Category: Life

Crash Diet. It’s a book of short stories and I’ve only read the first story. I’m pretty sure I’ve read the book before at some point in the distant past. Know what book I have no interest in reading? Haunted. That Chuck Palahniuk is one disturbed individual. I read Choke a few years ago, and it just wasn’t my thing. Something about the book reminded me a little of something I read by Spaulding Gray years and years ago, though I couldn’t tell you the name of the thing by Spaulding Gray, or even what it was about. Anyway, Haunted has the story from Playboy in it, the story about the pool, and if you read it, YOU REMEMBER IT, because you still have a knot in your stomach when you think about it, and you have to immediately go to your happy place and sing a little tune as if you are The Biscuit, just so you can stop thinking about that fucking story. Or maybe that’s just me. Anyway, I’m not a huge Chuck Palahniuk fan, though I did like Fight Club, the movie. I’ll be giving the rest of his books a wide berth, though. We were going to go to Florida this summer for the July 4th weekend, but ended up deciding to stay home because I’d have had to find someone to cover for me Monday morning at the pet store, and I’ll already need to find someone to cover for me later in the month when I go to Maine, and it was all just too much for me to contemplate, so I told Fred we should just stay home. He’s not a big fan of the beach, anyway, so it was no great loss for him. Which he proved by dancing lightly about the room once I’d said we should just stay home. I think I need to start looking for a part-time job, because I’m beginning to get REALLY FUCKING BORED. There’s only so much time even I can bear to sit on my ass in this house. I could always start on that novel Fred’s always harassing me to write. Uh. BORING. I need to find things to do outside the house. Things other than running errands and volunteering at the pet store once a week. Obviously what I need to do is have a couple more kids to keep me busy. HA! Kidding! I had my hair cut and colored yesterday, and when I got home and looked at my hair in the mirror, I cringed. She used an awful lot of product in my hair, which is usually naturally wavy, and it was flat and straight, and I thought I looked a lot like Martha Huber’s sister. What the hell’s her name? Anyway, I thought I looked like her, at least hair-wise: Fred, on the other hand, thought I looked like Emo Fuckin’ Phillips: Har. Har. I’m not sure he’s got any room to make fun of someone else’s hair, the fucker. When he got back from hiking yesterday after work, he called me outside, and there was a baby robin – not a tiny one, but obviously not a fully grown one, either – hopping around the yard. Later, he put on gloves and went out to catch the bird, with the intention of putting it back in its nest. The bird did NOT like being held, and squawked and sputtered at Fred. We tried to figure out where the nest he’d fallen out of was, but couldn’t find it. Fred ended up putting the bird under a bush. Later, I looked out the window to see him hopping across the yard, and Fred went out and tried to get it to eat some bread, but it wasn’t interested, and just kept giving him the stinkeye and hopping away. We finally left it alone – either it’ll figure out how to fly, or an animal will get it. Circle of life and all that, I guess.

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reading: Death in Blue Folders, by Margaret Maron. From my comments: Where are you getting the out of print Margaret Maron books?!?!? Please tell me! I’ve been scouring the used book stores looking for them! I got all of the Sigrid Harald books online, either at Half.com, or from sellers on Amazon. It took me about a year to collect all of them; some of them were more expensive than I expected. On a side note, Margaret Maron has a new Deborah Knott book coming out in August!

