Life – Page 214 – Bitchypoo

2003-11-14

ABOUT FUCKING TIME, is all I have to say. Although I thought it had been longer than two months. It feels like it’s been closer to 6. And doesn’t it figure that the weather just started turning really cold in the last few days? The cats aren’t going to want to go outside when it’s THIS cold out, the little bastards. Maybe we should just wait until next Spring before we open the cat door again. Ah well – at least the damn thing is finally in the process of going up!

* * * I sure do hate paying bills. I also hate that I’m a total slob and tend to pile things all over my desk so that when it’s time to pay bills, I have to sort through piles and piles of crap. That’s a good way to be late on bills, you know. Not that I’ve done that or anything. It chaps my hide that we pay so much for phone service. I mean, $50! For a phone that hardly ever rings! Didn’t basic phone service once upon a time cost $10 or $20, or am I dreaming? I keep telling Fred that we should cancel our phone service to the house and just use our cell phones, but if we only used our cellphones, we’d have to carry them around with us, and that would be a huge asspain. Also, my cellphone is starting to die and is difficult to hear on, and I’ll be needing a new one in the next year or so, but when I tell Fred such a thing, he gives me the “There she goes again, SPENDING MONEY USELESSLY!” look, and I want to plunge my cellphone through his eyeball and into his brain. You know, I have no point at all. Just that I hate paying bills. * * * I’m not allowed to report that last night when we were watching Extreme Makeovers, and the guy was proposing to his girlfriend at the end, all romantic-like, getting all choked up, I looked over at Fred, who was all teary-eyed. So I’m not reporting that. At all. Never happened! * * * I have to do some cleaning this weekend, especially getting down and cleaning the baseboards in the entire downstairs portion of the house. They’ve gotten horribly dusty, and I would hate to have Liz come to visit and see what a mess the house usually is. I still have to get those daffodil and lily bulbs planted, too. Meh. * * *

Don’t be fooled – this is NOT a submissive position that Miz Poo is in. When the Bean tries to leap on her, she’ll take those powerful yet stubby little back legs of hers, and she’ll kick him off her, lickety-split.

There’s so much crap piled up on my desk that there’s hardly any room for these two. And how am I supposed to get anything done with them in the way, I ask you?]]>

2003-11-13

GET a hallelujah??

* * * After all my bitching about hearing constantly about Jessica Lynch and how I wish the media would just shut the fuck up, what did I do today? Why, I bought the Jessica Lynch book, of course. My excuse is that I thought Fred wanted to read it. I guess another good excuse would be that I usually like the stuff Rick Bragg writes. Yeah, that’s the ticket. I saw that it was by Rick Bragg and didn’t know what it was about until after I’d bought it! Yeah! * * * So, I believe I mentioned that That Bastard Tubby peed on the floor in our bedroom a few weeks ago. We did what we usually do, which was to blot up as much urine as possible, saturate the carpet with Nature’s Miracle, and go about our business. Except that earlier this week, I noticed that every time I walked into the bedroom, I was greeted by an odor. The odor of fish. It smelled like someone had left a dead fish somewhere, and it had started to rot. And it was coming from the corner where Tubby had peed. Now, look. I know that Nature’s Miracle takes time to work, and it does all that cool breaking down of enzymes, but when walking into one’s bedroom – the room where one SLEEPS – makes one gag, it is time to stop waiting for the Nature’s Miracle to work. Fred dumped a huge-ass container of Febreeze on the area, waited to let it soak in, and then sucked it up with the steam cleaner. It worked for a brief amount of time, and then the smell came back with a motherfucking vengeance. I did a Google search and discovered that for the most part, the opinion was that the smell would never come out, that the carpet and pad would need to be yanked up, and the subfloor would need to be bleached and then sealed. Fred and I discussed having the carpet replaced, but if we have anything done in there, I’d much rather have hardwood floors put in, and Fred’s sure that’s mighty expensive. Especially since we have no desire to live in this house for much longer than it will take the spud to graduate from high school. But that’s four more years in this house, and I’ll be damned if I’ll spend those four years sleeping surrounded by the stench of dead and rotting fish. Last night, I dumped about five pounds of baking soda on the area and covered it with tinfoil (so the cats wouldn’t try to use it as litter or tromp all through it). Believe it or not, it helped. Today, I went to Sam’s and bought four 12-pound bags of baking soda and a huge-ass pack of tinfoil. I stopped by Target and bought an air purifier. When I got home, I vacuumed up the baking soda I’d dumped yesterday, dumped another four pounds of baking soda on the area and covered it with tinfoil. I plugged the air purifier (it’s a plug-mount purifier) in the outlet directly over the area. It’s not a big purifier, but since it’s directly over the area, I’m hoping it captures any smell that might arise. I also have both windows open (and the temperature outside is in the high 40s, thus the house is fuh-REEZING), which is helping, too. I’m going to vacuum up the baking soda every few days and throw down some new, then cover it with foil. I’m hoping like hell that this works, at least until our order of Cat-Off arrives. I’m not holding much love for Tubby at the moment, believe you me. * * * New movie of the week up, finally! Click on the “movie of the week” link over there to the right, under the “about” section, and if you’re going to watch it over and over again, please right-click and save it to your hard drive. It’s a big one, about 7.5 MB. Sorry about that, those of you on dial-up. This one’s a movie of Miz Poo and the Bean getting into it. If you turn your sound way up, you’ll be able to hear Miz Poo growling, the Bean’s war cry, and me laughing so hard I’m about to pass out. Those kitties sure do crack me up. * * *

