, Maine. When I first started buying them, they had only cats, but now they’ve apparently expanded the line. Bright yellow mixing bowls. Very “me”, don’t you think? Well, they’d probably be more “me” if I didn’t hate to cook. I was thrilled to find these, though, and still love them. A set of melamine mixing bowls I got at Macy’s for $20. All my mixing bowls are glass, and we have a stone kitchen floor, and I’d rather have mixing bowls that bounce when you drop them, than mixing bowls that shatter. Plus, I really like the colors of these bowls. I’ve seen this stone cat in catalogs for $50, but got it for $25! Score! Something about the position of the cat – the sitting up straight, the perked-up ears – reminds me more than a little of Mia. Right now it’s sitting by the fireplace, but I may put it out on the front step, or in the garden. I haven’t quite decided yet. I didn’t buy these – reader Marilyn sent them to me, and they crack me UP. Eggs with legs! Could there be anything funnier? I THINK NOT. Of course, I bought a lot more than that, but I didn’t think you needed to see the yellow sweat pants I bought in Macy’s Women for less than $5 (which I’d take credit for, but Debbie’s the one who spotted them and pointed them out to me. And they are MIGHTY comfy.), or the Finger Eleven cd, or the Lee Ann Womack Best Of cd (which I’ve been listening to nonstop since I got home), or the various and sundry magnets and stickers and stuff like that. I just hit the high spots. YOU’RE WELCOME. ]]>

* * * Attention: I got caught up on all my email last night. If you sent me an email and expected a response, send it again; either it didn’t make it to me, or I inadvertently overlooked it.

* * * You know what saying I don’t understand? “Go pound sand.” I understand that it’s similar to saying “Go fuck yourself”, but what does it MEAN? Why am I pounding sand? What am I pounding sand with? A hammer? A sledgehammer? Something bigger?? Is it that pounding sand is a useless activity, like running around in circles? Or does pounding sand cause pain? Anyone? * * * And while you’re at it, someone explain Gavin DeGraw’s song Chariot to me, would you? * * * Currently reading: We’re All in This Together, by Owen King. I’m about 100 pages in, and enjoying it. He definitely has his own voice, and I read an interview with him where he said that although he’s going into the “family business”, there are no horror or supernatural aspects to his writing. Which I like – truthfully, I love Stephen King more when there are no supernatural aspects to his writing. Read while in Maine and last week: Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress, by Susan Jane Gilman Double Whammy, by Carl Hiaasen (it was published 16 years ago, but it holds up well. Gotta love that Skink.) Hard Laughter, by Anne Lamott (I know a lot of people love and adore Anne Lamott and I’ll probably be strung from the nearest tree for such heresy, but I can take her or leave her, for the most part. I kept wanting to yell “Knock it off with the babbling and tell the fucking story!” when I was reading this book.) A Little Change of Face, by Lauren Baratz-Logsted Hush, by Anne Frasier Before the Cradle Falls, by James F. David (hated the ending) Tart, by Jody Gehrman (I enjoyed it while I was reading it, but it was apparently not very memorable, because I can’t for the life of me remember a single damn thing about it) 24 Hours, by Greg Iles (the first Greg Iles book I’ve read – and it makes me want to read more by him. Very compelling reading.) Cold Feet, by various authors, including Pamie. (I really liked this one – I read it in it’s entirety on the plane to Maine (but there was no rain) and it really made the time fly by.) The World According to Mimi Smartypants, by Mimi Smartypants I got a ton of reading done while I was in Maine. Which is odd, because I actually felt like I wasn’t reading as much as I usually do, since I had the laptop with me, and in my spare time wrote entries. Here’s something interesting I read, from page 156 of Hush, by Anne Frasier: Here’s a little-known fact: People who are getting close to snapping sometimes start wearing the color yellow. The brighter the color, the closer they are to snapping. Okay. GOOD TO KNOW. Do I even need to tell you what color I was wearing when I read that? * * * So, I got a ton of suggestions from y’all for what to use in closing my emails. My favorites: From Lisa: kthxBYE. I like this, because it’s kind of spazzy, like me. And if you’ve ever chatted with me, you’ll know (or maybe you didn’t notice, but I did) that upon saying goodbye, I don’t just say “Goodbye” and then leave. I say “I’ve gotta go.” Then I say “Talk to you later!” or “See you later!”