Category: Life

* * * Did I mention that I finally went out and bought a bunch of stocking stuffers for the spud? One of the things I bought was a mini bottle of Chantilly (shut up, I like it). When I took it out of the package this morning to put in the bag o’ stocking stuffers with all the other stuff I’d gotten, the top came off the bottle and half an ounce of it spilled down my arm. As a result, I’ve spent the day smelling like one of those people who don’t seem to realize they’re wearing too much perfume. I’m also getting mighty sick of the smell of Chantilly, I’ll tell you that. With the stocking stuffers bought and the packages mailed out, I am ALL SET for Christmas. I’m especially excited this year because Fred’s surprising me with a non-wishlist gift, and I love to be surprised, so I can’t wait to see what it is.

* * * We attended the spud’s Holiday Concert (she plays the flute in the band, if you didn’t know) Tuesday night. I’m amazed, actually, that the concert didn’t take place last Thursday, because as far back as I can remember, we’ve had to miss Survivor to attend the concert. The spud’s band played this song that I think they play every year. It’s called “D3ck the H@lls with Chips and S@lsa”, and if you hadn’t guessed, it’s “Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly” with a Latin flair. I like the song just fine, but something about the name just makes me want to scream, and I have no idea why. Maybe because I can just imagine someone giggling hysterically when they came up with the name, at the amazing cleverness of it all. Agh. Lastly, we might be rude enough to leave after our own child’s band is done playing, but if we were stuck listening to a band that did not include our child, we would not be rude enough to talk loudly through the entire first song while someone sitting in front of us was attempting to tape their child’s band. We would also never subject those around us to the beepbeepbeep of our phones as we text messaged through most of the performance, either. Clearly we were in the presence of REALLY important people. * * * Speaking of cell phones, I got a new one. Fred and I both upgraded from our Nokias (mine was very very old – just over three years old, and in cell phone years, that makes it just about ready to go to that giant cell tower in the sky). We got free Samsung phones for signing a one-year contract, which makes me a little nervous because until now we haven’t been under contract and were free to change carriers whenever we wanted. Of course, we haven’t done that, so I don’t know what I’m worried about. We started out with Ericsson, who got bought out by Powertel, who then got bought out by T-Mobile. So anyway, we have new phones. They’re cute as can be, and I probably spent an hour messing with it last night. I downloaded the Brady Bunch theme song and also the Sex and the City theme song, so I’m good to go and so very, very cool. These phones are equipped so that I can use AOL Instant Messenger. I don’t see that happening considering it takes me half an hour to type out the words “Dad Cell” using the number pad, but never say never, I guess! * * * The spud got home yesterday afternoon while I was chatting it up on MSN Messenger with Nance about this. “Um. A boy asked me out at school today,” the spud said. I told Nance to hang on, and turned around to get the scoop. His name is Kelt0n, and he and the spud were writing notes to each other, and he asked her out and said that he’d been wanting to but had been scared to until now. All together, now: Awwwwwww. I made her go get her 8th grade yearbook and show me his picture, and then I asked her if she wanted to go out with him (“Yes”) and whether she liked him back (“Yes”), and then I told her I’d have to discuss it with Fred. At Nance’s urging, I asked her if she’d given him her phone number. “I gave him my email address,” she said. Heh. Long pause. “Wouldn’t that happen on, like, the third date?” Me, confused: “Wouldn’t what happen on the third date?” (Thinking of all the women’s magazine articles that said it was okay to have sex on the third date) The spud: “Giving him my phone number.” Hee! We’ve decided to let her go. She said that it wouldn’t be until after the Christmas break, though. You KNOW I’ll let y’all know what happens. * * * Friday Five. 1. List your five favorite beverages. Diet Coke and water. Those two are the only things I ever drink. I kinda like eggnog, too, in small doses, but if I’ve had anything other than water or Diet Coke to drink anytime recently, I’d be amazed. Oh, wait! I had a strawberry dacquiri when Liz was here. I prefer less icy drinks, though. Maybe I’ll celebrate Christmas by sitting around getting smashed on rum and Diet Cokes. Doubt it. 2. List your five favorite websites. Dysfuntion Junction, Plain Jane, The Usual Suspects (I’m a lurker), the blogs I check on a daily basis so that I don’t have to wait for an email from Change Detection. 3. List your five favorite snack foods. Onion bagels with strawberry cream cheese (yes, it sounds nasty as hell, but I read about it at Double Happiness, and it’s SO damn good), peanuts (roasted, unsalted), Babybels, blueberry bagels with a smear of peanut butter, and (on Fridays) Ben & Jerry’s Uncanny Cashew. I tend to pick the cashews out, because they are SO FREAKIN’ GOOD. 4. List your five favorite board and/or card games. On the rare occasion I do play them, I like Trivial Pursuit, Sorry, Monopoly, Scrabble, and gin. 5. List your five favorite computer and/or game system games. I was a fucking whiz at Super Mario Brothers on Nintendo – I actually got thisclose to the end once – but I can’t play any of the other Super Mario Brothers games on any other system. I adored Ms. Pac Man, too. These days I occasionally play Snood and Text Twist. That’s only 4, but I can’t think of a single other game! * * * Gizmo and Dulcinea do their best to prevent any laundry from being done. Are these girls gorgeous, or what? ]]>