Spot, about to freak out and run away. Cameras scare him. Dust scares him. Silence scares him, noise scares him. You get the idea.

Oh, “meh” yourself, you Tubby bastard. A year ago: He’s a gem amongst men, is what he is. Two: Is it just me, or was Reese Witherspoon totally channeling Christine Taylor’s Marcia Brady? Three: Fred thinks I have the hots for DA Richard Bay Four: Sometimes I just can’t find the time to drag my ass away from the couch and junkfood to update. You know that’s what you love about me.]]>

2003-11-12

Bon-Bon!!!

* * * Fred pointed me to this link over at FARK. Some of them are really funny – go check it out! * * * I finally finished Wolves of the Calla (Dark Tower 5) last night, staying up ’til after midnight to finish it. Earlier in the evening, Fred and I went to bed early so that we could read for a while before lights-off at 9:00. Somehow, we started talking about my book, and Fred asked “Are the Wolves of the Calla really wolves?” “I don’t KNOW!” I said, all bent out of shape. “I don’t get to know yet! The whole ka-tet gets to know what they really are, but I don’t! And I consider myself a very important part of the ka-tet!” “Does the whole ka-tet really know?” Fred asked. “Everyone but you?” “Well, not the whole ka-tet. Eddie knows and he told Roland because Roland’s the dinh, but I don’t think Susannah and Jake know.” “Does Oy?” “No. But I still think I’m important enough to know, I don’t know why they gotta go whispering about it and not tell ME.” Yep. When you have a crush on a fictional character and whine about how no one in a NOVEL is telling you anything, it’s about time to get a life, say true. * * * ANY HATE MAIL REGARDING THIS SECTION SHOULD GO TO FRED. Also while we were talking about Wolves of the Calla, I said to Fred, “That bastard Roland is cheating on me. He’s getting some in this book!” “Who’s he getting some from?” Fred asked. “Susannah?” “NO!” I said. “Oh right, she’s with Eddie.” “Right.” “Is he getting some from Jake?” Jake is a 13 year-old boy. “Har har,” I said. “Oh no, that’s right. If anyone was getting some from Jake, it would be Father Callahan!” We guffawed over that for far too long. AGAIN, HATE MAIL GOES TO FRED. SAY THANKYA. * * * POSSIBLE AVERAGE JOE SPOILERS. Damn that Malena, or however the hell you spell it. I cannot BELIEVE she sent Dennis packing, he was my favorite! Hell, even Zach the ass was teary-eyed about it. But as Fred pointed out to me, Dennis is probably getting all the women he can handle, now. How useless is it to have a host when she’s only going to show up for a few minutes at the beginning of the show to tell us what’s going to be going on? Where is she when Malena has to tell the guys who’s going? And that whole “And the next person I chose to leave is…” thing is very awkward. Why isn’t she handing out footballs to the guys she wants to stay or something? I don’t know what the “big twist” they keep talking about is, but Fred has suggested that it has something to do with model-type guys, like she can choose a certain number of the average Joes to go and be replaced by hunka-hunka-burnin’-loves. Poor Dennis. ::sniff:: I still think Tareq is cute, by the way, but perhaps a bit impressed with himself. * * * On The Bachelor tonight, it’s the reunion! I hope there’s a slapfight between LeeAnn and… well, anyone! Whoo! * * * I think Fred’s getting the itchy feet. He’s been talking more and more often lately about selling the house. A good part of it is that the kids on either side of us are starting to really get on our nerves. They think nothing of tramping back and forth across our lawn, playing in our driveway, and this past weekend they were playing kickball on our front lawn, complete with hitting the front door with their ball several times and TROMPING THROUGH OUR FLOWER BED. I don’t know about you, but my mother probably would have smacked my ass for tromping around in someone’s flower bed and hitting the front door with my kickball (hee! ME playing kickball!). I would have deserved it, too. I know that kids will be kids and that having them occasionally cross our front lawn is no big thing. And if it was just that – OCCASIONALLY – I wouldn’t have a problem with it. But it’s constant, and the kids next door have a HUGE back yard, and yet they insist on playing in their front yard next to our driveway. I just know that one of these days they’re going to break a window in the house or the windshield on my Jeep, and then I might have to have a shit fit. (Probably not, though) I will only point out that 2 years ago when I liked the house in the nice subdivision on a 1-acre lot and front porch, Fred complained that it was too old and he didn’t like it. I bet he’s kicking himself now. * * * My best friend from high school, Liz, is coming to visit next week, arriving Wednesday and staying until Sunday. It’ll be fun to have her here. Fred’s not so sure – she’s very into sports, and he’s afraid she’ll try to talk to him about sports. Heh. * * * Someone asked in my comments yesterday if we’d gotten all the cats when they were kittens and if I had pictures of them when they were little. Naturally, I’m happy to share!

