Category: Life

proof that there was no wardrobe snafu involved in that whole Jan3t Jacks0n b00bie brouhaha. Yeah, I know you’re sick of hearing about it, but how could I not share the link? Also, if it’s true that she was uninvited from the Grammys and Justin wasn’t, that really pisses me off.

* * * I was reading journals this morning while putting off going upstairs to clean the litter box, and this made me laugh out loud: I just typed “Massachusetts,” which always makes me think of Anthony Heald playing a judge on The Practice. He spits out the word “Massachusetts” as though it were shit marinated in vinegar. I totally remember watching that episode with Fred and how hard we laughed every time he said “Massachusetts.” Glad to see I’m not the only one who remembers! I haven’t watched The Practice regularly in about two years, though I caught a few episodes last year. I thought I might take it up again since we got the DVR last week, but we’ve been having problems with the damn thing and I’m not willing to go through the effort of finding a blank tape and setting the VCR, so I guess that’ll have to wait. Speaking of the DVR, I did what Texas Peach suggested in my comments on Friday (disconnect the power plug in the back for 5 minutes, plug it back in and let it cycle through) and when I turned it back on, the guide was back up and I taped the 20/20 about rich kids that night, but the next morning the guide was gone again. Fred called the cable company, they had him do a few things and then decided it was a problem with the box. They told him someone would be here between 11 and 2 on Sunday (I had no idea cable guys had to work on the weekend!) with a new box. The guy showed up, but hadn’t brought a box with him. He did some stuff outside trying to figure it out, but nothing. He left, after telling Fred that “someone will be out with a new box on Tuesday or Wednesday.” Hey, thanks for narrowing it down, guy. Grrr. * * * I don’t believe I mentioned that the Bean has tapeworms. This would explain, I suppose, why that fat, round little belly he developed not long after we adopted him went away so quickly, and he stayed skinny despite his tendency to eat everything in sight. Naturally we’ll have to have all the other cats checked out. I’m pretty sure at least one of the vet’s kids is being put through college by us personally. (Though in the interest of full disclosure I don’t know that he has kids, or that they’re in college) After we found out that the Bean had tapeworms, I joked to Fred that I needed to get me one o’ them. Fred said “Oh, good idea. You should lick his ass!” Ugh. Then I made the mistake of mentioning that I had read somewhere that if you put a bowl of warm milk under your butt, the tapeworm would smell it and crawl out. Fred laughed until he almost passed out. But it turns out that although I had the wrong end, I really had read the idea somewhere. From Bridget Jones’s Diary: Saturday 22 April 8st 7, cigarettes, 0, alcohol units, 0, calories 1800. Today is an historic and joyous day. After eighteen years of trying to get down to 8st 7 I have finally achieved it. It is no trick of the scales, but confirmed by jeans. I am thin. There is no reliable explanation. I have been to the gym twice in the last week, but that, though rare, is not freakish. I have eaten normally. It is a miracle. Rang Tom, who said maybe I have a tapeworm. The way to get rid of it, he said, is to hold a bowl of warm milk and a pencil in front of my mouth. (Tapeworms love warm milk, apparently. They love it.) Open my mouth. Then, when the worm’s head appears, wrap it carefully round the pencil. ‘Listen’, I told him, ‘this tapeworm is staying.’ I love my new tapeworm. Not only am I thin, but I no longer want to smoke or glug wine (p105). You just never know what’s going to stick in your mind, do you? * * * I can’t believe there are only two episodes of Sex and the City left. Wah! And only six episodes of Friends. Double wah! (For the record, I think Carrie should end up with Petrovsky and not Big, because he’s been straightforward and honest with her from the beginning, and he clearly wants to be with her. He’s not as much fun as Big, but he definitely has a certain charm. But then, I’ve always had a crush on Baryshnikov, ever since I took ballet lessons as a kid (this is where Fred would start singing the opening bars of “No Rain“.)) My pain is only slightly assuaged by the fact that The Sopranos premieres on March 7th, and The Shield on March 9th. * * * We have this toy, a stick with feathers attached at one end, that Miz Poo seems to have adopted. She carries the damn thing around with her, from one end of the house to the other, making a very loud keening sound the entire time. She’ll walk into the room with it in her mouth, making that noise, then drop it on the floor and look expectantly at us. I have no idea what she wants us to do, but cries of “Aren’t you a smart Poo!” just leave her staring at us blankly. Maybe she wants us to pick up the toy and admire it – we’ve taken to calling it her “baby.” * * * A few years ago I put up a picture of the church in downtown Lisb0n Falls that has been converted into a house. It’s been fixed up some since then. I still think it’s the coolest thing ever, to have a former church as a house. And the crappy house on Goddard Street where Debbie and the kids and I lived together for a few years. It’s the gold building, and it doesn’t look like time has improved the condition any. A sunset in Portland. I noticed that the sunsets in Maine tend to have more gold and yellows, whereas the ones we see from our back yard have more pinks. I wonder what the difference is? More pollution? The Bean plays shy. Spanky checks out the situation. My dad took this picture of Gizmo when they were visiting Tracy and Kate last Fall. Awwww, love the kitty! ]]>

