journals and blogs I read page is updated to the best of my ability. I’m sure there’s a blog or journal or two I forgot to put on there, but hopefully I’ll realize that and get ’em added as I notice they’re not on the list.
If I read your journal or blog and it’s not on the list (I didn’t list every journal and blog by it’s journal/ blog name – some I listed by the domain name, and some by the journaller/ blogger name. Because I can.) let me know and I’ll add you.
They’re listed alphabetically and I’m using blogrolling to keep the list, which is why it’s just a long list rather than several columns across the page.
In the future you can get to that list by clicking on “Who I Read” over there in the sidebar under “other”.
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More from my comments:
OK..I’ll bite … what is your very favourite thing to make for dinner… you most yummy concoction ever?
Well. My favorite thing to make for dinner is reservations, of course. Bahahah! Ha! Hee! ::snort:: Okay, seriously. I just hate cooking. If I were given the choice, I would never be required to cook for the rest of my life. But we don’t order out or go out during the week and I only require Fred to cook on Saturday and Sunday, so usually during the week I have to cook, though to be perfectly honest we have sandwiches on Thursday night and either order out or go out on Friday night, so I only have to cook on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.
But I digress. These days my favorite dish to make is shepherd’s pie, because it’s easy as hell (though the mashed potatoes are a bit of a pain; I have the unfortunate habit of not cooking the potatoes long enough, and thus the mashed potatoes end up lumpy), I can throw it together, toss it in the oven, and I don’t even have to make a side dish to go with it. Because protein? Check. Carbs? Check. Veggies? Check. It’s the perfect all-in-one meal and it tastes damn fine.
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how about telling us why you adopted each cat that you have (i.e. what was it about their personality that you liked, or did you just adopt them because they were too cute to pass up….etc) And maybe on top of that…what do you like/dislike about them now since they’ve been integrated into your family?
Ooh, this is a good question. Okay, here we go, in order of age.
Spot showed up at Fred’s back door about ten years ago, before Fred and I met. He was a small kitten, and he sat at Fred’s apartment door howling his head off all night long. Any time Fred would open the door, Spot would run like hell and hide, then Fred would shut the door and go back to bed, and Spot would come back and resume howling. Fred started leaving food out for Spot and would sit by the back door while Spot ate. It took a few days, but Spot finally got comfortable enough to approach Fred, and as soon as Fred got his hands on Spot, he tossed him into a cat carrier and took him to the vet. He’s been with Fred ever since. Because of the night he spent howling at the door, he apparently did some permanent damage to his vocal chords, and ever since rather than meowing, he kind of squeaks. And when something’s bothering him, he squeaks a LOT.
I love Spot to death and he’s such a sweet, gentle guy that I have only one complaint about him, and that is the way he thinks everyone’s out to get him. After living with him for eight years now he is finally at the point where when I walk into a room he doesn’t immediately lose his shit and run under the bed. But if I walk in his general direction, he acts like I’m running over to kick him and he runs away. If I look at him, he gets nervous. If I want to pet him, I have to carefully approach him, talking nicely to him, and then carefully reach out and pet him, whereupon he forgets that he’s a spaz, and throws himself onto his back so I can rub his stomach.
Oh, and he’s the loudest licker I’ve ever heard. You can hear that boy licking himself from three rooms away. I can hear him licking even if I have ear plugs in sometimes, and trust me – it’s really annoying as hell.
“What? How else am I going to get clean?”
Spanky was a Christmas present from Fred to me our very first Christmas together. At that time we had two cats, Spot and the spud’s cat, who I called PFE (pronounced “Piffy”) and the spud referred to as “Katie”. We spent Thanksgiving at his sister’s house, and she had a small kitten. I spent the afternoon snuggling with the kitten and that, of course, kicked off the “I want a KITTY!” cravings. I talked and talked and TALKED about getting a kitten and couldn’t get Fred to agree, because he thought that two cats was enough in an apartment the size of ours (and may I say ha ha HA, because by the time we moved out two years later we had four cats). I was pretty sure there was no way in hell we were going to get a kitten, when Fred arrived home from work… holding Spanky. He’d gone to a pet store near work, and they had a number of kittens. He went through the kittens they had, picking them up to check them out, and the only kitten who showed the slightest bit of curiosity was Spanky.
Spanky absolutely reeked when Fred brought him home, because the lady at the pet store had put some kind of nasty perfumed powder on him. God, it was awful. From the very first, Spanky was MY baby. He followed me around all day, he slept with me at night, and when I was standing in the kitchen doing dishes, he’d curl up between my feet and go to sleep. I accidentally kicked him across the kitchen floor more times than I could begin to count. He was also a climber – he loved to climb up on my shoulder when I was sitting on the couch. He was still so little when we first got him that he wouldn’t eat hard cat food, so we had to feed him baby food for the first week or so, then mixed hard food in until he was on nothing but cat food.