This is Mr. Fancypants when he was about 2 months old (for you new readers, here’s the story on Mr. Fancypants – he went missing at the beginning of this past summer and hasn’t been seen since).

Miz Poo, at 10 weeks old.

My favorite Miz Poo picture. I don’t remember how old she was – four months, maybe?

We have no baby pictures of Spot, but here’s one of him when he was about two years old.

And here’s Baby Tubs at around two months old. He had (and still has!) such pink little ears! ]]>

2003-11-11

It’s Veteran’s Day, Americans. Take a moment to remember and thank those who are willing to serve and protect this country as well as those who died doing so.

* * * I had sushi rolls – California rolls – for breakfast this morning, and they were mighty fucking fine. Certainly beats my usual scrambled-eggs-and-fruit by a mile. * * * I have 120 daffodil bulbs and about 60 lily bulbs to plant. I should be out there doing it right now, but I don’t wanna. Tomorrow’s supposed to be somewhat warm, with thunder showers in the afternoon, followed by a cold front. I’m guessing that my ass will be outside digging a bed to plant the bulbs tomorrow morning, is what I’m guessing. Hmm. If I’d planned better, we could have had BitchyCon this week, and the price of attendance would have been digging in the back yard. That’s what I get for never planning ahead. * * * There are a bunch of car places that I pass on the way to and from the pet store. Last week as I was driving to the pet store, I saw a gorgeous little yellow car, and naturally became interested.

Until I saw the price on the windshield. $35,999. Yikes! I promise y’all, even if the day comes that I have $35,999 laying around, I will never own a car worth that much money. I might splurge on a $15,000 car and spend the rest on books, but I’d just be scared to drive a car worth that much money around. I mean, what if I got a scratch on it? They’d probably charge thousands and thousands of dollars to fix it, right? I’d be much happier in a yellow Beetle, I’m sure. Coincidentally, there’s a yellow Beetle for sale (WITH a sunroof!) on the road I drive down to get to the post office. It seems to be in excellent shape and can’t be more than a few years old. And it has a sunroof! Wouldn’t that be an excellent Christmas present? You should go mention that to Fred, really you should. (Not holding my breath – but a girl can dream!) * * * When bitching about Christmas shopping and all that yesterday, I probably should have mentioned that last year I went shopping the day after Christmas and bought some serious bargains for several people on the spud’s Christmas list – her father’s parents and sister. I’ve also started making my list (though I didn’t check it twice) so that when November 28th comes along, I’ll be ready to start shopping. Or at least ordering things online. * * * If you’re in the process – or ever will be in the process – of looking for a bank through which to get your mortgage, here’s some advice for you. Do NOT go with the “small, friendly” bank, because within two months the motherfuckers will sell your fucking mortgage to a huge bank like Chase Manhattan, and what will Chase Manhattan do? Why, Chase Manhattan will decide they’re certainly not getting enough money from you, and Chase Manhattan will include a fucking advertisement with every mortgage statement, telling you that for A SMALL MONTHLY FEE, they could transfer half your mortgage payment AUTOMATICALLY every two weeks, and over the life of the loan, you’ll save THOUSANDS. And yet, when you point out that you could easily just WRITE a check every two weeks for half your mortgage payment and mail it to Chase Manhattan for a SMALL FEE of 37 cents each time, which adds up roughly to 74 cents every four weeks (not including the cost of the envelope, the cost of your time to write out the check and lick the envelope, and also let’s NOT forget about the time-intensive addressing of the envelope), and that doing that yourself rather than letting Chase Manhattan do it and charge you for having done it will save you THOUSANDS over time, they have no response. Also, those Chase Manhattan motherfuckers, who have your home phone number, because you had to give it to them when you filled out the paperwork, because they don’t want cell phones, oh no, those fuckers will call you on the average once a week to offer you some new hair-brained money-saving bargain. And believe you me, once those fuckers start talking, they don’t stop to take a breath, and so you have to just interrupt them and say “SO SORRY, NOT INTERESTED, CHASE MANHATTAN CAN BITE MY ASS, BUH-BYE!” and then hang up. Never once did I ever get a single call from AmSouth when they had our mortgage when we lived in the other house, is what I’m saying. * * * No new cat pictures, so here are some oldies but goodies:

This is when Tubby was a svelte young thing.