. Then I say “Bye.” If I don’t get that last “Bye” in there, the parting process feels incomplete to me. BECAUSE I AM A DORK. From Lynne: I have a sign off for you. Feote (I shall pronounce it fee oh tay). It means Fucking End Of The Email. I like this because I could conceivably snow people that “Feote” is a Celtic (or Russian, or Japanese) word meaning something long and poetic. And from Linda: I spent quite a few years in the Navy (the Australian kind not the US!) and I spent two of those years on a ship. Whenever a “pipe” (announcement over the ships broadcast) of importance was made, the speaker (usually the Commanding Officer) would conclude with the phrase “That is all”. I think it would be a fitting and particulary dismissive tone for you to use. It is very final, don’t you think? I like that one because it is, in fact, very final and dismissive sounding. So, dilemma. I can’t decide which to use! I think I’ll try feote for a while and see how that feels. And if I’m feeling particularly spazzy, I’ll use kthxBYE, and if I’m feeling particularly dismissive I’ll use That is all. So, there. Dilemma solved. Thanks, y’all, for all your suggestions! * * * The final amount raised for the no-kill shelter is $2,194.71. Considering that my original goal was to raise $500, and then I raised it to $1,000, I think that’s an amazing total. I went ahead and took the donation page down, because the donations have pretty much stopped, though of course if anyone still wants to make a donation, email me and I’ll tell you how to donate directly to the shelter. Of course, if I receive any more checks in the mail I’ll pass them along and add them to the total. Thank you to everyone who donated for helping to raise so much money. It is more appreciated than I could ever tell you. I’m going to go drop the second batch of donations off this week. I was originally just going to put them in the mail, but I do like going to the shelter and being able to pick up random kittens who are wandering around and get some kitten snuggles. * * * When I was in Maine, Debbie and the spud and I went to the K-Mart in Auburn one night to look around. My feet started to hurt pretty quickly – new sandals – and Debbie and the spud were still busily looking around, so I bought the then-current version of People, and went out to sit in the car and read while I waited. When I came across this picture of Laura Bush, I became very amused, because that smile on her face – that’s a funny-looking smile, right there. It took a few minutes, but I realized that the look on her face in that picture reminded me very much of a picture I’d taken of Oy, and the expression on his face. Yes, I just compared the First Lady’s expression to a cat’s expression. You can’t deny the similarity! * * * Before I went on vacation, someone posted a comment asking how come I still take the birth control pill even though Fred’s been snipped. The answer is that because I like to be able to regulate my period. Which is perhaps not working quite so well, since in the last two quarters, my period started a good three weeks early just for the hell of it, but since I think I’m going to go back to having a period every month, or perhaps every two months, I shouldn’t have a problem with it. The last time I went without the birth control pill for any length of time – back in ’99 or 2000, I think it was – my period was both so incredibly erratic and amazingly LONG that it was a huge pain in the ass to deal with and I went back on the pill pretty quickly. On our insurance plan, we pay for our prescriptions up front and then submit a form to the insurance company for reimbursement of 80 percent of the cost of the prescription. I haven’t submitted the form to be reimbursed for the last batch of Seasonale I picked up, but I half expect that when I do, the insurance company will refuse to pay for it, since they’ve already paid for a permanent form of birth control. Which, by the way, cost us less than a year’s worth of birth control. Hmmm. I wonder if there’d be a lawsuit, if they refused to cover my birth control pills since they were happy to pay for most of the vasectomy. I could claim they were trying to stifle my sexual freedom, because what if I wanted to have an affair? (Let me just say: As IF.) Yeah, I bet that’d go over like a lead balloon, here in the Bible Belt. * * * The spud and I went to the pet store today to scoop ‘n feed, and I checked the list of