Survivor last night on The Early Show. Then I decided to set up to tape The Ellen Degeneres Show, and decided while I was at it, I’d set up to tape ALL of them, and then the DVR locked up and I couldn’t get it to do anything, and instead of waiting to see if it would un-lock itself, I thought “Hey! I’ll just turn it off and then back on! It works with my computer!”, and so I turned it off and back on, and now? Now I’m getting “No data” at the bottom of the screen now and I can’t record anything, goddamnit. Just call me a fuckwad.

* * * You know, there’s a certain time of the month when a gal is a bit – shall we say – gassier than at other times of the month. If she’s eaten pizza on top of it being a naturally gassy time of the month, then the gas that is produced is so toxic that it’s almost visible. For some reason, it is often at bedtime that said gal most often produces said gas, and at “that” time of the month the husband of this completely fictional woman is sometimes forced to run to his own bedroom to defend his nose hairs from being singed off by the stank produced. But just because the husband of Fictional Woman is tired at 9:30 does not mean that Fictional Woman is tired as well, and perhaps she likes to lay in bed with cats arranged on the bed around her while she reads, occasionally bleeding the valve. The cats, interestingly, are not repelled by the gas, instead they are fascinated and will occasionally sit up and sniff wildly at the clouds of stank wafting gently by their noses. The fictional child of Fictional Woman often likes to come to the door of Fictional Woman’s bedroom to say goodnight. At “that” time of the month, Fictional Child has been known to stop at the door and make a face. Fictional Woman looks up from her book. “What?” “Do you smell that?” Fictional Child says as a cloud of stank floats out the door. Fictional Woman knows of what Fictional Child is speaking, but believes she can brazen it out. “No, what?” she says. “It smells like…” Fictional Child sniffs wildly at the air, resembling the wildly sniffing cats more than a little. “POOP!” “Oh,” Fictional Woman says. “Fred’s been a little gassy tonight.” And then Fictional Woman and Fictional Child share an Isn’t he DISGUSTING? look, and bid each other goodnight. * * * Did you know that squirrels (at least here in the South), when given peanuts, don’t go store them in hollows of trees? That they actually bury them in the YARD? It’s the coolest thing, I swear. We buy peanuts and put them in the back yard under the bird feeders, and yesterday a squirrel spent a good hour burying them in various places in the yard. It was neat to see him start digging a hole and then pick up the peanut, measure the size with his mouth and front paws, and dig some more, put the peanut in the hole, and bury it. Squirrels are awfully neat. (At least that’s my opinion until one gets in the house…) * * * We watched Extreme Makeover last night, and it was awesome. It was a couple who (I think this is what I heard) met at Overeater’s Anonymous and had each lost over 100 pounds. They both went in for some major surgery and didn’t see each other for 7 weeks, until their WEDDING DAY. They looked amazing, especially him. She didn’t look half bad, either – but then, I thought she looked fine before, so what do I know? I felt sorry for them during the time apart, though – they were obviously both pretty miserable. That just had to suck. * * * 1. What’s the most daring thing you’ve ever done? Packed up my eight year-old daughter and moved to Alabama to live with a man I’d known for only a few months and spent less than two weeks with in person. Crazy! 2. What one thing would you like to try that your mother/friend/significant other would never approve of? Fred’s pretty adventurous, I can’t think of anything I’d want to try he wouldn’t be willing to let me try. Heh. 3. On a scale of 1-10, what’s your risk factor? (1=never take risks, 10=it’s a lifestyle) Probably between a 1 and a 2. 4. What’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you as a result of being bold/risky? The moving-to-Alabama thing worked out really damn well, I’d say. 5. … and what’s the worst? Um. The fact that I live in Alabama, maybe? It’s worth it, though. * * * Another series of really good cat pictures, taken by Fred. Fred giggles like a little girl every time he gets one of these really good pictures, by the way. Big cat in the little bed… ]]>