Spot, the Washington Journal reporter.

Baby Spanky!

This picture of Miz Poo cracks me up, because a) it was not long after her surgery last year, when she had a bit of her lip cut out and tested for cancer (it tested negative) and b) the sticker over her head, which reads “Aren’t we just a ray of fucking sunshine”.

I sure do miss that evil, fancy bastard.

Not an old picture, but it cracks me up. A year ago: “… after doing the laundry, I had sex on the kitchen floor with Fred once again. Floor continues to be TOO FUCKING COLD…” Four: Smile and nod, and she’ll go on forever.]]>

2003-11-10

Subversive Cross Stitch. Ah, if I’d only thought of that first… I have enough cross-stich pattern books and cross-stitch alphabet patterns that I could probably put together a “Go Fuck Yourself” for myself. I could hang it by the front door, because really what could be more warm and welcoming?

* * * I read On Writing for the third time last Monday night. It’s such a good book, though I find the C.V. section far more interesting than the writing tips (which is not to say that I couldn’t use some writing advice from Stephen King, but I’m far too lazy to put them into practice). He grew up in Durham and attended Lisb0n High School, y’know, which is where I went to school as well, and it’s cool to see him mention people and places that I know. Which reminds me – when I was in high school, several of the teachers who taught there (and probably still teach there), went to school with Stephen King and claimed to be friends with him. Yeah, they wish. Anyway, I read this line: I found the idea of social drinking ludicrous – if you didn’t want to get drunk, why not just have a Coke? Hell, I’ve been saying that – or something similar to that – since I was in my early 20s. I totally don’t get social drinking at all, don’t really care for the taste of alcohol, cannot stand wine (and I’ve even tried the terribly expensive shit), and haven’t been drunk in at least ten years, when I had a fight with my best friend and got as shitfaced as I’ve ever been, and ended up barfing up a lung several times before passing out on my bed, and waking up several hours later still a little drunk. Every now and then I’ll have a drink – I had a strawberry dacquiri with Liz at Applebee’s this past summer – and since I’m such a lightweight I’ll catch a buzz about halfway through the drink, and then I remember “Oh yeah. I hate this feeling. I should have just had a Diet Coke.” I want to like the taste of wine. You wine-lovers wax poetic about it, and make it sound so good, but it just does nothing for me. Like coffee, I suppose it’s an acquired taste. * * * The Bean, ever since we got him (has it been a month? Something like that?) has never been a terribly affectionate cat. He’d let you pick him up and pet him and snuggle with him, and he’d purr like mad and meow a trilling meow, but he never sought affection, never came up to you and insisted upon being picked up and loved. Miz Poo howls and howls until you pick her up, and then she snuggled onto your shoulder, and she purrs loud enough to make the entire house vibrate, and she will stay there for hours or until something catches her fancy and she goes to check it out. In the last week, however, the Bean has become more friendly. He’s started jumping up on the counter in the morning while Fred’s throwing his lunch together and rubbing up against Fred. He’s started laying against me and stretching fetchingly until I rub his belly. This morning when I came in from working out and sat down on the couch to call Fred, the Bean climbed up on the pillow next to me and rubbed and sniffed and purred and rolled around. Maybe he was withholding his affection until he was sure he’d be around for a good long time? * * * Okay, you know what? I REFUSE TO DO MY CHRISTMAS SHOPPING UNTIL AFTER THANKSGIVING. Stop advertising the “Under the Christmas Tree” sale. Stop talking about Santa showing up at the goddamn mall when November is barely a week old. Is it not e-fucking-nough that you fucking bombard me with Christmas ads and Christmas movies and Christmas sales every fucking day from the day after Thanksgiving on? You have to start three weeks BEFORE Thanksgiving? Because the more you advertise your fucking sales, the less likely I am to buy from you, motherfuckers! I swear, if it were left up to me, I’d leave the country from Halloween until New Year’s Day every fucking year. Fucking radio ads. * * * Also, I am sick to DEATH of hearing about Jessica Lynch and Elizabeth Smart. I don’t want to hear any more about either of them, I don’t want to watch the stupid movies about them, I don’t want to read their motherfucking books, and I don’t want to see a fucking TV ad about them every 10.2 seconds. I’m glad they’re fine, I hope they live long and happy lives, NOW I WISH THE FUCKING MEDIA WOULD SHUT THE FUCKITY FUCK UP ABOUT THEM. * * * Very early Saturday morning – around 5, I think – I woke up and lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out why I was awake. I finally realized that I was hearing a distant kind of moaning sound. I sat up and took the earplugs out of my ears and listened some more. It was an almost rhythmic moaning sound, and I thought for a moment that it might be the Bean, who is still wheezy (though not Weezy) despite progressively stronger medication in the weeks since we adopted him. I decided it wasn’t that, and listened some more. As I stared toward the door, I realized that Spanky was sitting near the door, staring out. And then Spot jumped up on the bed, looking nervous, and stared in the direction of the door. Ohjesus, I thought immediately. Someone’s in the house and they’re hurting Fred or the spud! Or maybe Fred dropped weights on himself and he’s hurt and can’t get out from under them, and he’s moaning in pain! I got out of bed and put my nightgown on and slowly walked toward the door, expecting at any moment to see a strange man coming toward me. As I reached the top of the stairs, the sound got louder, and I realized it was coming from somewhere downstairs. It was also clearly the sound of a cat losing his shit. Miz Poo and the Bean were sitting at the top of the stairs staring down with some interest. Ohjesus, I thought. Someone’s in the house and Tubby’s trying to defend hearth and home! I went to Fred’s bedroom door and knocked. From the other side, he mumbled a “What?”, and I opened the door. “Come out here,” I said. “One of the cats is going nuts downstairs!” Fred followed me back out to the landing at the top of the stairs, and then stepped over Miz Poo and the Bean, and walked down the stairs. “There might be someone in the house!” I whispered hysterically. Fred ignore me and kept going. “It’s Tubby,” he said when he reached the living room. Tubby was sitting in front of one of the living room windows, his tail bushed as big as it could be, and making a scary, half-growling half-howling sound. “There must be something outside,” Fred said, and just as I hissed “DON’T JUST OPEN THE DOOR WITHOUT LOOKING!”, he flung the door open. There, on the other side of the window, sat an orange cat, who was puffed up and growling. Fred chased him off, and then we went upstairs to lay in bed and talk until my pounding heart stopped, uh, pounding. “So, you thought someone was in the house?” Fred said. “Yes!” “And yet I notice there was no gun in your hand!” he said disapprovingly. “I thought about it!” I said. “Yeah, and that could have been the last thought you’d had!” Hmph. * * * Pet store kitties are hither. * * *