* * * So, I believe I’ve mentioned in the past that Spot has started over-grooming, and basically groomed all of the fur off his belly and the backs of his legs. We tried a few different things – the vet said at first that Spot must have fleas, but we checked, and NO FLEAS, thank you, then we tried some other medication, and it made him sick. We bought hydrocortisone lotion to put on the areas where he was overgrooming, thinking that maybe he was continuing to groom because those areas were itchy, and it improved his skin, but he was still overgrooming, even though he clearly didn’t care for the taste of the lotion we were putting on him. A few weeks ago, we started him on immunoregulan, which oddly seemed to make him worse rather than better. So much worse that he was CHEWING on his back legs ’til they bled. We stopped the immunoregulan, and in a fit of desperation, Fred remembered that we had a bottle of Elavil left over from when we thought Miz Poo’s big, puffy upper lip was caused by excessive grooming. We kept her on that for about two days and then took her off it because it completely removed her personality. All she did while she was on it was sit around and stare into space. She wouldn’t play, she wouldn’t snuggle – she was just a big ol’ zombie, so we stopped giving it to her. So we decided to start giving it to Spot (and by “we”, I mean “Fred”, because I can’t give medicine to cats worth a shit), and within a couple of days Spot stopped chewing at his legs, and on top of that, he went from being his usual neurotic self to being a really laid-back cat. I mean, it used to be that whenever we so much as glanced in his direction, he’d freeze and then run away, then have diarrhea for two days. Now, not only does he not care if we glance at him, I actually walked across the room and stepped over him, and instead of cringing and running away, he DID NOT GIVE A SHIT. It’s like a fucking miracle drug, is what it is. After a few more days, we noticed another change in him. Anytime anyone at all was in the kitchen, near the kitchen, or thinking about the kitchen, Spot was RIGHT THERE, demanding that we give him food. He’d make his straight-from-the-depths-of-hell squeaky meow, and keep on doing it until we gave him something to eat. If we ignored him, he’d come closer. And if we still ignored him, he’d SMACK AT OUR LEGS until we gave in. It usually never got that far, because go watch this movie I made (movie will only be up ’til the end of May). Is that not the saddest look and sound he’s giving me? HE’S STARVING TO DEATH! How could I not share with him? “I think the medication is giving him the munchies,” I said to Fred. “Maybe so – I can’t believe he’s so demanding. He used to be so quiet and shy!” So we continued to feed him when he asked for it, and then a few days later, Fred said “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen Spot eat out of the bowl of cat food at ALL in at least a few days.” So we started watching him, and while he was in there all the time, sitting by the bowl of food, we never actually saw him eating it. “Maybe he doesn’t like the food,” Fred suggested. We switched to Science Diet food a few weeks ago in hopes that Miz Poo was allergic to the Purina ONE we had been feeding them, thus accounting for her big, puffy lip (oh, did I mention that her lip has puffed up again? It has. Everything we’ve tried has worked, but only for a little while before her lip puffs up again.). While I was out running errands the next day, I picked up a small bag of Purina ONE, and when I got home I dumped some of it into their food bowl. Spot came running, then ate a few pieces of the food while I watched. Mystery solved, we thought. A few days later, Spot was limping, so Fred took him to the vet (it NEVER FUCKING ENDS, people!). The vet looked at Spot’s paw and declared that he had an infection and prescribed antibiotics for him. While he was there, Fred asked the vet to look at Spot’s teeth, because we’d noticed that Spot wasn’t much chewing the food he was eating – he was pretty much swallowing it whole – and the vet looked at Spot’s teeth and declared that they looked nasty and sure could use a cleaning. Fred made an appointment for me to drop Spot off yesterday so the vet could clean his teeth, and the vet’s assistant told Fred that Spot needed to have no food at all after 6 pm the night before. When we went to bed Sunday night, we put the bowl of cat food in the closet and shut the door. As you can imagine, that went over like a lead ballon. The cats – especially Spanky and Mister Boogers – kept trying to lead us into the bathroom, and when I went in there to pee, all four of the cats sat and stared at me. While Fred and I read ’til 9:30, Mister Boogers ran around like his tail was on fire, howling and grumping and bitching. He took out his frustrations on the other cats, and there was a lot of hissing and growling and smacking of the Booger. We turned the light out, and Mister Boogers REALLY got wild, running around in circles, making his grumping noise, and teasing Miz Poo. When something bothers Mister Boogers, he does NOT hesitate to let you know. Fred went to bed, and I read. The entire time, Mister Boogers wandered through the house grumping and howling and singing of his woes. I finally yelled “Booger, SHUT UP!”, and he did briefly, then I could hear him downstairs, howling and grumping and singing. I went to sleep, and ALL FUCKING NIGHT LONG was visited by cats who wanted to just let me know that there was no food. Spanky came and climbed up on me, then put his ice-cold paw on my face. When I rolled over to dislodge him, Spot jumped up next to me and sat there, staring at me. When I turned the other way, Miz Poo and Mister Boogers got into a fight ON MY FUCKING HEAD. At some point I sat up and held the can of compressed air out and sprayed it around the room. There was a stampede of cats hauling ass out of the room, and a few moments of quiet before they started it up again. Fred put Spot in the cat carrier before he left for work, and I took Spot to the vet at 7 and dropped him off. At the vet, they asked if we wanted them to perform pre-anesthesia bloodwork (this is where they perform bloodwork to make sure the cat will make it through being knocked out okay. We never opt for it.), and they gave me the “My god, you are such a bad pet owner. I can’t believe you don’t want to spend $100 to make sure your cat will be okay. Even though he’s been under anesthesia before. Bad pet owner. BAD BAD BAD. How can you live with yourself?” look. Fred called mid-morning to let me know that Spot was okay. They cleaned his teeth and had to remove a side tooth, because they just touched it and it bled all over the place. Fred picked Spot up on the way home, and Spot was groggy, but one of the first things he did was go into the bathroom and eat; we could hear him chewing his food. Fucking cats. They sure are a money pit. Good thing for them we love them so much! * * * 24 SPOILERS IN THIS SECTION. Dear 24: There are many times when 24 has stretched the bounds of credibility. I mean, I may be a dumb housewife, but even I know that everywhere in LA is NOT 5 minutes from everywhere else. Jack leaves one place and shows up at CTU five minutes later. He leaves CTU and arrives at his destination five minutes later. It never takes longer than 5 minutes to get anywhere in 24-land. I mean, President Pissypants gave orders that all his cabinet members should be brought to the White House. And 12 minutes later – TWELVE MINUTES LATER! – they were all there. Come on. 12 minutes to locate the entire cabinet? Horseshit. So, the bounds of credibility are stretched every week on 24. I’ve come to deal with and accept that. But last night, my friends, you went so far over the line you couldn’t even SEE it anymore. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. When you had the Speaker of the House utter the words “Doesn’t the public have a right to know the truth?”, those bounds of credibility snapped so hard I could hear them smack Jack Bauer in the ass as they went by. I’d be willing to bet no Speaker of the House has ever ever ever uttered those words. Please. We’re not idiots. We’ll buy for the sake of entertainment that you can get from that warehouse to CTU in 5 minutes, but we DO have our limits. Love ya anyway, Robyn PS: When Richard Heller was crying to Audrey, his voice went so high that he sounded JUST LIKE Miss Piggy. PPS: Where the fuck is Behrooz?? * * * She’s funny looking, but I sure do love her goofy ass. ]]>