SURVIVOR SPOILERS BELOW, SKIP IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN LAST NIGHT’S SHOW YET! It sucks ASS that Rudy got voted off last night, but I wasn’t surprised. I knew that the way he was limping around that if his tribe went to Tribal Council, he’d be the one gone. I was surprised to see Jerri crying, though. Fred still hates Jerri and Shii Ann. Not one to forgive and forget, that one. I’m so glad they blur Rich’s ass when he runs around naked, by the way. That’s for sure a sight America doesn’t need to see. He’s definitely same ol’ Rich! GO Rupert, with the catching of the fish! I loved the look on Ethan’s face when Rupert walked up with the fish after he (Ethan) had been fishing and had no luck. When Ethan said at Tribal Council, “And then we caught the fish…”, I turned to Fred and said “What’s this “we”, Kemosabe?” Heh. Damn I love that show. Edited to add: Jenna L.? VERY annoying. Very, very. Edited again to add: I told Fred that if the tribes couldn’t figure out how to make fire, the producers would end up stepping in to help out, and I guarantee you, that’s what that reward challenge was about.]]>

The Bachelorette last night (we watched American Idol) and I managed to fuck it up and miss the first ten minutes or so of the show. Which is all that cute little Kelly Jo was apparently in, so I only got to see about ten seconds of her trying to explain something to the way-too-talkative Ryan. I was glad to see Ian and Lanny make it into the final four, but if Ian wants to go any further, he’d better start opening up. Also glad to see Ryan gone – that boy talked WAY TOO MUCH and he was too needy to boot. Cute guy, but he needs to calm down a tad. On American Idol last night, I was glad to see the pen salesman go through, as well as that cute little redhead – John Stevens? Something like that – and the girl whose name I cannot remember. She was in the group with Scooter Girl and she had purple (red?) dyed hair. To me, she looked JUST like Betty Boop, so now that’s what Fred and I call her. (Oh look, here she is! Amy Adams. Funny thing is that I had sucked it up and was going to go through all the contestants to find her and she was the first one!) I cannot believe that damn Lisa Wilson made it through, though. I liked her when she auditioned, but that whole blowing off working to hang out in the pool with that annoying guy (he didn’t make it through, did he? I hope not!) just got on my last nerve. Clearly I’m getting very old and crochety, when seeing kids partying instead of working for what they want pisses me off.