Heeee’s too Beanie for his fur, so Beanie it hurrrrrrrrrts…

How can this possibly be comfortable? A year ago: Pictures! Two: The cats continue to be terrified of the big slobbering thing living outside. Three: “Who the hell’s this from??? It’s signed ‘your father’, but I have no idea who it’s from!!” Four: Twice he bounced up and flailed his front paws at the butterfly/grasshopper, and on the third bounce, he hit the fence with his back feet and actually ran paralell to the ground for three or four steps before pushing off, flipping over, and finally landing on the lawn.]]>

2003-11-07

SURVIVOR SPOILERS IN THIS SECTION. Okay, Andrew, love ya lots, but get over yourself. You really pissed me off with the way you opted to vote Lillian off instead of Darrah, despite the fact that Lillian worked her ass off and Darrah did nothing but sit on hers. Also, when Lillian asked you to let her know what you’d decided, did you? Not so much. What a shocker that Lillian would decide to vote your ass off. Buh-bye! Oh, and also? When you were standing by the fire with Lillian and saying “Well, YOU aren’t going anywhere next tribal council, it will be one of US, because YOU are immune!”, I was hoping like hell that Lillian would smile and say “Yeah. SUCKS to be you, doesn’t it??” or “To tell the truth, Andrew, I’d like to see YOU go.” But Lillian held her tongue. I love the fact that she came back and fucked Andrew over, although I’ll admit that I for some reason find her a tad creepy. I think Rupert takes himself a little seriously, by the way. But I love him. I can’t help myself! I think the girls should gang up and vote off all the guys, really. But then, I always think that. Heh. Did Mush Mouth say a single word last night? I sure do miss her melodic voice.