reading: Death in Blue Folders. Finished over the weekend: Little Bitty Lies (good book – have I mentioned that I really like Mary Kay Andrews?) and I’m Not the New Me – another very very good book. I started it last night and ended up staying up ’til almost 1, ’cause I could NOT put it down. I recommend it!

* * * SURVIVOR SPOILERS: SKIP TO THE NEXT SECTION IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN LAST NIGHT’S SHOW Though what I really would have liked to see was a final two of Stephenie and Angie, I’m okay with the fact that Tom won. That boneheaded move of Ian’s, though, giving up immunity if Tom would take Katie to the final two? WHAT AN IDIOT. I said to Fred “Somewhere, Richard Hatch is having a conniption right now.” I get what he was doing, but I repeat: WHAT AN IDIOT. Giving up a million dollars if Tom and Katie will promise to be his friend again? What is he, ten years old? GOD. I haven’t watched the reunion show yet, but I sincerely hope that someone thumped that boy upside the noggin. Bless his heart – he might have pulled a dumbass move, but he sure is cute. He’s like a Precious Moments doll, with those big dark eyes. On a side note, every time Ian hugged someone, all I could think of was a few weeks ago when Jeff Probst said “Ian, you REEK!” And everyone seems to come up to Ian’s armpits, and when they’d hug and their face was pressed into his armpit, I had to hold my breath in sympathy, because I was sure it was stinkeriffic. I actually felt sorry for Katie at Tribal Council, she was catching so much shit. I didn’t much like her, but to be told time and again that you’re a lazy, worthless, coat tail-riding slacker can’t be fun. Also, I never noticed this before last night, but what the HELL was up with Jenn’s duck lips? She kept sticking them out as though she thought it was a good look for her. Note to Jenn: It’s not. You look weird. Stop with the fucking duck lips. Thankyew. Oh, Survivor, how I love thee. When does the next season start, anyone know? I guess I’ll find out at the end of the reunion show, eh? * * * Saturday morning Fred had gone to get groceries, and I had just fallen back asleep when the phone rang. I pushed Miz Poo off me and flailed across the bed for the phone. Caller ID said that it was Fred calling, and I assumed he had a question about something on the grocery list. “Want to see a dog?” he said. “A dog?” I said. “There’s a dog in the garage,” he said. “I’ll be right down.” I tossed my nightgown on and hurried down the stairs. I assumed that the itty bitty miniature pinscher from next door had gotten loose and was wandering around our garage, but when I opened the door to the garage, Fred was petting a small tan-and-white dog I’d never seen before. “Where’d he come from?” “I don’t know,” Fred said. “He was sitting by the front door when I drove up, and he whimpered and shook when I petted him.” The dog came over and wiggled excitedly in front of me. I bent down to pet him, and he scampered off, running around the garage and sniffing everything. “He’s not wearing a collar,” I said. “I wonder if he belongs to someone in the neighborhood.” “Yeah, I was wondering that, too.” The dog scampered around the garage a little longer, and then went over to the door into the house, and gave me an expectant look, as if to say Hey, you going to let me in, or what? I’ve had quite enough of this outside stuff, and I can smell cats in there. I like cats. They’re good to eat. (No, we didn’t get any pictures.) He ran around the garage a few more times, and then ran into the neighbor’s yard, where he sniffed wildly. Fred and I discussed going around the neighborhood and knocking on doors to see if we could find where he belonged, but it wasn’t even 7:30, and that’s too damn early on a Saturday morning. “We could put him in the back yard and call Animal Control,” I suggested. We talked about it for a few more minutes, and then I went inside, because I was cold, and started putting groceries away. Fred came in a minute later. “I’m going to take Mister Boogers out and see what he does!” He picked up Mister Boogers, flung him over his arm, and went out the front door. A minute later, they both came back inside. “He belongs to the people on the other side of the Smiths,” he said. “The lady who lives there was calling for him – his name is Oscar – and he went running.” Mystery solved. Later that morning, I took the spud to the house of one of her friends who was throwing a pool party/ sleepover in honor of her birthday/ high school graduation. The friend had gone to pick up someone when we arrived, and the friend’s mother was sitting outside their apartment. She waved us down, told us what was going on, and invited us inside. In her arms she held the most adorable chihuahua (well, second only to the magnificent Vince, that is), named something like “Loola”. Inside the apartment were another two chihuahuas, and they pranced around and licked my hands and sniffed at my feet. They were awfully cute, and I petted them for ten minutes or so before I left. And I left with a raging case of I-want-a-puppy-itis. I got over it pretty quickly, though. I guess the theme for Saturday was “dogs.” Unusual in the life of a girl who spends most of her time surrounded by cats, I’d say. * * * After last week, when I took a child’s dose of Benadryl and experienced next to no itching at all at the pet store, what do you suppose I did today? That’s right, I left the house without taking Benadryl, and didn’t realize it until I got to the pet store. And the itching was so bad that I wanted to remove my skin with a vegetable peeler. MY GOD IT SUCKED. I think I’m going to put the bottle of Benadryl in my purse so this doesn’t happen again. Nothing is less fun than standing in a room of concentrated cat hair and dander, and digging at your itchy, itchy skin until it bleeds. Hey. Speaking of digging at your itchy, itchy skin until it bleeds, did you know that Meth addicts scratch a lot? I watched Friday’s episode of Oprah, which was all about Meth addiction, and that’s one of the things they covered. That Meth addicts are often covered with sores because they think they have bugs under their skin, and they scratch, and then they dig holes in their skin. Due to the eczema, I scratch my arms a lot. No doubt I look like a fucking meth addict when I’m standing in line at the grocery store, scratching wildly at my arms. That Oprah show about Meth addiction was some scary, scary shit. They had a 17 year-old who’d been addicted to Meth for a year and a half, and they basically had an intervention on the show, and ended up whisking her off to rehab. (There’s a good series about Meth addiction here.) It wasn’t until I’d erased the show that it occurred to me that I should have saved it and watched it again with the spud. Not that I think I have anything to worry about with her, but it’s always a good thing to scare the bejesus out of a kid when it comes to drugs. Just say “no”, spud! JUST SAY “NO”! * * * The Booger is pissy because it’s raining out and he can’t go chatter at the birds. DAMN IT. ]]>