Plain Janie-Jane, I read this little tidbit: Influenza is an upper respiratory disease. If you are having bowel rumblings, or throwing up, I’m sorry for you, and here’s some Pepto, but homies, you have a stomach virus, NOT INFLUENZA. Seriously? I did NOT know that! When I was in kindergarten (ugh. THIRTY years ago, that was!), I was out of school for a few days due to what my mother told me was the flu. When I got back to school, one of my classmates (a boy. I don’t recall his name, but I do remember that he was a twin! Also, I believe my teacher’s name was Mrs. Radecki. How can I possibly have retained this information?) said “Why were you gone for two days?” And I said “I had the flu.” The boy said “Did you have diarrhea?” Aghast and horrified that he would ask such a personal question, I said “NO!” “Well,” he said, all smug and certain of his facts. “If you didn’t have DIARRHEA, then it was NOT the flu! It’s just a cold!” Thus ever since, all these many years, I have thought “Do I have diarrhea? Why, no. I have just a nasty cough that is laying me out flat. Must be a cold.” It’s true. You DO learn something new every day. That Jane is quite educational, even if she does mock my misuse of it’s. (I mean, seriously. Until otherwise informed by Fred earlier this year, I thought an apostrophe followed by an s shows possession. And it does, but it is one of those fucking exceptions. Fucking it. So if it’s cannot be replaced by it is or it was in your sentence, there should be no damn apostrophe. Fucking apostrophe. Fucking possession. Fucking lax public school English teachers. (Or, more likely, fucking me, for not paying attention when that was covered.) This has been your educational lesson for the day. Perhaps we’ll cover the site vs. sight distinction another day.) Also regarding Jane, here’s another reason to laugh at me. I thought Jane CREATED the word metrosexual. Seriously, because she’s the first one I heard it from. And then I started reading it everywhere and I thought “Damn but that Jane has some serious social influence!” Duh. Of course, for many years I also thought my brother Tracy created the word “fart”, because I can CLEARLY remember the four of us (my two brothers, Debbie, and I) standing in the basement in base housing in Kinchl0e AFB in Michigan with Tracy saying “It’s called a FART.” No doubt my mother had been teaching us to say “I passed gas!” for the majority of our formative years like she did with the spud and Brian. Apparently I’ve always been a bit clueless.

* * * I rented movies the other day – Seabiscuit (I’m having a hard time not referring to it as Seabasket, the best seafood restaurant in the WORLD), Freaky Friday, and Bad Boys 2. I thought about renting Gigli just so I could make fun of it, but decided not to. I took a wander through the “Favorites on DVD” section, and then I saw it. I’ve been wanting to see it, ever since Sunday morning. Red Dawn. That’s some fine quality entertainment, right there. (Shaddup) Hearing the name of that movie will always and forever remind me of being in Science class when I was a Junior in high school. We had to split up in groups for some in-class assignment or another and come up with a name for our group. The teacher went around and had each group announce its name, and when he asked one group, they yelled “Wolverines!” Dorks. * * * I was going somewhere the other day, and as I pulled out of the driveway, I looked to the right, where two of the little boys next-door were playing in their driveway. The youngest – I’d estimate him to be three or four – was wearing a t-shirt, very short, very tight shorts, and cowboy boots. It was 29F out, and there was a strong wind blowing. I immediately envisioned the temper tantrum thrown that ended with his mother yelling “FINE! Wear the tight shorts and the cowboy boots, I DON’T CARE! Don’t come crying to me when your legs freeze and shatter!” He had a definite stubborn I’m-never-going-inside-I’ll-play-out-here-forever look on his face. * * * Something I bet you didn’t know about me: I own the Pamela/ Tommy Lee sex tape. That’s right, I bought it – me, not Fred; Fred couldn’t be less interested in seeing it – off the internet years ago when it first came out. I know what it looks like when Pamela and Tommy have sex, and it ain’t pretty. It’s also kinda sad, what with all the “Oh babybabybaby I love you baby. I love you baby. Baby, I love you. I love you SO much, baby”; by the time I received the tape they’d broken up and it was all “I hate you, you rat-fucking asshole!” “Yeah? Shut up, you WHORE!” Poor Pam and Tommy. When a fat chick in Alabama owns a tape of you having sex, that’s just not right. (And to circumvent the helpful comment I just know is coming (“I HOPE you don’t leave it out where the spud can find it!”), we like to sit down and watch it as a family every Friday night when we’re letting the spud unload, clean, and test the guns) * * * Tubs, hanging out. No doubt looking for the perfect place to pee. Bastard. ]]>