* * * In lieu of a real entry, I’m going to fall back on a survey thingy which I have stolen from the lovely Athena, who stole it from someone else, so that I can declare this entry finished and go snuggle on the couch with the Bean and Stephen King. Fair enough? A: Actor. Oh, let’s say Christopher Meloni. We’ve seen a great deal of the Meloni penis lately while watching Oz, and any actor who’s willing to show his penis that frequently and also lay the serious liplock on another guy every now and then is aces with me. B: Boyhood Idols. (How about a girlhood idol?) Jamie Sommers. Also known as The Bionic Woman. C: Chore You Hate. Just about all of them, but I reserve a special hatred for vacuuming the stairs, because they look crappy before I vacuum and they still look crappy after I finish. Damn carpeted stairs. I swear, with god as my witness, I will never! have carpeted stairs! ever again! D: Dad’s Name. Marvin. But I won’t tell you his nickname. Sorry, stalkers! E: Essential Video In Collection. When Harry Met Sally. F: Favorite Actress. I don’t really have a favorite. Let’s say that cute little Amber Tamblyn, aka Joan of Arcadia. Interesting (though “interesting” may be overstating it a tad) bit of trivia – Amber’s father Russ played Dr. Lawrence Jacoby in Twin Peaks. The first time I saw her last name, I wondered if they were related. Yes, I’m a dork. G: Gold or Silver. I almost never wear jewelry, but I have no particular preference for either gold or silver. My wedding band and engagement ring are gold. H: Hometown. Lisb0n Falls, Maine. I: Instruments Played. None. Well, I played the guitar for a few months when I was 10 or so. I actually learned all the chords to play “Take me Home, Country Roads”, and it sounded a lot like: strum, strum, strum (long pause while changing chords) strum, strum, strum (long pause), etc. Speaking of that song, here’s a story to showcase my dorkiness. When I was 5 and we lived in Michigan, I had a friend named Candy Rhodes. I assumed the song “Take me Home, Country Roads” was written about her father. You know, her father. Country Rhodes. I am a dumbass of long standing, it appears. J: Job Title. Professional Ass Sitter. I’m sure Marty “Asswipe” Nemko would not approve. I sure do wish he was MY therapist. K: Kids. One. The spud. She’s 15. We’re thinking of locking her away ’til she’s 31, ’cause we’re not ready for the boys-and-dating thing. L: Living Arrangements. One house, one husband, one kid, five obnoxious cats, many annoying neighbors. M: Mom’s Name. Brenda. N: Number People Slept With. Less than 1,000. O: Overnight Hospital Stays. Oh, let me think. Tonsils out (1), tumor removed from knee (2), c-section (3). I think that’s it for overnight stays. P: Phobia. The phone. Eek! Q: Quote You Like. All you motherfuckers are gonna pay. You are the ones who are the ball-lickers. Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back R: Religious Affiliation. Born and raised Protestant. S: Siblings. Older brothers: Tracy and Randy. Younger sister: Debbie. T: Time You Wake Up. 7:00 on days that I have something to do (feed the pet store kitties, for example), 8:00 – 8:15 on days that I don’t. U: Unique Habit. When I’m really into what I’m reading I do this thing where I twitch my lower lip back and forth. Also, I twitch my feet in time to my lip. V: Vegetable You Refuse To Eat. Brussels sprouts. I also refuse to eat Collard Greens. W: Worst Habit. Probably chomping on my gum. X: X-rays Taken. Oh, I had a ton taken of my knee before they operated on it. Other than that, nothing comes to mind. Y: Yummy Food You Make. Chicken and rice casserole, Unfried Chicken, Sweet Potato Crack. Z: Zodiac Sign. Capricorn. * * *

The Bean, just before he leapt for the toy mouse in Fred’s hand.

In mid-leap, with the mouse in his front paws.

Miz Poo disapproves of the horseplay.]]>

2003-11-06

that hair cut looks like crap, why do you let your husband go on day trips with your daughter, are you out of your mind… you’d better get back on track with the weight loss honey or keep looking over your shoulder. Get a CLUE! First of all, that’s a rather sad and pathetic little life you have, isn’t it? Secondly, you would be the one who needs to get a CLUE! (not a clue, but a CLUE!) My husband – perhaps you’ve heard of him – is a computer geek who specializes in computer security. So, Jackie, how’s the weather up there in Vancouver Washington? And what would your deceased father – the retired Navy man – think of you posting such a cowardly, anonymous, ugly comment? PS: You really should consider getting an unlisted number. It would probably cut down on all those pesky “wrong number” calls.