reading: Little Bitty Lies, by Mary Kay Andrews. Finished last night: Death of a Butterfly. Excellent book.

* * * I think my body is still trying to figure out the new menstrual (as opposed to minstrel) schedule. I’m retaining water like a champ this week, despite the fact that I just had my period two weeks ago and thus won’t have it again for another 10 weeks (thank you, Seasonale!). Also, one of those really painful zits popped up on my left cheekbone, and when that started going away, a couple popped up on my jawline. The one on my cheekbone is mostly gone, but the ones on my jawline are bright, flashing, neon red. If you’re in the same room with me, you can’t look away from them, believe you me. Oh, it’s FUN to be a girl, ain’t it? * * * Know what word I loathe? “Chuckle.” It’s such a smug, self-satisfied word. * * * I’m sitting here drinking my daily cup of tea, and it occurs to me that though I’ve informed Jane of this fact, I perhaps have not shared it with y’all. The fact about me and tea is that I don’t like the taste of tea. That is, I like the peppermint tea I drink every day, but I don’t like tea that tastes like tea. If there’s absolutely nothing else to drink, I’ll take a glass of iced tea and dump 63 packets of Splenda in it, but given a choice between tea and anything else – ANYTHING – I’ll take the other thing. Don’t tell me I just haven’t found the right tea. I’ve tried them all, and I don’t like the taste of tea. The only word I can think of to describe the taste of regular tea is “grainy”. I don’t know. Don’t give me that look. But give me a cup of peppermint tea, which tastes like peppermint (BUT NOT TEA), and I’m all set. Of course, I’d take Diet Coke over even peppermint tea any time. The daily (big-ass) cup of peppermint tea is just to shake things up. I love Diet Coke, but if I drink too much of it, I feel like my blood is getting all sluggish. No doubt it’s all in my head, but I’m sure the peppermint tea doesn’t hurt. * * * Speaking of things to drink, Fred has lately taken to drinking sugar-free cherry Kool-Aid. He makes it in big gallon-sized jugs, and no matter what he does when he opens a packet of the Kool-Aid mix, invariably the next day when I’m wiping down the counters, the powder has gotten all over the place. The dishtowels and dishcloths I was using were yellow, and when you use a yellow dishcloth to wipe up red cherry Kool-Aid mix, you get a stain that will never ever ever come out. Fucking Kool-Aid. So after some thought, I bought a set of good white dishcloths at Williams-Sonoma, and some white flour sack towels on eBay, and then I bought some dye, and I died the discloths and dishtowels a darkish blue (denim blue, I think this particular shade was called), and now when I wipe up the red Kool-Aid, you can’t see the stain on the dishcloths. And the flour sack dishtowels are awesome; they soak up water like nobody’s business, and they dry out in about ten minutes. It really takes very little to make me happy, have you noticed? * * * I have come to the conclusion that I definitely need a camera phone. It’s always my intention to carry a camera around in my purse, but I do that for a few days then take the camera out to download the pictures to my hard drive, and forget to put it back. And invariably I’m out running errands and see something that would be a cool picture… but I don’t have my camera! I don’t intend to send pictures to people; I just want to be able to take a picture when I need to. Our cell phone contract is up in December, so I think I’m going to trade my phone in for a camera phone. Maybe I will, anyway. I guess it’ll depend on whether I can convince Fred that I need one! * * * “How YOU doin’?”]]>