Public Service Announcement: You know, I have a cell phone, and as much as I hate other people with cell phones, I’ll admit that I do some of the things you’re not supposed to do. Every once in a while when I have a burning question, I’ll call Fred while I’m driving down the road. If the phone rings while I’m driving down the road, I’ll answer it. Sometimes I need to call Fred from the grocery store to find out whether I need to pick up more salad, or to ask exactly what kind of ham or turkey he wanted. I’ll admit it – I’m one of those annoying people with cell phones, wandering down the aisle while chatting away about nothing important. But – and this is key, folks – I never lose track of the fact that there are people all around me. If I’m in the grocery store, I don’t wander down the middle of the fucking aisle at a snail’s pace so that no one can get past me. I move my ass over to the side, out of the way, and if I see that someone is hovering as if I’m in front of the very item they need to look at, I move my ass and my cart the fuck out of the way. If I’m driving down the road, talking on the phone, I make a point of getting into the right lane and slowing down so that there’s a lot of space between the front of my vehicle and the ass-end of the vehicle in front of me. And I keep the conversation as short as possible rather than being chatty. It’s just common courtesy, is what it is, and I try to annoy those around me with my cell phone conversations as little as possible. I was at the grocery store yesterday stocking up on the essentials – salad, sliced ham, Skinny Cows – and when it was time to check out, I chose the only lane open. In front of me was an older woman, who had just put all her items on the conveyer belt. As the cashier began ringing up her items, the woman turned to look at the TicTacs�, pondering slowly over which flavors might excite her palate. Just then, we all heard the toodle-toodle-toodle of a cell phone ringing, and the woman grabbed her purse and dug out her phone. (I knew it wasn’t my phone ringing, because mine plays the Flintstones theme song) The woman, chatting casually on her phone (“Oh nothing, I’m in the grocery store”), turned back to peruse the TicTacs. I didn’t pay much attention to what she was talking about (though I’ll admit that I often eavesdrop on people talking on their cell phones, because that’s just how nosy I am) and turned to look at the magazine rack. The grocery store we frequent does this odd thing where they cover the front of certain magazines so that you can only read the title of the magazine. After some research, I’ve determined that they’re not covering the magazines with the half-naked models on the front, but rather they cover any magazine with words like “sex” or “orgasm” on the front (“16 ways to your BEST ORGASM EVER!”). Suffice it to say that Cosmo is usually covered. “Ma’am?” the cashier said to me, politely. “This is all yours, right?” She indicated my pile of groceries. “Yes, that’s mine,” I said, and turned to look at Madam TicTac, who was gesturing animatedly as she chatted, waving a pack of TicTacs in the air. She turned around and put her TicTacs down, in and amongst my groceries. The cashier looked at me and gave me a rueful smile. “Those are hers,” I stage-whispered, and the cashier grinned, rang them up, and added them to the woman’s order. And then we got to stand around while the woman, clearly not the sort who can walk and chew gum at the same time, fumbled with her credit card, NEVER ONCE PAUSING IN HER INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT CONVERSATION. “Is that what she said? But what are you going to do? Uh huh. The red or the green? I think green would be okay, but it’s three months away, so you probably… I mean, if she cares that much, let her do it, you know? I know. Right. Uh huh. Nooooo…. ::giggle:: When, though? I KNOW! She can be so ignorant, sometimes.” (Pot. Kettle. Black. Bitch.) The cashier, the bagger and I stood around waiting for Madam TicTacs to run her credit card through the machine and then sign the credit slip. There was so much eye-rolling going on I’m surprised we didn’t all get dizzy and pass out. And then, leaning on the little counter located next to the credit/ debit machine, the woman loitered there and continued her conversation. “Oh, I know, I couldn’t believe it. But then – what? No, really? She did? When? I asked her and she said NO! Why would she – ? REALLY? But when? Oh, please, she is not. She always says that and everyone jumps to help her out, and then it never happens. I can’t believe she said that, can’t she just give it a rest? I can’t stand it when she does that…” The cashier looked at the woman, and then at me. I looked at the woman and then the cashier. Time passed slowly by as we stood around, unsure of what to do. Clearly the “What to do if the customer won’t get her ass out of the way” section had been missing from the employee handbook. Finally, with a mental shrug, I moved so that I was in the woman’s space. I don’t like getting in peoples’ space, and in fact I loathe it when people get in my space, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And it worked! The woman looked up to see me rightthere, and moved away. Then she saw a grocery cart full of groceries in bags and an impatient bagger standing nearby, and apparently a chord struck in the distant reaches of what passed for her brain. Finally, STILL talking on the phone, she left the store. Checking over her shoulder to be sure she was really gone, the cashier turned and began ringing up my items. “I think that is SO rude!” she said. “Me too!” I said, and we bonded for a moment about the rudeness of SOME PEOPLE. Here’s the thing, folks. You are not – you will NEVER BE – so very important that it’s impossible for you complete a task such as checking out without making those around you wait and wait and wait while you act like an idiot. I understand that you MIGHT think to yourself “My god, I am SO important, I MUST show these peons how VERY important I am, by continuing my INCREDIBLY important conversation. THEY are certainly NOWHERE near as important as I, and thus they do NOT mind waiting for ME!” In actuality, rather than being impressed by how amazingly important you are and how stunningly interesting your conversation is, and thinking to themselves “My GOD, I wish I were that important, TOO!”, what they are thinking to themselves is “What a tool. I wonder if there’s a security camera on me right now? I sure would like to deliver a swift kick to this idiot’s knee and break it. That sure would make me feel better!” “But Robyn!” you are saying to me. “But the phone, it rang! And I cannot let a phone ring and not answer it! What if it’s an EMERGENCY!!!!” Read this, memorize it, tattoo it on your ass if need be, but live by these simple rules, people. If the PHONE rings while you’re standing in line, and you fear that it might be a very important phone call, an EMERGENCY, then you should ANSWER the phone, and when you hear that it is your spouse or your mother or someone else just calling to chat, you should say these very simple words: “Hi, let me call you right back, okay?” And if the caller responds by saying “No, but wait, I just wanted to ask you…”, then say, very clearly “I am STANDING in the CHECKOUT LINE, and I WILL CALL YOU BACK, because only self-important TOOLS stand in the CHECKOUT LINE while talking on their cell phone!”, and then hang up. Or you could say “Hey, hold on just a minute while I check out”, and then put the phone down and check out. I mean, how hard is that? I understand that your world revolves around you (except when it revolves around me), but if every once in a while you thought about how what you do (talking on the phone while trying to check out) affects those of us around you (the cashier, the bagger, the other people who want to check out and get on with their day), the world would probably be a tad less annoying and stressful. Thank you for your time, and have a nice day.