My only gripe about Spanky is that sometimes he feels the need to hear his own voice and he will howl and howl and howl until you hunt him down and shoot air or water at him. He’s awfully sweet, though. Several years ago when Fred and I were both working at his company, Fred would get up and go to work, and an hour or so later I’d get up and start getting ready for work. Invariably when I was just out of the shower Fred would call to tell me something, and I’d sit on the bed with my legs crossed – Indian style – and Spanky would curl up in between my legs. To this day, if I’m sitting on the bed and talking on the phone, he has to be on me, or he gets freaked out.
Baby Spanky.
Miz Poo has been my baby for almost exactly five years. Fred and I were in South Huntsville when I talked him into stopping at the pet store that was then run by the no-kill shelter I volunteer for. I walked in and saw this tiny torti kitten in a cage with a couple of other small kittens. I walked over to talk to her, and she started howling at me. I picked her up, and she snuggled into me, purring like mad. I had promised Fred before we even stepped into the store that I wouldn’t try to get him to adopt a kitten, so when he said we needed to get going, I put the kitten back into her cage and left, wanting to cry. She howled after me the entire time I was walking out of the store.
I spent the next several days pouting and begging and pouting some more, until Fred could no longer stand it, and he agreed that I could get her, as long as I promised to clean the litter box for the rest of my life. I was all excited for a while, and then I remembered what a pain in the ass kittens can be, and I thought maybe it would be better not to get her, and so I decided not to get her.
Fast forward a few weeks to the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. The spud and I went out and had lunch at our favorite chinese restaurant. We were going to go to the movies, but when we got to the movie theater the lines were out the doors, and so I said “Hey. Let’s go to the pet store and check out the kitties!” Of course – being her mother’s daughter – she was all for it, so I called Fred and told him where we were going.
“If you adopt that kitten, you have to clean out the litter box for the rest of your life!” Fred reminded me. Up until that point, we’d been taking turns cleaning it out.
“Oh, I’m sure she’s been adopted!” I said.
We got to the pet store and walked through the door, and from her cage half the store away the kitten spotted me and began howling at the top of her very loud lungs. I went and took her out of the cage and carried her around the store. I would pet her for a minute and then stop, and she’d snuggle into my shoulder even more and meow bitchily at me until I began petting her again. I was so torn – I loved her to death, but I didn’t really want to deal with a kitten in the house. I was about to put her back into her cage when the spud said “Can’t we get her?” and I said “Go get my checkbook out of the car before I change my mind!”
She did, and we adopted her, and though I worried like hell about the other cats hurting her, she definitely knew how to hold her own. And she’s still kicking ass.
My complaint about Miz Poo is that she LOVES to jump up on my desk and sit between me and the monitor. She won’t be coaxed to lay down, she won’t hear of going over to lay on her pillow, no. She must sit there as long as she wants, usually half-dozing in her sitting position while I lean around her to see the monitor until she decides she wants to be somewhere else.
Still one of my favorite pictures of her. It’s a rough life, eh?
Stanley (AKA Meester Boogers), I think you all know the story about. But in case you don’t, I’ll tell it again. Mr. Fancypants disappeared at the beginning of the summer of 2003. The beginning of October, we started talking about getting another cat. We talked about it for a few days and then stopped talking about it, saying that we’d just stick with four cats for the time being, and besides – Mr. Fancypants COULD still show up again. And then one Friday afternoon when Fred had been home from work for an hour or so, he said “Let’s go to the no-kill cat shelter and see what they have for kittens!” The words were barely out of his mouth and I was running out the door.
We got to the shelter and started looking at the cats. I fell in love with a tiny black kitten named Debby but she hadn’t been fixed yet and thus couldn’t be adopted out (the policy of the shelter, and a damn good one), so we kept looking. In the room of older cats there was a sweet tabby I liked, but we had agreed we’d get a younger cat, since they tend to adapt better when thrown into a situation where there are older cats already present in the home.
Then Fred remembered a picture I’d seen on the shelter’s web page a few weeks prior; this one to be exact:
“Is Paw Paw here?” Fred asked. The lady who runs the shelter told us that he was recovering from an upper respiratory infection and was quarantined in the bathroom. We went in and looked at him, and he was clearly just SUCH a character that we decided he’d fit in nicely. We adopted him then and there and haven’t regretted it for one second since.
When we were trying to come up with a name for him I suggested “Stumpy” or “Stubby” (gotta be an “S” name, dontchaknow), but Fred looked at me all disapprovingly and said that that would be making fun of his disability (ie, his stumpy little tail). And what do we call him now, other than Meester Boogers? That’s right, Stumpy.