* * * *AMAZING RACE SPOILERS. SKIP TO THE NEXT SECTION IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE SEASON FINALE YET* Oh, man. We were SO pulling for Rob and Ambah at the end! If nothing else, this show proves that the slightest thing can keep you from winning. Or that you can come from very last place and still win, like Joyce and Uchenna did. I said at one point that I’d prefer Rob and Ambah or Joyce and Unchenna to win. Like I said, we were pulling more for Rob and Ambah than Joyce and Unchenna, but I am just THRILLED OUT OF MY GOURD that Ron and Kelly didn’t win. I mean, what the hell? They’re in the middle of a race for a million dollars and she wants to discuss the state of their relationship? They were both pretty unlikeable, at least to me. Joyce and Unchenna are really nice people and they ran a nice race. I guess nice guys don’t always finish last, eh? When does the next season start, anyone know?

* * * We have, lately, taken to recording episodes of South Park and watching them when nothing else is on. That is one FUNNY fucking show. Yeah, it can be offensive, but they’re equal opportunity offenders and they don’t hesitate to skewer ANYONE, so it’s really our kind of show. Last night there was nothing on – we don’t bother to watch the American Idol results show, because it’s nothing but fluff, and we can just watch the last ten seconds of the show, or find out who left online – so we watched the “Death Camp of Tolerance” episode. It was a pretty funny one, but there was this whole subplot that involved a gerbil – Lemmiwinks – who had to find his way out of a gay man’s ass (what? I DIDN’T CREATE THE STORYLINE, DON’T LOOK AT ME!) and it involved a song and a helmet torch and a sparrow king and a talking frog, and at one point I looked at Fred and I said “Just how many drugs were these guys DOING?”, because I imagined Trey Parker and Matt Stone, smoking pot and snorting coke and shooting heroin simultaneously, and coming up with this storyline. I mean, it was clearly the result of a LOT of drugs, and some obviously disturbed minds as well. Then, this morning, I did some looking around online and found that the whole gerbil’s journey was an homage to The Hobbit. No wonder we didn’t get it. All the South Park watching has gotten me in the mood to watch Cannibal! The Musical again. There are some seriously good songs in that movie. Say what you will about Trey Parker, the man can write a catchy tune. Hey, look! Another South Park Robyn! Make your own here. I save mine by using the “print screen” button and pasting into paint shop pro, then cropping down so only the picture is showing. There might be a better way, but if so I don’t know about it. * * * Pet store kitty pics from Monday are here. * * * Spot had to go to the vet yesterday. Fred got home from work, put the cat carrier on the table, and went upstairs to change clothes. Ten seconds later, I heard a thump, and went out to investigate. I’m sure you know what I found. ]]>

reading: Death of a Butterfly, by Margaret Maron. Finished last night: Skipping Towards Gomorrah, by Dan Savage. It started out good, got a little boring in the middle, and finished off strong. Definitely worth a read, but I wouldn’t run right out and buy it, unless (like us) you like to throw your money away on books you’ll only read once and then give away.