adopted kittens, and was VERY pleased to see that Snoopy and Edgar were adopted together. Edgar, I may have mentioned 63,084 times, is the kitten I was most worried about. I’m glad he’s going to have his brother around to kick his ass and generally make his life miserable play with. ::sigh:: I MISS MY BABIES! * * * On Saturday, I went out back and cleaned out the birdbath. Fred was supposed to do that while I was gone, but apparently forgot to do so, because there was MOSS growing in there and it smelled horrific. I got it bleached out (usually I just scrub it with a scrubby sponge, but that wasn’t going to work this time around) and refilled, and came inside to do something (sit in front of the computer, I’m sure), and when I glanced out the window, Mister Boogers was rolling around in the puddle of water on the lawn. He’s such an odd cat – I thought cats hated to get wet, but he loves to go out and run around in the rain, and roll around in the wet grass. Luckily his Zapping Collar o’ Doom is water resistant. ]]>

here. Edited to add: Or, if you’re not in the mood to make your own, these guys make a mean whoopie pie. Yeah, you have to order a dozen, but whoopie pies freeze nicely.

* * * Is Flickr being a huge goddamn pain in the ass for everyone today, or am I special? * * * Written on July 24, 2005. So, the visit is almost over – the spud and I leave for home tomorrow at 12:45. We have an hour and a half flight to Dulles, a five-hour (ugh) layover at Dulles, and then another hour and a half flight to Alabama. I’m looking forward to getting home, but NOT looking forward to the trip to get there. The day they perfect a teleportation device is the day I’ll be first in line. “Oh, zis lahf. Eet ees juzt too hard. Zee pain. Zee ahnguish. Leaf me alone, so I may wallow in the pain that ees mah lahf.” Everyone showed up for a cookout, and most of them went swimming. Liz came over a little after 4:00 – at my invitation – and we sat around the living room and watched TV and talked, and Debbie and I yawned back and forth at each other. So it’s been a good visit, and these past few days have been pretty low-key and relaxing. I’m looking forward to getting home, but I’m not quite as eager to leave as I’ve been in the past. * * * Written today. So, we got to Portland in plenty of time to catch the plane, and I impressed the guy at Security with the size of my laptop (does that sound pervy?), and we had a discussion about how I’d wanted a small laptop, but my husband had to have the biggest laptop, and he never even uses it! And in retrospect, I probably sounded like a spoiled rotten bitch, who was actually bragging about how we had SO MUCH MONEY that we needed to buy the BIG laptop, so we could get some of that pesky money out of the way, because it was just cluttering up the house. But I swear to y’all – I WANTED A SMALLER LAPTOP. Just like I’d rather have a smaller TV and a smaller camera (it does take good pictures, though, I’ll give it that) and a smaller car (which I got). Anyway. So the spud and I went and sat down near our gate for a while, me reading and she talking on her phone to a friend, and then they started up with the announcements. Independence Air only flies to Dulles from Portland, and it flies there several times a day. When we arrived and checked in, the 10:30ish flight had been delayed to 12:00, but our flight – 12:45 – was deemed still on time. The people who were on the 10:30/ 12:00 flight were in an uproar, because for the most part no one was going to Dulles to stay in the area; Dulles was just a waystation on the way to their final destination. And since their flight was delayed by an hour and a half, chances were good that they were going to miss their connecting flight. The gate agent did her best to reassure everyone that they’d be put on the next possible flight to their destination, but there was much grumbling and unhappy faces among the masses. I got up and looked at the board, and found that our flight was now pushed back to 1:05, and I debated whether the spud and I wanted to go get something to eat, decided we’d just wait ’til we landed in Dulles, and sat back down with my book. At 1:10ish, the gate attendant announced that there was a disabled plane on the runway in Dulles, which meant that all flights that hadn’t taken off to Dulles were now grounded until further notice. Ten minutes later, he announced that there’d be a further update from Dulles at 2:00. It was right about then that I started being grateful for our long layover in Dulles. The longer we waited in Portland, the less time we’d