* * * I rented and watched Thirteen last week, and believe you me, folks, I gave a quick prayer of thanks at the end of the movie that the spud has never – and I’m willing to bet never will – put me through anything like that. Speaking of the spud, I turned on her computer to check her chat logs (don’t even look at me like that. She knows there’s no such thing as privacy on her computer when it comes to chatting and never will be as long as she’s young and dumb). I scrolled through the names, recognizing most of them (she does most of her chatting with me, her cousin Brian, my sister, my parents, and a few friends from school). I came to one I didn’t recognize and opened the log, figuring it was going to be a friend from school whose nickname I didn’t recognize. It was a 19 year-old guy from India, and what was the spud’s response? I DON’T KNOW YOU, I CAN’T CHAT WITH YOU, PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE. Cracked me up, it did. The guy responded with “Y?”, but she ignored him and he went away. Good spud. * * * Okay, it’s a crappy, windy, cold, rainy day, and I want to go sit on the couch in front of the fire and read and wait for the cable guy to show up, so I’ll toss up a bunch of Bean pics and call it an entry. Bitchy Bean. Nosy Bean. Sleepy Bean. “What the hell’s going ON?” Bean. Yawning Bean. Yawn-and-stretch Bean. Cute-n-cuddly Bean. Love-the-daddy Bean. Nighty-night Bean. (All pictures taken by Fred, who will complain if I don’t credit him.) ]]>

There goes another sign of Tubby, gone… and got teary-eyed. At bedtime, I was standing in the bathroom brushing my teeth, and Spot jumped up on the side of the bathtub and gave me his worried Momma, I can see a little piece of the bottom of the food bowl, are you going to let us STARVE to death? look, and so while I was brushing my teeth I got a scoop of cat food out of the covered garbage can in the closet, and I dumped the food into the bowl, and after tossing the scoop back into the garbage can I closed the closet door and then pushed the bathroom door open so that when Tubby came hauling ass into the bathroom to partake of the fresh food, he wouldn’t hit his head. And then I remembered, and I had to shut the bathroom door so that Fred, who was laying in bed reading, wouldn’t be subjected to the horrible sight of my cry face, and I cried and thought Tubby will never haul ass through that door, heading straight for the food and knocking everything and everyone out of his way, ever again. Then later, when we were laying in bed, I told Fred about how little things remind me anew of our loss strike me when I’m least expecting it, and I cried again. (But it was okay, because it was dark and he couldn’t see my horrendous cry face) And while we were laying there, the spud knocked on the door and said “Would you like to say goodnight to Tubby?”, and I cringed, because I thought it was a slip of the tongue, that she’d meant to say “Would you like to say goodnight to Miz Poo?” before she went back to her room, Miz Poo in tow. But it turned out that she was standing in the doorway holding the box that contains Tubby’s ashes and asking us if we wanted to say goodnight to them. So Fred and I each said “Goodnight, Tubby.” The spud went back to her room and shut the door. Fred whispered in my ear, “She is SO WEIRD sometimes!”, and I couldn’t help but agree, and then we giggled for several minutes.

* * * Today was a particularly busy day – in fact, this has been a particularly busy week – and I actually had to drag my ass out of bed at 6:00 so that I could exercise before I left for my 8:15 doctor appointment. I left a few minutes early and stopped by the post office to check the box, and found no less than SIX condolence cards from you crazy, wonderful people – thank you so much! I spent about an hour at the doctor’s office, then had to run to the other side of town to make a deposit at the bank, then ran home for about fifteen minutes to eat breakfast. That done, I had an appointment for a cut and color (one originally scheduled for last Wednesday, but I just knew that if I went in that day, Bev would smile and say “So, what’s been going on?”, and I would say “Oh, well, my ca-a-a-a-t die-ie-ie-ie-ied,” and start crying, and I would expose her to my horrible cry face and she’d have to go on disability, so I rescheduled for this week), so I ran out the door later than I’d intended to leave, but I got there only about two minutes late, and I’m usually more like 5 minutes late, so it was all good. I had my hair colored and cut and pouffed – I am aghast at the horror that is Helmet Head. This is what my hair looks like when it is curled under. This is why I do not curl my hair under when left to my own devices. and an hour and a half later I was on my way. To Sam’s, where I got caught in a time warp and what felt like ten minutes was actually an hour, but hey – I got a copy of The South Beach Diet (shaddup) for less than fifteen bucks, and I got 120 miniature gladiolus bulbs for less than fifteen bucks also, so it’s all good. A run by Target for a crate of clementines (where I saw a woman who was a dead ringer for Jane eating sushi), a stop by Wendy’s for a grilled chicken sandwich, and I was home by 1:30. Tomorrow’s going to be the first day I don’t have any appointments or errands to run, and I just may take advantage of the free time to clean the master bathroom. But then again, I may just sit on my ass and read. Who knows? * * * The spud took a pretty good picture of the Bean last week, so I made her send it to me. The yawningest cat that ever did live. * * * Interesting article, this. ]]>