* * * Okay, those of you who clicked on the “movie” link yesterday and ended up with the movie of Tubby, the direct link to the Booger movie is here. I changed the name, so y’all should have no problem seeing it now. Of course, when I put a new movie up, that link will give you a 404 error, so if you want to see it, check it out soon! And I expect to put up a new movie next week. I got some great footage of Spot that I HAVE to share. * * * I was folding laundry this morning, and I had CMT (Country Music Television) on in the background. Commercials were on, so I was only half paying attention, but when a woman started talking about her busy, busy life and how hard it was to take a pill every day, I looked at the TV. It was a commercial for the birth control patch – how convenient! You put the patch on, leave it on all week, and replace it with another patch after the week is up – and the busy busy woman with the busy busy life seemed inordinately thrilled at the idea that she wouldn’t have to take a pill every day. Now, I don’t know. I think that if your life is SO BUSY that taking the time to put a little pill in your mouth throws your entire schedule off, then perhaps it’s time to reorganize your life. Maybe do a little less house-cleaning or ferrying the kids to soccer games? I’ve been on the pill for almost 9 years now (yes, Fred is vasectomized, but a man isn’t immediately sterile once he’s had a vasectomy, and if I went off the pill and got accidentally pregnant while he still had sperm roaming around in his system, I’d have to throw myself off the nearest cliff) and never once have the words “Oh, CRAP! I spent so much time cleaning and driving and working that I DIDN’T HAVE TIME TO TAKE MY BIRTH CONTROL PILL!” come out of my mouth. Okay, okay, I jest. I know her issue isn’t really not having time to take the pill – even though she IMPLIED that it was – her issue is really that she has a hard time REMEMBERING to take the pill every day. And, really, I’ve gotta ask: if you can’t remember to take a pill every day, what are the chances that you’ll remember to replace the patch every week? And for the record, I have forgotten to take a pill once or twice, but for the most part I have such an established pattern at bedtime – take the pill, brush my teeth, take out my contacts – that I almost never forget. * * * I had a dental appointment this morning, to have scaling and root planing done on the other half of my mouth (the left half. The right half was done at the end of April, in case you’re curious). The hygienist took a look at my gums and declared that they were already much better, even the side that she hadn’t scaled and planed, due to my rigorous use of the Rota-Dent. I’m really getting the hang of using the Rota-Dent, by the way. When I first started using it, it took me about ten minutes to clean my teeth at night. Now, it’s more like five minutes, which is a lot better. Because who the hell wants to spend ten minutes cleaning your teeth every night? NOT ME. (Thus, the reason I developed periodontal disease, I’m sure. Damn my laziness!) The hygienist scraped around for a little while, took some gum measurements, and then commenced to scaling and planing. MY GOD was it uncomfortable. I wouldn’t call it painful, but it was certainly uncomfortable right up to the line of pain, and I was seriously glad when it was over. I guess the left side of my mouth is more sensitive than the right. I go back in another couple of weeks so she can check my gums and polish the dinginess off my teeth (the medicine I use with the Rota-Dent makes my teeth dingy). I’d complain about having to go to the dentist all the time, but as it’s MY OWN DAMN FAULT, I won’t. * * * There was a woman on Oprah last week who has 81 cats. EIGHTY-ONE cats. Fred wandered by while I was watching it, and said “That’s how many cats YOU’d have if I’d let you!” I don’t know – sometimes I feel like we already have too many cats. I can’t turn over at night without dislodging either Miz Poo, who sleeps on a pillow next to me, or Mister Boogers, who likes to sleep pressed against my leg and gets all pissy if I have the nerve to move. With one on each side of me, it’s generally a five-minute effort to extract myself from under the covers when I need to get up and pee. I can’t imagine having 81 cats in this house. I’d probably have twenty cats on the bed, pinning me down, and I’d have to become a bed person to avoid displeasing them. 81 cats? No. But I could go for another couple of kittens. Mister Boogers needs some kittens to keep him on his toes, don’t you think? * * * Hey, look! Smart and Sassy is a year old today! Happy birthday to us! Has it really been a year? My, how time flies. Now, where the hell’s my birthday cake? * * * Such a pretty boy. I have no idea what he’s looking at, but he sure is pretty, isn’t he? ]]>

Portland Oregon” was the song I was referring to. I’m not a Jack White fan ordinarily – or rather, I guess I should say I’m not a White Stripes fan (yes, I know, BLASPHEMY), but I like his work on that song.) There’s a rumor that she’s pregnant. (Renee Zellweger, I mean. Not Loretta Lynn.) Of course, whenever any celebrity female gets married, there’s a rumor that she’s pregnant. If she is, though, that’s going to be one seriously round-faced squinchy-eyed baby.

* * * For the first time in months, there’s a new “movie of the week.” I call this one “Phantom of the Boogra.” * * * Since there’s just nothing going on ’round here today and I have ten thousand pictures taking up space on my memory stick, I’m going to toss them up here (most of them are of the Booger, because he’s just so damn photogenic) and call it an entry. If you hate cat pictures, you have my permission to skip the rest of this entry, and I’ll see you tomorrow. We call him… FANG! “Oh, that “Yes, Dear” just cracks me UP.” Da Boog loves hanging out in (or out OF) the basket. The fashionable Boog likes to sport a shiny red ball upon his noggin. Oh, how he lurrrrrves his daddy. Rolling around in the sun, trying to figure out how to make trouble… Boog in action (he’s jumping on Miz Poo, if you can’t tell). Miz Poo kicked his ass, so he backed off. Da Boog in da box. Much as she pretends to hate him, Miz Poo can often be found within paw’s reach of that Booger. Lick. Lick. Lick. See something on the floor? Lay on it! Pissy Boog. Lick. Lick. Lick. It’s a rough life for a Boog. Cute ‘n cuddlesome. Happy Boog. Apparently the box needs a smackdown. Poo in the sun. Sunshiiiiine on the Poo-piiiiiiiie makes her happyyyyyy… Full of grass, but not ready to barf yet. When it’s time to barf, she’ll go inside and do it on the carpet, of course.]]>