have to spend in Dulles, right? Right. So it was 1:20, and I told the spud we’d go get something to eat, and would be back at 2:00 to hear the update. We went to the one restaurant in the airport, sat down, and ordered lobster rolls. Very good lobster rolls, they were. We ate pretty quickly and then sat and waited for the check, and as we were waiting, someone came running in, yelled “They’re boarding!” to his wife, and they both went running out. “If she comes back, give her this,” I said to the spud, handed her my credit card, and went to see what was going on. There were a line of people at our gate, and they were definitely boarding. I went back into the restaurant, signed the credit card slip, and told the spud to follow me. Really, we could have taken our time. Because we ran to our gate and stood in line, and then the line of people getting on the plane moved like cold molasses in the middle of January. Further delaying the boarding experience, some woman stood and argued with the gate agent about her luggage for the longest fucking time. Finally, someone in line behind me shouted “Could we get a move on? We’re missing our connecting flight in Dulles!”, and the arguing woman shut her trap and got her ass moving. So all in all, we ended up taking off about an hour and a half late, but we landed in Dulles only an hour and ten minutes late. I guess we made up some time in the air. The spud and I stopped at Starbucks and got some fruity-flavored frappucino drinks (the strawberries and creme frappucino, I think) and then settled down at a fairly deserted gate. I tried to call Fred on my cell phone but couldn’t get any kind of decent reception, so I called him from a pay phone. We did our usual “My god, I hate T-Mobile, T-Mobile sucks ass” song-and-dance (seriously, T-Mobile sucks ass sometimes. Fred called me yesterday from the middle of Madison, and lost the signal in the middle of the call. He then called me back and told me that when our T-Mobile contract is up in December he’s going to throw his phone at the T-Mobile guy at the T-Mobile store. He won’t, though – he knows it’s not the guy’s fault. At least, I think he knows that…) and talked for a few minutes. Then the spud and I spent the next few hours reading. I’d forgotten to see about getting some movies from Debbie to watch on the laptop, and the book store in Terminal B didn’t sell movies, so we were pretty much out of luck. The time went by fairly quickly, though. Around six – our flight was scheduled for takeoff at 7:30 – we went to find something for dinner. We bypassed the few food places in Terminal B, because they were packed. We ended up buying a sandwich from the Wolfgang Puck’s cart in the area between Terminals A and B, then settled down near our gate and ate, then read. Naturally, our plane didn’t start boarding until ten minutes before we were supposed to take off, and there was some confusion about seating, but it all worked out, and we settled into our seats, put our tray tables and seat backs in an upright position, and waited for takeoff. And waited and waited and waited. When I’d realized we’d been sitting there for a long time, I turned my phone on to see what time it was, and found that we’d been sitting on the plane for an hour. I text-messaged Fred to tell him I thought we’d be late, and then turned my phone back off. About ten minutes later, we finally took off. You know, the thing I really hate about flying during the summer is how fucking hot and sweaty I get. Because planes might cool off once they’re in the air, but when they’re on the ground, they’re really warm. Not to mention that laptop I thought I should take to Maine with me was FUCKING HEAVY. I had to beg the spud to carry it for me a couple of times, because it was just killing me. You’d better believe I was cursing Fred’s name. Today, four days after we got home, my shoulder is just now getting back to normal. I’ll be purchasing a laptop case with wheels before December, you better believe it. The upside of being on a delayed flight is that we flew by a really pretty sunset, and I took a bunch of pictures. About halfway through the flight, as I was reading, I realized I was being surrounded by the most horrific stench. I gave the spud a dirty look. “Did you fart?” I said accusingly. She stared at me and shook her head. And then we must have been overtired from the day of traveling, because we started laughing, and we COULD NOT STOP. I swear, we were both crying, we were laughing so hard. We must have guffawed for about five minutes straight. I’d just get myself under control, and I’d think about saying “Did you FART?”, and I’d start laughing again. Maybe you had to be there. So anyway, despite the fact that we’d boarded late and sat on the plane waiting for takeoff for at least an hour, we still managed to land only about half an hour late. And that, my friends, concludes this week’s saga of my trip to Maine and home again. Monday, we’ll be back to business as usual. Woohoo! See all the pictures from Maine, here. See all the dog pictures, here. See all the sunset pictures, here.]]>