* * * And also, for anyone else who immediately thought “Sandra!” when they saw that, alack and alas, there are two separate assholes who feel the need to post in comments. Sandra’s on AOL. Jackie is not. Also, she has an Angelfire email address. * * * Speaking of my comments, someone – hi Kerry Anne! – posted and pointed out that the tiles we put in the box that holds the litter box are the same tiles she currently has in her bathroom, and that she picked them out herself. I have to say, when I first saw the tiles, I liked the pattern, too. In fact, I suggested to Fred that we rip up the floor in our kitchen and replace it with those tiles (I HATE the floor in our kitchen. Hate it!). He wouldn’t go for it, though. Hmph. Also, Rachael asked what I thought of Average Joe, which premiered on Monday night. We taped it and watched it Tuesday night, and the verdict so far? I love it! I don’t know, watching gorgeous model guys cavort around the pool is fun, but watching dorky average guys is even more fun somehow. I was a little annoyed at first by Melana – “She needs to shut up!” I said to Fred. “She’s cute, but she’s NOT all that. She’s no Trista!” – but as the show went on, I started to like her a little. It’s a little early to have any favorite guys, but that little Tareq sure is a cutie. Too young, though. If you’re interested in seeing Average Joe and missed it on Monday, they’re rebroadcasting it at 9 pm eastern time. * * * POSSIBLE THE BACHELOR SPOILERS IN THIS SECTION!! Was I shocked to see Mary go? Not at all; I expected her to go last week. I love the way she handled it all, though, because that kind of calm dignity you don’t see a lot on that show. I still expect to see Kelly Jo win, but if he chooses Estella, I still think he’s got one hell of a girl. That would be true if he’d ended up with Mary or Meredith too, for that matter. Also, every time Bob is kissing one of the women and he pulls back, he always looks like he’s going to giggle. Or is it just me? * * * Thanks, y’all, for all your kind comments about my hair. I just got out of the shower, and I already like it more than I did yesterday, because my hair’s doing the little flippy thing, which I like. I was playing with it last night, and although it’s much shorter than I’ve had it in years, I can still pull the top back or put barrettes in the side (must steal barrettes from the spud) or do any number of things. Not that I will, mind you. But I could if I wanted to! * * *

I think the Bean has a little crush. He spends the majority of his time in the same room with Miz Poo, if not laying right next to her.

They fight a lot and Miz Poo hisses and growls, but I think she really likes it more than she’s willing to let on.

She cannot resist his Beaniness.]]>

2003-11-05

Wolves of the Calla (aka: Dark Tower 5), using coupons I’ve earned by buying other books from Waldenbooks. Since I have more than enough in coupons to buy the book I want, I’ve offered to buy something for Fred as well. He’s given me a list of books, none of which Waldenbooks carries in stock, those bastards. I finally give up on Fred’s book and just buy Wolves of the Calla. When I’m in the car, I take the book out of the bag to see how many pages it has (736!), and find a bookmark in the front of the book. It’s priced $3.50, but when I look at the sales receipt, I see that I didn’t pay for it. I have no idea how it got there. As a plus, it’s a cat, and thus clearly a sign. What kind of sign, I have no idea. Drive from the mall to Sam’s Club. Wander around Sam’s Club and buy: napkins, paper towels, gum, Splenda, mini babybels, and large padded envelopes for multi-book orders. Look at the book section and see that it appears that Sam’s Club is selling Wolves of the Calla for the full $35. I got it for 25% off, plus another 10% off for having a preferred member card. Go, me! Drive from Sam’s Club to the pet store and check out the kitties (that damn little Blacktoe is still there, and I am seized again with the urge to stick her in my purse and sneak her home. She’s so small Fred would never notice, right?). Walk around the store, telling myself that our cats do NOT need a Panic Mouse, especially for THAT price. Inspect litter boxes before deciding which will work for us (one the size of the sweater boxes we’ve been using, only a bit shallower), buy a Comfort Zone (with Feliway!) plug-in as well. Also, grab a small bag of rattly toy mice, since they seem to be disappearing at an alarming rate. While checking out, chat with cashier, who somehow remembers me from last week when I bought a big container of Nature’s Miracle. “Is this for the same problem?” she asks. “Is your cat still peeing outside the box?” Be surprised that she remembers me. Chat for a few minutes about our cats (she has five cats, too!) and then leave. Get home, unload all the crap from the car, check orders, and finally (I’m starving!) have lunch. After eating lunch, check email, and then settle in to process book orders, which is a somewhat laborious process. Processing the books goes like this: Print out a packing slip for each person on the Paypal page – and you can only do one person at a time, you can’t print out several different people, unfortunately. Go through and match each packing slip to the email I got notifying me of the order for that person. Go into Quickbooks and begin an invoice, listing each person on a separate line, then the Paypal charge after each person. Check for referral codes, and if any of the orders has a non-OFB, BP, or VIT referral, enter the referral in the Excel spreadsheet. Open Stamps.com and begin printing out postage for each order. While each person’s postage is printing, email to let them know that their book will be shipping within 24 hours. Once the postage is printed, get correct number of books and envelopes. Check each packing slip to see if a signature is required. If not, put book and packing slip in envelope, tape flap shut, and tape postage to the front of the package. If a signature is requested, stick packing slip in front of book, tape postage to front of envelope, and leave on Fred’s desk. Between that and having to make dinner, I think that pretty well explains why there was no entry, don’t you? I have to admit that I kinda like the busy days, although I’m glad they don’t come along all that often.