reading: Skipping Towards Gomorrah, by Dan Savage. It’s pretty damn good, so far. Finished reading over the weekend: Tales from the Scale. Not to be crass (since I’ve written part of it), but it’s a mighty good book. A plus! plus! plus! plus! Heh.

* * * We finally watched Primetime Live’s Fallen Idol on Friday night, and by the end of it I was horrified, angry, and very, very sad. Because that, my friends, is an hour of my life I will NEVER get back again. I think Paula Abdul should be thrown off American Idol for having very, very poor taste. I mean, COME ON, Paula, you have all those cute little hunks, and you pick COREY CLARK? Gah. ARE YOU BLIND?? Do I think Paula Abdul had an affair with him? Yeah, probably. Was she wrong? Of course she was, even if he wasn’t a dead ringer for Sideshow Bob. Do I care? No, no, and HELL NO. At one point during the show, Fred turned to me and said “I wonder if this will help his career or hurt it?” I think it will do neither, because NO ONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT COREY CLARK. ABC will do their best to flog the story for a little while, and then Corey Clark will sink back into obscurity, where he was before he started trying to sell his book full of EXPLOSIVE ALLEGATIONS. And my god, that song he was recording? I rolled my eyes so hard that I almost passed out. “Paulatics”, indeed. * * * Hey, remember a few months ago when I whined about the fact that whenever I go to the pet store to feed the kitties and clean their cages, I get really really itchy? And then someone suggested that I try taking a child’s dose of Benadryl before I go to the pet store? And then I bought a bottle of Benadryl and it sat on the counter for a long time? Well, this morning I finally remembered to take it before I left for the pet store, and guess what? It worked! I had some itching, but NOTHING as bad as it’s been. Thank you, whoever recommended the Benadryl! You saved my skin! I bet it would have been especially bad this week if I hadn’t taken the Benadryl, because all the cats were shedding like hell. There was so much cat hair wafting around in the cat room that I could barely see from one end to the other. Ordinarily I would have been standing there scratching like hell, but not today. Yay! * * * I have recently started on a stringent vitamin-taking routine, because I’m getting old and I know I don’t get all the vitamins I need from the foods I eat. I’m also taking a hair, skin & nails pill with biotin in it, because the hair atop my noggin is thinning (the doctor suspects it’s due to thyroid issues), and I figure my nails and skin could use all the help it can get. ALSO, I’m taking an essential oil twice a day – Udo’s Choice, to be exact – because when I’m eating the way I should, I don’t get nearly enough essential oils in my diet. So this weekend, after my shower, I put on some Lemon Meringue perfume I got at Bath & Body Works last Fall. About midday, I realized that the smell had changed from Lemon Meringue to something that smelled exactly like White Musk. My question to you, my smartypants readers, is this: is my new vitamin-taking regimen somehow altering the way my body reacts with perfume? I’ve been occasionally using the Lemon Meringue perfume for months now, and this is the first time I’ve noticed it smelling like White Musk. Which is not one of my favorite smells, in case you were wondering. Got an opinion on the topic? Leave it in the comments. Thanks! * * * So, apparently Jennifer Garner is pregnant. When I heard that, I thought “Boy, that’s a shot to the heart of La Lopez, ain’t it?” I mean, it’s no secret Jennifer Lopez wants kids, and to hear that Ben’s new woman is pregnant already has to sting a little bit. Whenever a celebrity couple breaks up and the new girlfriend gets pregnant, I always wonder what the old girlfriend’s reaction is. Are they thinking “Better her than me”, or “That asshole!”, or crying and eating a gallon of Ben and Jerry’s or what? When Julia Roberts and Benjamin Bratt broke up, I believe it was about ten seconds later that Talisa Soto got pregnant. I immediately wondered what Julia Roberts thought of THAT. I also wondered if Benjamin Bratt was all “In your FACE! I don’t need YOU to have kids with me, I’ve got someone ELSE to get pregnant. Ha!” Yes, perhaps I DO spend too much time thinking about the lives of celebrities. (You bet your ass I already have the DVR set to record Chaotic.) * * * Anyone have any idea what’s going on with Eyes? It was pre-empted last Wednesday by the Primetime Live Corey Clark snoozapalooza, and it doesn’t appear that it’s going to be on this week, either. I haven’t been able to find anything anywhere that says it’s been cancelled, so maybe they’re going to wait until after May sweeps to finish airing the season? I need my Tim Daly fix, damnit! * * * Yesterday was so sunny and warm that most of the cats spent a good part of the afternoon lolling about in the sun, watching the birds. * * *]]>

reading: Tales from the Scale. I have to say, even if I weren’t involved with this book at all, I’d think it’s a really good one. I had a hard, hard time putting it down last night and only did around midnight because I could barely keep my eyes open. As a bonus (for me, anyway), I read a chapter that I had completely forgotten writing, and thought to myself “Hey. That’s not totally terrible!” Finished last night: Hissy Fit. Who is this Mary Kay Andrews, and how come no one’s ever mentioned her to me before?! This was a good book and a quick read. I loved it!