This is my friend Nance. I’ve known Nance for years – three? four? something like that? maybe even longer – and I consider her a good friend. And in the entire time I’ve known her, she’s been the biggest advocate for peoples’ privacy you’ll ever know. There have been times where she’s realized she can figure out where someone works, and she WARNS them, because she’s worried about them. She doesn’t want someone to invade their privacy, worries that some psycho might track them down and cause them harm. She’ll stir shit if she thinks the shit needs stirring, but she will do it straightforwardly and not in some clandestine cloak-and-dagger way that involves cutting and pasting and anonymous email accounts. She’s honest. Honest to a fault, maybe. She and Fred are the two people I would never pose the question “Do these pants make my ass look fat?”, because I’d get the truth. She might try to sugar-coat it a little, but she’d tell it to me straight. NO ONE EVER WANTS A STRAIGHT ANSWER TO THAT QUESTION, NANCE. If I ask Nance a question, I know I’ll get a truthful answer. I know I can count on that. But I didn’t ask her “Nance, did you do this?”, because I already knew in my heart she didn’t. She couldn’t. Anyone who truly knows her, knows that. Because underneath it all, she’s got a heart the size of Texas and it shines through whether she wants it to or not. I’ve been accused in the past of things I didn’t do, and when I said that I hadn’t done what I was accused of, the accusers didn’t believe me. And that’s incredibly frustrating. I can only imagine Nance’s frustration right now. So go give her some love; I think she could use some extra love right about now. And tell her that her brand-spankin’-new design kicks ass. I’m no longer a WordGoddess; I asked to be removed from the group because the way this was handled left a bad taste in my mouth. But I know how much y’all love the “Day in the Life” entries, so I’ll see if I can’t whip one out occasionally, mm’kay? YOU’RE WELCOME.

* * * Written on July 22, 2005. Q: What sucks more than being fat and sweaty? A: Being fat and sweaty and on the rag. * * * You don’t impress him much. A soupcon of The War of the Roses + Prizzi’s Honor + a dash of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid = Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Not a bad movie, though it seemed to bother Brian that Brad Pitt would hit a girl, which is funny, because I read that verysame sentiment online somewhere on someone’s blog – I can’t remember where – and I thought it was funny that with all the violence in that movie, that particular piece of it would bother people (men, I should say) so much. I guess that whole “You don’t hit girls” is strongly ingrained in some boys and men. Too bad it’s not so strongly ingrained in all of them. Though to be fair, I don’t think it’s right that a woman can hit a man to her heart’s content and people are only horrified when the man lashes back. Besides, she was trying to KILL HIM; I think the usual moral values kind of go out the window in that case. Damn, they are a pretty, pretty pair. So, here’s the story. We got up this morning with the idea that the spud and my mother would make whoopie pies. My mother has a recipe for whoopie pies – or, actually, the cookbook calls them whoopsie pies and she’s been saying all week that she and the spud were going to make a batch, because they were so much better than the store-bought whoopie pies. They finally got around to starting them a little before 11:00. Why yes, I DO have chubby little sausage fingers. I picked a lovely pink color for my polish, and managed to smudge one of my nails in less than half an hour, because I haven�t worn nail polish in fifteen years, and I had forgotten that even though it feels dry, you need to give it a few hours before it can withstand digging through your purse to find your phone. So we came home and hung around the house, and ate lobster for dinner, then left a little before 7 to drive through a monsoon to the movie theater. Debbie and Brian were meeting