I know I write about him all the time and put up pictures of him constantly, but he’s just such an active, curious little guy and he always makes me laugh. He makes this noise that I simply can’t describe – it’s similar to a chirp, only it’s a deeper sound. It sounds very grumpy, and I’ve come to refer to it as a “grump”. He’s a happy, happy kitty and I think he realizes just how good he’s got it. He’s definitely Fred’s cat – when we’re sitting and watching TV he’ll go and rub up against Fred’s legs and then flop down at his feet. He gets excited when Fred gets home, and on the rare occasion Fred has a meeting in the evening, Meester Boogers grumps around the house and isn’t happy until Fred gets home.
My complaint about Meester Boogers is that he isn’t a cuddler. He’s friendly, and he’s always happy to see you come in the door. If you’re doing something, he’ll come rub on you and check out whatever it is you’re doing, but he doesn’t like to be held and cuddled, which sucks because I’d LOVE to snuggle with him every now and then.
Oh, I’m not crazy about his killing small rodents or birds and bringing them into the house, either.
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I’ve been meaning to ask … How’s the diet / exercise thing going these days? You haven’t updated OFB since 8/31 and I’m always so inspired with how you keep going. I’ve jumped off the diet / exercise bandwagon so many times that I think I’ve injured myself!
Oh, it’s going absolutely horribly, which is why there’s been no update. I think for the time being OFB is on hiatus. ’nuff said. 🙂
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Hey! When are you going to take signups for Christmas Cards this year?
What are your plans for Thanksgiving this year.
I’ll start taking names and addresses the day after Thanksgiving. Isn’t that when I always do? I thought it was, but I could be wrong.
I think for Thanksgiving we’ll be eating dinner at Fred’s sister’s house with his father and stepmother, sister, her boyfriend, his niece and nephew. We’re supposed to bring something – Fred usually makes a fancy cake or pie – but we’re not sure whether we’re bringing dessert this year or not. I think I actually made a
poppy seed cake last year, and it went over really well. There wasn’t a single crumb left by the time we were ready to leave.
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Robyn, I need your help!! Sometime in the past (please don’t ask me when – it’s all a big blur to me) you mention a product that Fred had bought to get rid of the cat piss smell in your carpet. What was the name of the product and where did he get it from?
It’s called Axi-Dent, and we actually bought a half-gallon bottle of it, concentrated, from the guy who came to clean our carpet. You can buy it
here. It worked really well for us, though it has a pleasing berry smell that now makes me think of cat pee whenever I smell it.
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OK, I have a question. I know you’ve already told us, but I’ll be damned if I’d know where to start looking, but….what kind of digital camera do you guys use. I know you upgraded a little while back, and I’m thinking it’s a Sony Cybershot. Do you love it? What bells and whistles do you love/could do without? I’m looking to upgrade mine, if you hadn’t guessed!
The newest camera we have is a Sony Cybershot DSC-V1, and it is absolutely amazing. It shoots short movies WITH SOUND (our previous Cybershot shot movies but didn’t have sound), but mostly I love it because it is 5.0 megapixels and takes the clearest, crispest pictures you could ever hope to see. Of course, the down side to that is that each picture takes up a lot of space. The up side is that when you print out those pictures they look absolutely amazing.
At this point, though, I’m not using that camera all that much because it got dropped before I went to Myrtle Beach in October. It works as long as you don’t zoom, but if you try to zoom, it can’t focus. Something got knocked around inside and needs to be fixed. Someone’s supposed to take the camera to the store, but keeps putting it off. Ahem.
Okay, that’s it for today. I’ll answer the rest of the questions on Monday – and if you have one, leave it in the comments and I’ll see what I can do for you.
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Contemplating the state of the universe and trying to figure out how to fix it.
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Miz Poo has been driving me absolutely fucking nuts lately. She hops up on my desk and sits between me and the monitor. No, she doesn’t want to lay down. No, she doesn’t want to go over on her pillow. No, she doesn’t want her belly rubbed. She just wants to sit there, in the way, and half-doze while I lean around her to see the screen. ARGH!
I swear to you, he was staring all wide-eyed and panicked-looking at absolutely nothing. Maybe there was a ghost taunting him…
Displeased.
Smiley faces always make me smile!
Roar…
ROAAAAR…
RAAAAWWWWRRRRRR…
Urrrp.
This is the look Spanky gets when you rub his back; it’s a look of intense pleasure. But it kind of looks like he’s thinking about something and Dr. Phil is in a thought bubble over his head, doesn’t it?
This picture makes me giggle. That’s one happy Spanky-doo.
When I was flying home from Maine in September, during my layover in Memphis I was checking out the gift shop, when I saw the cow bank. And then I saw the pig bank. I couldn’t decide which I liked more, so I got ’em both. They make me laugh every time I look at their expressions. I only wish they had a cat one, but sadly they don’t. You can get your own 
Da Poo, sitting on her pillow on my desk ten minutes ago.
“I am so pretty that it literally causes me pain.”
Meester Boogers sits quietly, whilst the Daddy dangles a wooden snake over his head.
Meester Boogers, fed up with the wooden snake, attacks.