up. Just one new kitty, but she was a cutie!

* * * Also finally – FINALLY – there’s a new cat movie up. This one stars the Bean (of course!). I call it “Mother, why must you torture me so by pointing that goddamn thing at me?” You’ll want to have your volume turned up so you can hear his sweet little voice.
Mister Boogers from Robyn Anderson on Vimeo. * * * We got a package in the mail from the wonderful Amy, who sent us some reminders of Tubby (warning – Tubby pictures below!): I’m going to put this on Fred’s desk. The spud claimed this one for herself. Damn kids! This one’s going up on the wall by my monitor so I can see his goofy little face whenever I want! Amy rocks, as do you all! * * * I mentioned yesterday (I think I mentioned it, anyway) that Fred got a new laptop on Friday. I got a little something too, something I’ve been wanting for a while, and in fact had decided I would start saving for, when Fred decided that if he was going to get a laptop, I should get something, too. (God I love that man!) What did I get? A 17″ LCD monitor! This one, to be exact. And I LOVE it. Strictly speaking, it’s the same screen size as my old monitor, but there’s more viewing room yet the monitor takes up a LOT less space on my desk. Did I mention that I love it, and it rocks? What did you THINK I was going to do with all that space on my desk? Cat pillow, of course! Miz Poo loves to sleep there, with her head by one of my speakers, and earlier when I was making the Bean movie, she kept staring at the speaker when she heard him meowing. Cute! If you look over in the corner by the smiley-face stuff, behind all the cameras, you’ll see the cool smiley-face cup and vanilla wafter cookie-scented candle Say sent me. I’ve sniffed the candle so often because it smells so good that I think I’ve killed off a few brain cells. Say also rocks. * * * I woke this morning at 3:45ish with a full bladder. After laying there for a few minutes hoping it would go away, I decided to get up and stumble to the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, stretching my “bad” (ie, plantar fasciitis-inflicted) foot so that it wouldn’t hurt when I stepped down on it. It suddenly came to my attention that there was a shadow in the doorway that I hadn’t noticed when I sat up, and as I turned my head to the side, I heard “Hey.” Which is when I realized that it was Fred, but my brain was already on the jump-and-scream track and to try to derail it would have meant certain disaster. So I jumped and screamed, slapping my hand to my chest and saying “Oh my GOD, you startled me!”, whereupon, of course, Fred laughed his ass off. Bastard. Oddly, I’ve had a couple of scary someone’s in the house dreams lately, ones that I wake from with my heart pounding and my eyes wide. I always dig an earplug from my ear and listen intently, look at the cats to make sure they’re not freaked out, and eventually fall back into an uneasy sleep. Of course, they don’t freak me out enough so that I attempt to sleep without earplugs, or even load the gun and put it under the pillow next to me, so I guess it can’t be freaking me out too much. I’ve begun sleeping very lightly, without earplugs, and my hand on a loaded gun at all times. Also, I’m a very good shot, even in the dark without my contacts in. Stalkers, beware! I think that Fred just likes to scare the hell out of me. I was sitting in front of my computer yesterday, under the impression that I was alone in the computer room, when his voice suddenly came from directly behind me, making me jump and scream. “I WISH YOU WOULDN’T SNEAK UP ON ME!” I yelled at him. He claimed that he wasn’t TRYING to sneak up on me, that he’s naturally a quiet walker, or something like that. Lies, all lies. Did I mention that he’s a bastard? * * * How can this possibly be comfortable? She is Poo, hear her roar. Miz Poo dug herself a nest in the blanket Nance gave me, and spent all day Sunday curled up there. I love this kitty. ]]>

new logo for February, by the lovely and talented Ann. Thanks, Ann!