us there, but Debbie got soaked when she went to go in the theater and got pissed off and went home because she couldn’t stand the thought of sitting in a theater in wet clothes for two hours (EXCEPT THAT I THINK WE ALL KNEW YOU WERE JUST MAKING AN EXCUSE TO GO HOME AND PLAY ON YOUR NEWLY DSL’D COMPUTER, MISSY). When we got in the theater, the line was extremely long and I was worried that the movie was going to be sold out, so as I stood in line I scanned the list of movies, trying to figure out what movie we could see instead if we had to, because I was DAMNED if we were going to go home after driving from Lisbon Falls to Brunswick twice in one day to see the damn movie. But the movie wasn’t sold out at all, in fact the theater was only about half full, so all was good. I had my twizzlers and m&ms to keep my mouth occupied, and the pretty, pretty stars of the movie to keep my mind occupied, so it was a pretty damn good evening. I don’t think I mentioned yesterday, did I? Yesterday we went to Kittery, and I shopped my ASS off. I’d been doing pretty well with the shopping this trip, but all that went by the wayside when we hit Kittery. I basically stampeded through Kittery, grabbing things left and right and throwing money all over the place. My favorite acquisitions? A stone gray cat that is actually cat-sized, which I’m going to either put on the front porch or in the front flower bed (or, hm� maybe in front of the fireplace!), and a set of yellow melamine mixing bowls. Yellow sure does make me happy. We left the house at 10:00 yesterday, and didn’t get home until after 9:00. And the day just FLEW by; I have no idea how the time passed so quickly. I think we may have entered a black hole or something. All I know is that we got there at 11:00, did some shopping, and the next thing I knew, it was 2:00 and we were eating lunch at Bo�sun�s Landing (excellent food), and then I blinked and it was 6:00 and we were in the Kittery Trading Post discussing whether my mother should get a shirt for Fred, and then I blinked again and it was after 8:00, and we’d stopped in South Portland on the way home so Debbie and I could run into Macy’s to buy a set of melamine mixing bowls (yes, in addition to the yellow ones I’d bought earlier in the day, shaddup), and then time stretched and my mother went into Macy’s to look for some pants and then into Filene’s, and Debbie was dragging me into the mall to go to Victoria’s Secret (and, hi. If there’s anything less comfortable than being a fat chick in Victoria’s Secret, where the saleschicks give you perfectly sweet smiles that mask the horrified ‘She is NOT OUR PEOPLE. She is FAT. How can we get her OUT of here?’ thoughts that are whirling in their heads, I don’t know what is.) so she could buy some shampoo, and then we were all sitting in the car waiting for Debbie to come out of Macy’s (where she’d gone on a bathroom run, and even though I had to pee I had not the energy to pull down my sweaty pants and deal with tampon issues so I decided to wait until we got home, so I could use the bathroom without worrying that some woman standing in line would be peering through the crack in the stall door and thinking ‘Why is her foot on the stall door, and WHAT THE HELL IS SHE DOING, OH HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, MY EYES! MY EYES!’) and my mother to come out of Filene’s, and then the earth and some planet aligned, and my mother came out of Filene’s in a somewhat timely manner, and we got home. And my feet are still killing me. Two more days ’til I leave for home! I’m looking forward to being home, but I’m also having a good time this go-round, so I’ll be sad to leave. What was I saying? Oh, right. I have a goddamn five-hour layover in Dulles on Monday, and I don’t believe I could be less thrilled if I knew they were going to be pulling my nails out one-by-one and performing an anal probe during my stay in Helles Dulles. And before you even suggest it (because suggesting it would be a little strange, since you won’t be reading this until I’ve arrived home and uploaded entries, so keep that in mind Suggesty McHelpfulPants, mm’kay?), NO I�m not going to go sight-seeing, because I’ll be hauling this goddamn monster of a laptop around with me, and Washington, DC is hot and fucking steamy in the summer and if there’s anything that sucks more than being hot and sweaty, I don’t want to know about it. Oh wait – being hot and sweaty and on the rag. I almost forgot! My thought at this moment is that I�m going to borrow some DVDs from Debbie, find a deserted area of the Independence Air terminal, plug in the laptop, and watch some movies until it’s time to board. I mean, that’s the plan if throwing myself on the mercy of the Independence Air ticket clerk doesn’t work. There’s an earlier flight from Dulles to Huntsville than the one we�re on, but changing our tickets at this point would cost more than $100 apiece; maybe if the earlier flight isn’t packed they’ll do it for me without costing me an arm and a leg, but to be honest I’m not all that hopeful. I guess I know now why our tickets were so cheap, eh? * * *]]>