* * * PS: What did I find in my grocery bag when I got home? I guess that’s what the cashier was talking about when she asked me if that was mine. You KNOW Madame TicTac got home and was all “Where the HELL are my LIME TicTacs�?! WHERE ARE THEY? That stupid incompetent cashier!”, because she’s just the kinda woman who’d blame someone else for her own dumbassery, don’tchaknow. * * * The Bean talks to the birds out at the feeders. The birds do not seem impressed. ]]>

this (I followed the link from Mimi), and you know what sucks? I’m such a freakin’ sap that all I had to do was read No, and to top it off you murdered Haley Joel Osment and made me cry for ten minutes. and I TEARED UP. I’m such a friggin’ sap now that all I need to do is see someone mentioning themselves or someone else crying about something, and I TEAR UP IN SYMPATHY. Fred thinks it’s the funniest damn thing that I get all teary-eyed if someone cries on TV, but I can’t help it! I don’t care if it’s a stupid, cheesy storyline, if I think it’s the most idiotic movie or show in the world, if someone on the screen cries, I’m ready to cry right along with them. No one cries alone when I’m around, I always say.

* * * So after a couple of people – I’m lookin’ at you, Mike and Jen – noted in my comments that it’s okay to go ahead and plant those daffodil and lily bulbs, and after I heard the weatherman on the radio saying that we might get flurries on Wednesday, I decided to get my butt in gear and go out to plant the damn things and be done with it. (Note: and I see from the year-ago entry (link at the bottom of the page) that exactly one year ago I was planting 30 daffodil bulbs. I should have just put that entry up in place of this one!) We have this nifty little tool that you attach to a drill and which digs holes just the right size and depth for bulbs. I got out the drill and attachment, then went around to the side of the house near the garage door, where a partial bag of potting soil was sitting. I thought I might need some extra soil to help me fill in the holes once I’d planted the bulbs (none of this digging up a bed and “amending” the soil and all that crap for me, nosir). I carried the bag around to the back yard, dropped it by the patio, plugged in the drill (it’s a cement drill and thus mighty powerful) and began drilling holes in the ground. The ground was pretty wet from the rain we’d gotten over the weekend, and I had dug about 15 holes, when I realized I needed to get something or do something – exactly what it was escapes me now. I walked back toward the house and glanced at the bag of potting soil as I passed it, and then I stopped in my tracks. There, climbing down the bag, obviously intent on crossing the patio and entering our house, was the biggest fucking black widow I’ve ever seen in my life. I swear, the body was about half the size of my thumb, and it was gleaming evilly and I just shuddered as I looked at it. Thinking only “Oh, Fred has GOT to see this!”, I went into the house, grabbed a tupperware container, dropped the container over the spider, slid the lid underneath, and sealed it. The spider, suffice it to say, was not happy at all. It skittered back and forth (shudder) and glared evilly at me. After sending Fred pictures of the spider (taken through the tupperware, because I was NOT going to open that thing back up. Black Widows aren’t known to jump straight up, but there’s always a first time!), I went back to planting my bulbs. After almost two hours – and 150 King Alfred daffodils , 48 assorted Asiatic lilies, and 20 Oriental lilies – I sat down to rest, at which point Fred called to see if I’d been bitten by the black widow and was in the process of dying. He’d been doing some online research on anesthesizing spiders, and told me I should put the container in the freezer. By this point the spider wasn’t moving around much – do spiders need oxygen? Why, yes they do – and with it being so late in the year it was probably hibernating – do spiders hibernate? I can’t seem to find an answer online – and although I’m all for letting spiders live and let live (I believe I’ve mentioned that as long as the spiders in the house keep their webs neat and clutter-free, I’ll leave them alone), I wasn’t about to let this one free so that it could eventually make its way into the house and bite us all, letting us in for some serious aches and pains for several days. So I put the container in the freezer, and the spider died pretty quickly. When Fred got home, he immediately went to the freezer to check out the spider. It was obviously dead, and so he took the cover off so that he could snap some pictures of it. As the cover came off, the beginnings of a web which connected the spider to the lid caused the spider to move. I’m not sure which is sadder: that Fred screamed like a little girl and danced sideways out of the room at a speed faster than any human has ever moved before, or that I, twelve feet away, responded to his scream and dance by screaming myself, jumping up off the couch and landing three feet further away by the fireplace, eyes wide and heart racing. Because no one screams alone when I’m around, either. After he’d taken his pictures, I took the spider, dumped it into the toilet and flushed it. Twice. Because that’s one big damn spider and I don’t want to see it coming back to life and skittering toward ME with blood in its eye. Gah. * * * Détente (A story in far too many pictures) Miz Poo: “Um, Mom? I was here FIRST.” Bean: “This is MY bed. MINE. MINE. MINE.” Miz Poo: “Get OUT of here, you little turd!” Bean: “MY BED.” Miz Poo: “I am NOT moving!” Bean: “I AM NOT MOVING EITHER. MY BED.” Bean: “Lord, how long must I suffer, laying here next to the cleaningest cat in the whole wide world? How long? In MY bed?” Miz Poo: LickLickLick Bean: “Zzzzzzzzzzz” Miz Poo: “I was unable to drive him away through my annoying 3-hour-long grooming session. WHAT am I going to do NOW?” Bean: “Zzzzzzzz” Bean: “I sense that she’s still there. But I won’t look at her. If I don’t look at her, she’s not really there. MY BED. MINE.” But sleep overcame them both. Will they become friends? Perhaps even lovers? Will they spend all their time grooming each other and telling secrets and giggling? Probably not – Miz Poo’s growling and hissing was a notch above her usual hysteria this morning, perhaps caused by the embarrassment of knowing that she had spent hours snuggling with the Bean, whom she’s claimed (perhaps a little too vociferously) to hate lo these past few months – but a mother can dream, can’t she? ]]>