* * * Yeah, after that halftime show last night, I’m having nostalgic memories of Britney and Aerosmith from a few years ago. I don’t care much about the fact that we saw Janet’s boobie (although, the thought of having a spike through my nipple sure does make me cringe), but I could have done without seeing Janet and Justin humping from one side of the stage to the other. My friend Liz called last night at 9:40ish when I was waiting for Survivor Allstars to come on (LOVED IT), laughing so hard I could barely understand what she was saying. It turns out that the assmonkey she divorced several years ago was a big Carolina Panthers fan. Liz, naturally, was rooting for the Patriots, and when the Patriots won, Liz called his house, jeered at him, and then hung up the phone. Did I mention that she hasn’t talked to him since they divorced? I’m sure he thought he was never going to hear from HER again and I know that hearing from her was a shock, because he called her back and called her a c u n t. She jeered at him some more until he hung up on her. While I know that story sounds like she’s a psychotic ex, I loathe her ex-husband – one of the biggest jerks I’ve ever known – so much that I think an unwelcome blast from the past is exactly what he deserved. Plus, I think she needed a little closure. Heh. * * * You have just won one million dollars: 1. Who do you call first? Assuming Fred’s with me when I find out I’ve won, I’d call my sister and my parents. Everyone else would get an email or find out through the Momvine. 2. What is the first thing you buy for yourself? Little yellow Beetle, with a SUNROOF, o’ course. 3. What is the first thing you buy for someone else? A house for my sister (with an extra wing where I could stay when I visited!) 4. Do you give any away? If yes, to whom? Of course – to my sister, to the no-kill shelter I volunteer for, to a few of Fred’s relatives. 5. Do you invest any? If so, how? I’m sure we’d invest as much as we could in a rock-solid no-risk mutual fund. * * * So, last week or maybe the week before, Fred and I were watching an episode of The Shield on DVD. A guy came on the screen, and Fred said “Huh. He looks familiar.” I said, “I know where I know him from, but I don’t know where you’d know him from”, then went on to tell him that the actor had played Dodger on China Beach. “He was a lot hotter on China Beach, though,” I added. This past Friday, I suggested that we watch the premiere episode of China Beach I’d gotten for Christmas. I put it in, and Fred kept one eye on the show while he fiddled around with his new laptop. “Where’s that guy who was on The Shield?” Fred asked. I wasn’t sure whether Dodger was on the first episode or not, and told him so. A few minutes later, up popped Dodger. (Known as Jeff Kober in real life) “Hey look, there he is!” I yelled to Fred, who was messing around with something in the computer room. I stopped and rewound the tape. “Oh yeah, that is him, isn’t it?” Fred said. He came out to get a better look. “I don’t think he’s better looking than he was in The Shield, though. I think he looks about the same.” I turned and gave him the what-are-you-talking-about? look. “When we saw him on The Shield, you said he was better looking in China Beach,” he said. “Um, NO I didn’t. I said he was HOT in China Beach,” I corrected. “Well,” Fred spoke as if he were talking to a very small, very stupid child. “It’s the SAME THING.” Good lord. The man thinks that “hot” and “good-looking” are the same thing! I tried to explain to him that one has nothing to do with the other – a man can be good-looking and nothing close to hot, or ugly as hell but sizzling hot – but I don’t think he believed me. Can I get some backup here, ladies? Complete with example, please. * * * Okay, I’m going to toss up a couple of cat pictures here and call it an entry. I had a busy, busy morning and it’s about lunchtime and I’m hungry. Excuses, excuses… (Pictures taken by Fred. I think.) Spanky, illustrating why sometimes we call him “Gomer”. Further illustration… “We must stop meeting like this…. ]]>

mail2web to access my email on the server and delete the offending emails before downloading the non-virused email to my hard drive. For the record, y’all, you really should have McAfee or something similar running on your computer. Also, DON’T FUCKING OPEN a .zip file from someone unless you know it’s coming, and even then? DON’T OPEN IT. If you get an email that looks like it’s from me and has a .zip file attached? It’s not from me. I swear upon all that is holy that I will never ever send you a .zip file.