* * * Written July 20, 2005. So the other night, I went upstairs to brush my teeth and get my book and come downstairs to talk to Fred on the phone, and so I headed down the VERY STEEP fucking stairs into my parents’ basement – the stairs I go up and down fifteen times a day while I’m here, and every single time I head up or down, I think god, I hope I don’t fall down these fucking stairs – and I got down the stairs almost just fine, until I got to the last step and stepped forward to go across the floor, only I WASN’T on the bottom step, I was on the second-to-last step, and so I tumbled onto the floor on my side, smacking the dehumidifier on my way down. I immediately bounced back up, and looked up to see my mother coming to the top of the stairs, and for some unknown reason I felt the need to lie to her. “What happened?” she said. “I dropped my purse!” I lied. “Oh. I thought you fell or something,” she said. “Nope! Just dropped my purse,” I lied again. I went into my room to drop my purse on the bed, and saw that I had a handful of blood. Upon closer examination, I saw that I had a gash on the index finger on my right hand, and as soon as I realized it was there, it started hurting like hell. I went back upstairs, held it under very cold water for a few minutes, and then asked my mother where the band-aids were. She handed me a box, and as I was taking a band-aid out, Brian wandered into the kitchen. “What happened?” he asked. “I dropped my purse and tripped over it,” I said. WHY I felt the need to lie, I have NO idea. It’s not like dropping my purse and tripping over it was any less embarrassing than tripping off the last step and falling on my ass. I reiterated the lie when the spud came into the kitchen, and they examined my finger. “It just looks like a paper cut,” Brian said, and they immediately lost interest. “Except it’s A LOT DEEPER than a paper cut!” I said, almost defensively. “You can almost see bone!” You couldn’t, but these days you have to exaggerate to retain the attention of these world-weary brats. They weren’t interested. So I’ve kept a band-aid on it for the last couple of days, and the cut is healing nicely. I figured it’d get infected, because that is JUST my luck, to go on vacation and get an infection, or possibly even a staph infection (please note that I’m not even sure how you get a staph infection, but I suspect my parents’ humidifier (which I’m fairly certain is where I cut my finger) doesn’t hold the correct germs, though of course I could be wrong), but I’m pleased to announce that as of yet, it appears to be infection- and staph- free. We saw this car on the way home from South Portland, and it cracked me up. Monday evening, the kids went over to Debbie’s for a while, and I hung out with my parents, watching TV and reading and writing out postcards. When Debbie and the kids came over, we all went out in the pool for a little while, until the mosquitoes got to be too much for us, and we fled indoors. At one point, the spud went down to the basement to do her laundry, and called up to me to come down and look at something. I did, and saw the hugest pile of dog barf I’ve ever seen, comprised of more grass than I’ve ever seen an animal eat at one time. I told the spud to go get my mother. She did, and my mother came down and checked it out, then cleaned it up. We decided the dog had eaten too much grass, and it made him sick, and we all went in separate directions. Ten minutes later, the dog did it again. He ended up vomiting until his stomach was empty, and then kept trying to vomit when there was nothing left to throw up. We all started to get worried about him, and that behavior combined with the fact that my father had sprayed some kind of poison on the grass in the yard, got us really worried. My mother debated calling the vet, but decided that Benji wasn’t acting quite sick enough to warrant a call to the vet or a trip to the emergency vet in Portland, and that she’d call and make an appointment the next morning. She’s not a spaz like Fred