* * * Oh, and speaking of the cats, I finally got around to putting up a cast page not only for the Bean, but also for Dulcinea and Gizmo, cousins to our kitties. Next, I need to get some pictures of Debbie’s cats so I can make a page for them as well! Is it sad that each of the cats in our house have their very own page, but all the humans only get a blurb on the cast page?

* * * The Christmas boxes are mailed, thus ensuring that everything will reach it’s destination before Christmas, and like I do every year, I think “Huh. That wasn’t so bad!” Because really, it wasn’t. I just get overwhelmed when I start to think about what I need to do to get all ready, and then I get the bah-humbugs, but since I can spend the next week and a half relaxing before Christmas is upon us, I would say my Christmas spirit is back in full force. * * * So Saturday my brain apparently took a bit of a vacation. Although it was less than two weeks before Christmas AND a Saturday, I said to the spud “Let’s go shopping for some winter boots to take to Maine with us!” (In the more than seven years we’ve lived here, we’ve never really needed winter boots because on the rare occasion it snows, we don’t go OUT in the snow or anything, you know) After fighting the traffic to get to the gas station (and just in time, as I was running on fumes) and filling up the tank, I sat at a red light for a long, long time to get across the street to Shoe Carnival. One would think that Shoe Carnival would have lots and lots of winter boots, no? No. My fault, really, because like I mentioned, there’s not a lot of need for winter boots when you live in Alabama. There was one small aisle of wintery-type boots, and I told the spud to sit down, and I began choosing boots in her size and bringing them to her. Everything she tried on fit okay but wasn’t terribly comfortable. The Timberland boots, marked down from $99.99 to $79.99 were amazingly uncomfortable (I know this because I tried a pair on as well), and after trying three or four different pairs of boots on, a tribe of teenaged princesses set up in the boot aisle, dropping their crap around them and blocking the aisle as they tried boots on. “Excuse me,” I said, trying to get by them. They LOOKED at me, and they DID NOT MOVE. Assholes. I could have pushed it – in fact, I should have knocked over their princessy asses but I could tell there was nothing for us in that store, so I turned to the spud and said “Get your shoes on, we’re leaving.” “Why?” said the spud. Most children go through the “why” stage when they’re three. The spud skipped that stage and instead, at the age of 15, wants to know the reasoning behind everything in existence. And it might be annoying when they’re three, but GODDAMN is it annoying when they’re 15. Probably because they can think of more questions when the answer to “Why?” will not suffice. “Because there are assholes blocking the aisle and there’s nothing here that we want, anyway,” I said. And once we were in the car I said “If you ever act like those bratty, obnoxious teenage girls, I will KICK YOUR ASS, do you understand me?” She understood. From Shoe Carnival, we went over to the Payless store, located by Wal-Mart. My reasoning being that if we couldn’t find anything at Payless, we could just walk over to Wal-Mart. Look. I KNOW we could have gone to the mall and eventually found some expensive winter boots in one of the stores there. But we’re talking about boots that will be used in the cold, snowy Maine weather for a little more than a week, and will probably not be used again until we decide to visit Maine in the winter. At Payless we found some cute little winter boots. They weren’t as tall as I would have liked, but they were cute, they were $17.99 per pair, and they were a hell of a lot more comfortable than the $79.99 Timberland boots. We went to check out and discovered that all shoes and boots were buy two pair, get one pair free. So we went back and looked for a good solid ten minutes before the spud was able to find a pair of shoes that she liked (or at least claimed to). So now we’re all set with our winter boots and warm(ish) coats so that (hopefully) we won’t freeze to death in Maine later this month! * * * The ringworm seems to have hit Miz Poo. She was snuggled up to me in front of the computer the other day, and I glanced at her to see a crusty brown spot by one of her eyes. Since I’m kind of weird about not liking to see eye boogers on my cats, I grabbed a tissue and wiped at her eye. And the FUR in that spot came OFF on the tissue, leaving a little raw spot. Yuck, ick, and also BLECH. That’s just not right. Also, it’s kinda creepy. Miz Poo doesn’t seem to mind much, except when we put ringworm medication on it. She doesn’t like my fingers around her eyes, and rightly so it would appear. Poor, deformed Miz Poo. I know she’s funny-looking but I love her goofy little self with all my heart. * * * Sex-say! Sleep-pay! This cat will sleep anywhere, in any position, without feeling the slightest bit of discomfort. He cracks me up. ]]>

you, the heat from the gas fireplace doesn’t go around corners!). The neighbors apparently got a new computer recently, and they left the box out for the trash guys to pick up. In today’s wind, the box got tossed around, and instead of ending up in my miniscule front yard, which is what usually happens, the wind tossed it in their front porch, where it appears it’ll stay. I never got my daffodil and lily bulbs planted, and now I think it’s probably too late in the year, since the bulbs are supposed to hibernate in the ground for some certain amount of time. Of course, I suppose I could plant them anyway and see what happens. If we have a somewhat nice day this week, I just may do that. Or I could force them. But if they really take 12 weeks to bloom, that would be close to March, and about time for them to start blooming outside, for real. I ordered a calendar of pictures of all my parents’ grandkids for them for Christmas, I think I mentioned. This calendar I ordered through Shutterfly, and I have to say that I think it came out nicer than the calendar I made for the spud over at Cafepress.