* * * I think that the Bean either misses Tubby, or is confused by his absence. Every morning since Tubby died, the Bean runs around making his squeaky-toy noise incessantly, and when I sit up to yell at him (what? I’m trying to sleep!), he jumps up on the bed, sits down, and stares up at me. No coincidence, morning was when the Bean would spend a lot of time harassing Tubby, who would always be laying under my dresser. The Bean would smack and jump and bite and lick Tubby until Tubby had had enough, at which point he’d smack the hell out of the Bean, who would go on to harass other kitties. I think the Bean misses his early morning hijinks. Poor Bean. * * * So, this is what my Wednesday was like. Fred woke me up when he was about to leave for work so that I could come downstairs and post my entry about Tubby (we wanted to post our entries simultaneously, because we’re weird like that). I blinked the sleep from my eyes, put on my nightgown, and headed for the stairs. I’d successfully navigated the top stair and was putting my foot on the second stair down, when my foot slipped, and I bumpity-bumpity-bumped down seven or eight stairs. I came to a stop about halfway down the stairs, and sat there, stunned. “Bessie?” Fred said after a moment of silence. “OW!” I said. “I’m okay!” Fred and the spud came to the bottom of the stairs. “Did you fall down the stairs?” Fred asked. The spud stared at me, wide-eyed. “Yeah, on my ASS,” I said. They began laughing hysterically, the bastards. I gave them a dirty look, walked carefully to the bottom of the stairs and went into the computer room. In the kitchen, the spud was weak from laughter. After asking for some more details, Fred finally stopped talking about it. I had fallen more on my right butt cheek than my left, and scraped up the little toe on my right foot, but I was able to move and hadn’t broken anything, so I considered myself lucky. I have an impressive bruise on my right butt cheek (and no, you may NOT see a picture), all purple and blue. I have a less impressive bruise on my left butt cheek, and the entire right side of my body feels like I lifted some really heavy weights. After posting my entry, I went back to bed, where I only dozed a little. I flipped from my right side to my left, and since Miz Poo likes to cuddle up next to me when I’m laying on my left side, she jumped up on the bed next to me. Immediately, the Bean got excited – he gets very excited whenever one of the other cats does anything – and jumped up, swatting at her tail. This startled Miz Poo, who reacted by springboarding off my right boob, leaving a scratch up near my armpit and another one ACROSS MY NIPPLE, before she landed on the other side of the bed and settled on the pillow there. “Ow! Goddamnit!” I yelled, startling the Bean, who made his squeaky-toy noise and ran away. I decided I wasn’t going to get any sleep, so I got up, put some laundry in, and came downstairs to look up the symptoms of a urinary-tract infection, most of which I had. I called to make an appointment with my doctor, and then went out to the garage to exercise. My ass cheek was hurting an awful lot – hey YOU skid 7 or 8 steps on your ass and see how you feel! – so I only exercised for about 5 minutes on the elliptical trainer before giving up and going inside to shower. I spent part of the morning watching Thirteen. Evan Rachel Wood is just amazing, but there’s nothing like that movie to make you appreciate what you’ve got. I mean, the spud gets attitudinous from time to time, but NOTHING like the girls in that movie. I was hoping Holly Hunter would just finally haul off and slap the hell out of that child, to tell the truth. The cats gathered around me, sprawling out in front of the fire and on the blanket on my lap. I got to the doctor’s office about 5 minutes early and ended up cooling my heels for about an hour before I got to see her. She apologized for making me wait so long, but at this stage in life I’ve accepted that unless you get one of the very first appointments of the day, there’s going to be a long-ass wait, and I had my book to keep me occupied, so it was all good. My doctor started asking questions about my symptoms, and after a minute or two, it was pretty clear she was moving away from urinary tract infection questions and toward diabetes questions, the most obvious being “have you been drinking a lot of water lately?” It turned out that when they tested my urine they’d found no sign of a UTI and so she wanted to find out if I had developed diabetes. She sent me to the lab to have my finger pricked, and it came back with a number that indicated that I was pre-diabetic (though later I realized when the lab tech asked when I’d last eaten, I’d told her noon, but I actually ate at 1. Ahem.). She did the diet-and-exercise song and dance (Fred said later, “Did you say ‘Obviously you don’t know who I AM’?” Heh.) and recommended the South Beach Diet before sending me back to the lab to have blood drawn for some other tests. Lab tech: “Are you a hard stick?” Me: “Yes indeedy.” Lab tech: “Let’s just use the butterfly needle to get blood out of this huge throbbing vein on the back of your hand!” Me: “Um, okay. Ouch!” I had had my blood drawn, paid my co-pay and was sitting in the parking lot when the lab tech came out and waved me down, telling me that the doctor wanted to see me again because my white blood cell count was elevated. So I went back into the exam room, and the doctor came back in. “Your white blood cell count is elevated,” she said. “Which means that you have an infection somewhere.” I smiled. “I’m having the lab do a culture on your urine to be sure you don’t have a UTI, but are there any other symptoms of anything? I don’t want to just prescribe antibiotics for you without knowing what the infection is.” She ran down a list of potential symptoms, none of which I had (and none of which I can recall, except diarrhea). She puzzled over it for a few minutes, told me to “be really attuned to your body over the next few days”, and said they’d call when the results on my blood test and urine culture came back. And then I came home. Yesterday I woke up and all the UTI symptoms I’d had Wednesday were gone. Maybe it was just a reaction to stress – who knows? I feel fine, though. I’m sure it’s nothing. Well, probably a brain tumor, but other than that, nothing. * * * I looked at the pictures on the camera’s memory stick yesterday and discovered a whole series of Tubby pictures, so here they are. (Picture taken by Fred, who complains when I don’t give him credit for the pictures I use. Yet he has used a million and three pictures that *I* took and didn’t give me credit for them. Bastard.) Getting some Beany love. Is that a look o’ love, or what?]]>