and I are, I guess. I can’t imagine any of our cats vomiting that much, that often, and not running them to the emergency vet (because, of COURSE, nothing like that would EVER happen during the week, during the day, when a vet is easily reachable). The next morning not only did Benji seem better, he actually seemed just fine. He was all perky and danced around when I came upstairs, and licked my hand and let me scratch him on the head. My mother called the vet anyway – she was thinking that maybe he had a urinary tract infection, because Brian had seen what looked like blood in his urine (Benji’s urine, that is, not Brian’s. Though that would be funny: “My grandson saw blood in his own urine last week, so we think the dog has a urinary tract infection!”) a few days earlier – and made an appointment for that afternoon. She was also given instructions to try to collect a urine sample. After my days of being on Poop Patrol, she definitely had my sympathy. Since the urine sample couldn’t be any more than two hours old, we decided to run some errands and do a little shopping. We got home a little after 1:00 – stopping at The Kitty Corner, maker of the absolute best ham Italian sandwiches in this entire world, to pick up lunch, on the way. My mother took Benji out as soon as we got home and was successful in getting a urine sample. Debbie called to see if I wanted to meet her at Village Candles in Topsham; I did, so I took my mother’s convertible and left. My mother and the kids took Benji to the vet (the diagnosis: nothing wrong with him, but the vet prescribed antibiotics just in case). After Debbie and I looked around Village Candles for half an hour or so (and I found a thousand things I really liked, but didn’t want to deal with getting home safely, so I didn’t buy anything), we went back to my parents’ house and went for a swim until it started raining. I swear, this year I’ve been in my parents’ pool more than in any other year combined. It’s been FUCKING HOT and sticky, let me tell you. How these people survive without central air, I will never ever know. At some point Debbie called Liz to make sure our plans for tonight were still on – we were planning to meet and have dinner at Vinny T’s – and found that Liz had just seen a doctor, who decided that she doesn’t actually have tennis elbow. She has fibromyalgia. She has to follow up with her primary care physician, and can’t get in to see her for two weeks. I can’t imagine not being able to get in to see my doctor for two weeks. In fact, I’d be surprised if I ever had to wait two DAYS. Liz said tonight that she’s going to call back and see if she can’t get in sooner; hopefully she’ll be able to. Brian, taking a break from mowing the lawn. I REALLY like this picture of him. Primrose in my mother’s garden, with bug. We went out for dinner last night, at China Rose in Brunswick. Pretty much every time we visit, we go out to China Rose at least one night and have the buffet. Because it’s DAMN YUMMY. Aaaaaanyway, this morning we got up and got on the road pretty early, because we were headed for the beach; Popham Beach, to be exact. It was SO FUCKING HOT, even down on the ocean, and after a few hours at the beach I was ready to get the hell out of there. See, here’s the thing: I love the ocean, and I like the beach. What I fucking loathe is being hot, and being in the sun. I loathe being attacked by big ugly green flies, and I don’t know if it was where we were sitting, or what, but we were constantly being attacked by the fuckers. We killed plenty, but I’ve got a ton of nasty bites, and I HATE BUG BITES. Also, a family of assholes showed up and set up right in front of us, putting up big tents and taking up a maximum of space. Ugh. If there had been the slightest fucking bit of shade at the beach, I might have been less miserable. But there are no trees on the beach, and the beach umbrella we brought with us wasn’t nearly big enough, even though I spent most of my time huddled underneath it. Some day after I win the lottery, I’m going to rent a house on the ocean with a nice big porch, and I’ll spend my days on the porch looking at the ocean and reading, and my evenings – when it’s COOL – walking on the beach and splashing in the water. I managed to get a little bit sunburned on my face – nothing too bad – and on my feet, but the worst burn is on my back, which as far as I’m aware, wasn’t exposed to the sun at all. Tomorrow, we’ll be going to Kittery to do some shopping. I’ve never been to Kittery before – I think I mentioned that – and I’m looking forward to it. ]]>