My plan is to get some really good pictures while I’m in Maine, and make myself a calendar for 2005. I always buy a Maine calendar, but having pictures of some of my favorite places in Maine would be a great gift from me to me. (“Thanks, me! I’m so thoughtful!”) The spud and I went to Kohl’s earlier because I needed to look for some gloves, and while I was there, I started thinking about how I was only going to send my nephew money for Christmas (good color, always fits!), and while money is cool, it’s not so much fun to open. I looked around at the clothes in the men’s section and bought an obnoxious t-shirt for him. I hope he likes it, but if not, well, there’ll still be the cash. * * * All the Boys on one bed. And all sound asleep, too! Cute…. …yet bitchy. ]]>

A meme, stolen from a bunch of different people: WHAT DO YOU CALL: The basics: Born in Bangor, Maine. Lived in many places, including: Goosebay, Labrador (Canada), Indiana, Michigan, Guam, Maine, Rhode Island, and (now) Alabama. A body of water, smaller than a river, contained within relatively narrow banks. Stream. What the thing you push around the grocery store is called. A cart. (They call it a “buggy” down here, and it drives me crazy) A metal container to carry a meal in. Lunchbox. The thing that you cook bacon and eggs in. Frying pan. The piece of furniture that seats three people. Couch The device on the outside of the house that carries rain off the roof. A gutter The covered area outside a house where people sit in the evening. A deck. Well, except decks aren’t usually covered. A porch? Carbonated, sweetened, non-alcoholic beverages. Soda. A flat, round breakfast food served with syrup. Pancakes. A long sandwich designed to be a whole meal in itself. Sub. The piece of clothing worn by men at the beach. Bathing suit (?) Shoes worn for sports. Sneakers. Putting a room in order. Straightening. A flying insect that glows in the dark. Firefly. The little insect that curls up into a ball. Roly poly. The children’s playground equipment where one kid sits on one side and goes up while the other sits on the other side and goes down. Seesaw. How do you eat your pizza? Balanced on my fingertips. What’s it called when private citizens put up signs and sell their used stuff? Yard sale. What’s the evening meal? Dinner or supper. The thing under a house where the furnace and perhaps a rec room are? Basement. What word(s) do you use to address a group of two or more people? You guys, or y’all. Would you say “Are you coming with?” as a full sentence, to mean “Are you coming with us?” No, and it drives me crazy when I read that in a book or journal. Would you say “where are you at?” to mean “where are you?” Nope. Modals are words like “can,” “could,” “might,” “ought to,” and so on. Can you use more than one modal at a time? Only when I’m trying to be funny. What do you call the area of grass between the sidewalk and the road? I had no idea it had a name. What do you call the area of grass that occurs in the middle of some streets? Median. What do you call the long narrow place in the middle of a divided highway? Median What do you call the drink made with milk and ice cream? Milkshake. What do you call the miniature lobster that one finds in lakes and streams for example (a crustacean of the family Astacidae)? Crawdad. What do you call the kind of spider (or spider-like creature) that has an oval-shaped body and extremely long legs? Daddy Longlegs. What nicknames do/did you use for your maternal grandmother? Grammy. What about your paternal grandmother (is there a distinction?) Grammy (last name) What do/did you call your maternal grandfather? I don’t recall calling him anything at all. paternal grandfather? Grandpa (last name) What do you call the big clumps of dust that gather under furniture and in corners? Dust bunnies. What term do you use to refer to something that is across both streets from you at an intersection (or diagonally across from you in general)? Kitty corner. What do you call the activity of driving around in circles in a car? Donuts. What do you call paper that has already been used for something or is otherwise imperfect? Scrap paper. What is your *general* term for a big road that you drive relatively fast on? Highway or interstate. What do you call it when rain falls while the sun is shining? “Look, it’s raining, and the sun is shining!” When you are cold, and little points of skin begin to come on your arms and legs, you have– Goosebumps What do you call the gooey or dry matter that collects in the corners of your eyes, especially while you are sleeping? Eye boogers. What do you call an easy course? A sleeper. What do you call a traffic situation in which several roads meet in a circle and you have to get off at a certain point? A rotary. What is the thing that women use to tie their hair? Hairbands. Do you use the word cruller? Uh, no. Do you use the term “bear claw” for a kind of pastry? Nope. What do you call someone who is the opposite of pigeon-toed (i.e. when they walk their feet point outwards)? I have no idea. Can you call coleslaw “slaw”? If I really want to. I abbreviate it as “slaw” when I’m writing it, but not usually when I’m speaking out loud. What do you call the box you bury a dead person in? A coffin. Do you say “vinegar and oil” or “oil and vinegar” for the type of salad dressing? Oil and vinegar. What do you call it when a driver changes over one or more lanes way too quickly? Cutting me off. Asshole. When you stand outside with a long line of people waiting to get in somewhere, are you standing “in line” or “on line” (as in, “I stood ___ in the cold for two hours before they opened the doors”)? In line. Do you say “frosting” or “icing” for the sweet spread one puts on a cake? Depends on which it is. I consider frosting to be thicker than icing. What is “the City”? Huntsville or Nashville. What is the distinction between dinner and supper? If there’s a distinction, I neither know nor care about it. Do you cut or mow the lawn or grass? Fred mows the lawn. Do you pass in homework or hand in homework? Hand it in. What do you call the insect that looks like a large thin spider and skitters along the top of water? I call it “a bug.” What do you call the thing from which you might drink water in a school? Water fountain. What do you call a public railway system (normally underground)? Subway. What do you call the act of covering a house or area in front of a house with toilet paper? TP’ing. What do you call a traffic jam caused by drivers slowing down to look at an accident or other diversion on the side of the road? A jam caused by rubberneckers. What vowel do you use in bag? Huh? What do you call the paper container in which you might bring home items you bought at the store? A bag. What do you call the night before Halloween? October 30th. What do you call the end of a loaf of bread? The end. How do you pronounce the word for the type of drug that acts as central nervous system depressant and is used as a sedative or hypnotic? (Please do not look up the word in a dictionary before answering this question.) Huh? What do you call a point that is purely academic, or that cannot be settled and isn’t worth discussing further? Moot. How do you pronounce the -sp- sequence in “thespian” (the word meaning “actor”)? Thes-pee-an What do you call a drive-through liquor store? I don’t – I don’t think they have those around here. What do you call food that you buy at a restaurant but then eat at home? Takeout. What do you say when you want to lay claim to the front seat of a car? Move your ass. I’m sitting there. What word do you use for gawking at someone in a lustful way? “Checkitout” Do you say “expecially”, or “especially”? ‘Specially.