* * * We adopted Tubby in the summer of 1997 from the no-kill shelter I volunteer for now. Fred and I went to look at cats and none of them really struck our fancy, until Fred saw a small (!) black and white cat hanging out on one of those cat trees. Fred petted him and scratched at the base of his tail. The cat reacted immediately by raising his ass, and Fred loved him. As we filled out the paperwork, the lady running the shelter told us that his name was Jack and he’d been found with his sister. They’d thought at first that he was feral, but they were able to tame him. We took him home. He was a bit of an odd duck. It was as though he wanted to be friendly, but he just wasn’t sure how that went. The first night, he snuggled up to Fred’s back and then bit him. “Jack” was never a name that fit him, so after a few days of deliberation and bringing up every name in the world that starts with “S”, we settled on the name “Snoopy.” It wasn’t until he was a few years old that we started calling him “Tubby”. He didn’t have much use for the other cats. He didn’t pay much attention to them, except for his special relationship with Mr. Fancypants. He was willing to be physically close with the other cats, but he didn’t really go looking for it. He was a funny, funny cat. We always knew that to get a decent picture, all we needed to do was point the camera at him and sooner or later he’d do something funny or bitchy or cute. He was our protector. Last year a stray cat came through the pet door into the house, and Tubby chased him off. He was always calm and laid-back until the situation called for him to be a bad-ass, and then he was the baddest. Who’s going to protect us now? 1997 – 2004. Good boy, Tubby. Good boy.]]>