* * * I went to the grocery store this morning, and by the time I left, I was ready to kill someone. I should have known when I pulled into the parking lot and saw TWO school buses unloading in front of the store that it wasn’t going to be an easy shopping experience. First I had to wait five minutes for the kids – who appeared to be around kindergarten age – to finish milling through the front door, then I had to wait for them to move out of the way so I could grab a basket. Basket in hand, I headed for the bakery section, only guess what? Yes, that’s right. It was crowded with kids. And the employees were gathered around handing out stickers or something to the kids. When I realized I wasn’t going to be able to get into the bakery section, I headed for the produce section. Which was crammed with kids. And as I walked by the produce section, the produce manager FOR SOME UNGODLY FUCKING REASON thought it would be a good idea to have all the kids scream at the top of their VERY FUCKING LOUD lungs, and they screamed and they screamed and they screamed and I ran away from the produce section as fast as my stubby little legs could carry me, my ears aching. I grabbed the few things I really needed – shampoo, Edy’s Light chocolate chip ice cream – and paid for it as fast as I could, and I all but ran out the front door of the store. The kids were STILL screaming (they might be small, but they have big lungs), and an older lady was walking toward the store, and I gave her a wild-eyed look and said “You DON’T want to go in there!” She gave me a wary oh-hey-it’s-a-crazy-person look and walked through the front door. And before I’d even made it to my car, she had come back out the door, and she gave me a commiserating smile and said “You were right!” Damn skippy I was right. * * * Pet store kitty pics from Monday are hither. * * * The guy who bought our old big-screen TV (you know, the perfectly good one that did not, in actuality, need to be replaced by a high-definition TV, but I don’t get a vote in these matters regarding funds that would be better used BUYING NEW FUCKING CARPET FOR THE HOUSE. Though when I’m watching American Idol and can actually count the stubble on Ryan Seacrest’s face, it’s almost worth it.) finally came and picked it up yesterday. Which means that the garage has only the one big-screen TV (which has a burned-in image on it, and actually did need to be replaced a few years ago, and so now it lives in the garage and I use it when I’m exercising), and now I can stop bitching about how I can’t wait to get the damn TV out of the garage. Also, the sale of the TV will be partially paying for our trip to Florida this summer, so it’s all good. I do need to get out there and vacuum the rug in the garage, though. It’s been a few months, so it pretty desperately needs it. * * * I’m going to try to talk Fred into going antiquing this weekend. I bet that won’t be a very hard sell. We went a few weekends ago (the weekend before he had his vasectomy), and suddenly got it into our heads that maybe we need a new end table for the living room. The one we currently have is okay, though it’s a little beat up. We ended up at a reallllllly nice antique store in Huntsville, and saw an end table that I really liked a lot. Not only was it big enough to hold a lamp and a cat bed (yes, we DO have our priorities!), it also had a drawer, and a shelf underneath to hold books or my current cross-stitching project, or whatever. The only problem was that it was from the 1940s, and Fred is a snob who was of the impression that that was not NEARLY old enough. He found a table that he really, really liked, and it was old enough and everything, but the price was a little more than he wanted to pay. So we went to another antique store, didn’t see any end tables at all, and then went to yet another. That last store? A total mistake. As soon as we walked through the door, the woman working there came up to us and asked if we were looking for anything specific. I should have said that we were just looking, but instead I said that we were looking for an end table, and that was all she wrote. She followed us into the large back room and basically pointed out every single piece of furniture that could possibly be used as an end table. She quizzed Fred about what exactly he was looking for. When he showed some slight interest in a table, she tried to get him to take that table AND the one next to it. She said “I won’t give up until you’ve found what you want!”, and she said it several times. By the time we’d been in the store ten minutes, I was ready to push her down and run for the door. Finally, Fred muttered something about having to think about it, and we beat a hasty retreat. She followed us to the door, and quite frankly I’m amazed she didn’t throw herself on the hood of the car and beg us to buy SOMETHING. My god, I hate it when salespeople don’t understand that I want to be left alone to look at things, and if I have a question or need help I WILL ASK FOR IT. Hoverers make me want to just get the hell out of that store as soon as humanly possible. * * * * * *]]>