* * * The Bean caaaasually puts his paw out so that it’s barely touching Miz Poo’s paw. Miz Poo, in the middle of washing herself, stops to give his paw a distrustful look. The Bean thinks better of his plan to harass Miz Poo, and stretches out for a nap. Miz Poo goes back to washing. ]]>

* * * There are two new movies of the week up! As usual, click on the “movie of the week” links over there on the right under the “Other” heading. The first one is a movie of Tubby playing, the second one is from a few months ago when there was a squirrel out under the bird feeders and Fred let Miz Poo out. At one point in the second movie the camera starts shaking because I’m laughing so hard. I promise, one day I’ll get out the book and figure out that whole editing thing so that I can make a decent movie. One day. Oh, and warning: both movies are pretty big.

* * * Friday Five. 1. Do you enjoy the cold weather and snow for the holidays? Sometimes I do, but I find that snow is particularly pretty when viewed from inside by the fireplace. 2. What is your ideal holiday celebration? How, where, with whom would you celebrate to make things perfect? I would really like to convince Fred to go to Maine one year for Christmas. As much as I like the warm weather of the south, the cold weather and snow in Maine feels more like Christmas to me. Just the general day of hanging out in the living room in front of the tree, watching the kids open their presents and eating would be great. 3. Do you do have any holiday traditions? Nope, not really. We spend Christmas Eve with various parts of Fred’s family and when we get home that evening Fred and I exchange our presents to each other in the privacy of our room, then Christmas morning we all open our presents in the living room while the cats run around and go wild. 4. Do you do anything to help the needy? Every time I go to the grocery store, I pick up a couple of bags that will go to a local food bank. If I see a guy ringing a bell in front of any of the stores I visit, I drop money in his pot. I make an annual donation to our local no-kill cat shelter. 5. What one gift would you like for yourself? A yellow VW Beetle, of course! (Noooot holding my breath, though. 🙂 * * * I have TWO more packages to mail out, and then I am done, done, DONE. Well, except for stocking stuffers for the spud, that is, which shouldn’t be too hard. Whoo! * * * Miz Poo, peering past me to see the squirrel in the back yard. Spanky and Tubs, hanging out on the stairs. ALL the cats LOVE to hang out on the stairs. No wonder the carpet on the stairs looks like crap. ]]>

Trista and Ryan’s Wedding last night and taped the second hour. I’ll have to watch what I taped at some point today so I find out how it ended! (My prediction: There was a wedding) I have to admit, I’m a little horrified that all the associated wedding costs came out to $4 million. I mean, that’s an awful lot of money to spend on ONE DAY. Of course, our own wedding (cake included!) cost about $200, so I should probably just shut up. I do love that damn Trista to death, even though she’s high-maintenance (pretty much the anti-Robyn) and the baby talk thing drives me up the wall. And I was happy she chose Ryan (oddly, I wasn’t much of a fan of Ryan’s until the last episode of The Bachelorette, and he was getting dressed to go see if he’d been chosen, and I saw him nekkid from the waist up and may I just say HUBBA HUBBA) and I hope they live happily ever after.

* * * Fred was interviewed on the radio in Michigan this morning (by phone, I guess I should add – he didn’t actually go to Michigan), causing a small flood of sales, which necessitated a trip to the post office (well, that’s a lie. I was going anyway, but I had to process several sales before I went). I got to the post office and parked, then got my packages out of the Jeep. As I was walking toward the door, I saw a small group of women, each of them laden with three or four packages each. You better believe I hauled ASS getting in the door before them, because that was one group I didn’t want to have to wait behind. I could tell just by looking at them that they wouldn’t just want to mail the packages and be done with it. No, they were the sort who would want Delivery Confirmation on every single package, but wouldn’t think to have the slips ready before they got up to the window, and instead would have to slooooooowly fill each and every slip out while people waited impatiently in the rapidly growing line behind them. And after they filled out all their slips and all their packages were processed, they would decide to pay by check, and NATURALLY it would never have occurred to them to begin filling out the check ahead of time, and they would slooooowly fumble for their checkbook, slooooowly make out the check, and then sloooowly fumble for their driver’s license. I made it in the door ahead of them, thank god, and was only annoyed by their bright and happy chatter for a few minutes before I handed my packages over to the postal employee, paid, and was on my way. And speaking of Fred’s radio interview, last night before I fell asleep, all I could think was “Thank GOD it’s him and not me.” I also thanked god that I’d decided I’d never do another interview with anyone, ever, because if I had been scheduled for that interview this morning, I wouldn’t have gotten a single wink of sleep last night. I stress easily over things like that, and stress like that, I neither want nor need. Thank god I’m not famous. I could handle being followed around by the paparazzi, but live interviews on the TV and radio? Fuck THAT. * * * You know, I swear to god that I don’t mean to put so many pictures of the Bean up, but he keeps being cute when I happen to have the camera at hand, and so I have to take his picture and post it, whereas the other kitties are all off upstairs hanging out on the bed, and do you really think I’m going to haul my ass up there to take a picture? Hell no. He’s cute when he’s laying on the desk, getting in my way. He’s cute when he’s snoozing on the couch. He’s cute when he’s trying to figure out the best way to get up on that monitor and pick on Miz Poo. And he’s especially cute when he reads who I’m chatting with and what we’re talking about. ]]>

Noooooooo! Damn you, Andrew and Jen! DAMN YOU! (After Fred told me about it yesterday and I wailed and moaned, I said “That makes me sad!” He said “It makes me sad that something like that makes you sad.” Heh. Bastard.)

* * * Pet store kitties pics are up, here. That’s not how it’ll look, or where it’ll be permanently, but that’s where it’ll be for now until I can decide what to do. Go check out Mason, who is SUCH a cutie-pie! * * * I’ve been to the post office every day this week, mailing a package of Christmas presents every day. By the end of the week the majority of them will be mailed off! Whee! I also mailed the rest of the holiday cards going to non-US countries. Tonight I’ll start on the US cards. I think my Christmas spirit is slowly returning. * * * The Bean’s nickname for today is “Stanley Rotten.” Not because he’s being so terribly horrible but because it amuses me. And speaking of that, I had decided on “Fear the Bean” and uploaded the graphic and made the change on all the Bean Swag. Then I checked out my comments, and saw Dana Michelle’s suggestion of “Bean to the Bone”, and almost swallowed my gum. Fred laughed out loud when I read it to him. I think we have a winner! * * * One day a while back, I was looking at the Bean (frankly, I spend FAR too much of my day looking at his troublesome self) and I noticed that one of his toes looked weird. Kind of scabby and there was no hair over the top of it. “Look at his toe,” I said to Fred. Fred looked at it and touched it to make sure that it wasn’t painful to the Bean; it appeared that it caused the Bean no pain. Since the Bean was going in for a booster shot of something or another in a few days, Fred decided to wait and ask the vet. “I bet it’s ringworm,” I said. When Fred got home from the vet, I asked what he’d said. Apparently they have to scrape some of the infected area and try to grow fungus (um, EWWW) before they know for sure. (Note: ringworm is a fungus, not a worm. Just so you know.) Sure enough, ten days later, the vet called to let us know that it was, indeed, ringworm and the best way to treat it was with a topical ointment. And then we realized that Tubby had a raw-looking spot on the back of his leg. I can only hope and pray that ALL the fucking cats get ringworm so that every night we’ll have to chase them ALL down and put ointment on their crusty, nasty bald patches. Because, really, what could be more fun? * * * I think that perhaps Jane might – MIGHT, I SAY – be correct when she insists that the cheap ‘n crappy hair styling products don’t do as good a job as the expensive shit. Of course, she’d probably swallow her teeth if I confessed that most days I don’t bother to put anything, cheap or not, in my hair. So, for your viewing pleasure, I took comparison pictures. (No styling products. Also, late at night, thus the look o’ looniness on my face) (With TEN DOLLAR Short Sexy Hair Blow It Up Gel Foam applied, and blown dry. Also, early in the morning, thus the look o’ tiredness on my face) Admittedly, the second looks better but I still like the first. Because some days I just don’t want to mess with my hair and so I don’t. And oddly (though I didn’t get a picture to illustrate this oddity) it looks better with nothing at all than it does with the $5 Physique gel. I’m the ultimate in low maintenance. * * * On the occasion when the Bean wants love, he jumps up on my desk and drapes himself across my arm – the one I use to control the mouse – and lays there until he falls asleep. At which point he purrs so hard that his entire body and my arm shake. And then when my arm starts to hurt or fall asleep, I try to gently move him over a little. But he always wakes up and moves to a more comfortable position, draping himself over my arm from the other direction. Eventually Miz Poo gets jealous and comes up to investigate, and sits around looking like she’s about to kick some ass. ]]>