* * * My sister, who is insane, has already started her Christmas shopping. Crazy, CRAZY woman. * * * If you’re on the notify list, you know that I had an appointment for a cut and color this morning. If you’re not on the notify list, well, now you know! I showed up at the salon on time (for once), and B3v looked at my hair and said, with less disapproval than I would have expected, “Did you color your hair yourself?” Whereupon I cringed and lied about how busy I’d been, and that coloring my hair at home was only a temporary measure until I could get it “done right.” When I told her I was ready for a change, she got briefly excited at the idea that I was going to change the color that I usually get, and then we discussed how I wanted my hair cut. “Your ends are pretty damaged,” she said. “I’d like to cut a few inches off.” And we settled on having it cut to the shoulder. And then she chopped and chopped and chopped and chopped.

(Yeah, I’m aware that I look like I’m about to flip out and go on a shooting spree)

I don’t know if I like it or not. I know it looks helmet-y, because she always blows my hair out straight (though at the moment, my hair is rebelling, and I have a bit of a flip going on in the back). I go back and forth between liking it and hating it. We’ll see what happens when I style it myself. But damn, y’all don’t let me grow my hair out to one length again, please. She ended up taking about 4 inches off the back and 8 in the front (for the bangs), and my hair actually feels somewhat healthy again. * * * So after deciding that Tubby might be having a problem getting into the litter box due to the setup and possibly the deepness of the current litter box, Fred did some brainstorming and came up with the idea of buying a big box at U-Hawl (yes, I know that’s not how it’s spelled) and lining the inside of it with cheap stick-on tiles that he bought at L0we’s, and closing any gaps with duct tape. He did all that yesterday, and – well – it’s not pretty, but it’s functional.

* * * You know, I keep meaning to mention this. Stanley will play-attack any of the cats, but he seems to prefer Miz Poo. And frankly, I think that Miz Poo kind of likes it, too.

A year ago: How freaky is it that I had a hair appointment exactly a year ago? Two: is there anything cuter than a hissing kitten? I think not. Four: What will I talk about next, dryer lint? Woohoo, somebody stop me!]]>

2003-11-03

Bitchypoo logo for November – this one by the lovely and talented Kathleen!

* * * I have a bunch of links for y’all today, but don’t forget to come back when you’ve checked them all out! If you live in the Austin, Texas area and would be interested in a cute, fat calico cat, check out this page. Also, there are still kittens available here, if you’re in the Lubbock, Texas area. I have new crafty stuff up on Not Terribly Crafty. Pet store kitties are here. Fred’s just signed a contract with a national distributor, which means that in some number of weeks his book will be available in a bookstore near you. In the interest of making room, he’s put the book on sale. If you live in the US, you can get a copy of the book for $11, and no shipping. Go here for more details or to order (that price is only if you order through us, though – Amazon still charges the full price). * * * The Tubby Pee Situation continues. When Tubby peed again Friday near where he’d peed Thursday, we decided that maybe he did need to go to the vet. The vet wasn’t able to get a urine sample, but gave us the medicine to treat a UTI, just in case. When Fred and the spud were watching a movie Saturday afternoon, Tubby came downstairs and stood near the kitchen, meowing bitchily. I went to see what he was bitching about, and he turned and stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked expectantly at me. “You’d better follow him,” I said to Fred. “He’s trying to tell us something. Maybe Timmy’s trapped in the well!” Fred followed Tubby upstairs, and Tubby just looked at him and meowed bitchily again. Fred picked Tubby up and put him in the litter box, and Tubby peed a gallon of pee before going back to lay in his usual spot under my dresser. After much discussion, Fred and I decided that perhaps Tubby is getting too fat to get in the litter box comfortably. Not that the litter box is too small, but if you’ll recall (or refer to your Bitchypoo Manual), the litter box sits in a larger box, since Spanky has the habit of peeing over the side of the litter box. There’s a hole cut in the box that the litter box is sitting in, and there’s not a lot of room to get through the hole and then up over the side of the litter box for a fatass like Tubby. (Yeah, I know – pot, kettle, black.)

At regular intervals for the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday, Fred picked up Tubby and set him in the litter box. It’s kind of like potty training a toddler, where you put them on the potty and sometimes they happen to have to go at that particular time and you make a big fuss (“Good, Tubby! Good GOOD Tubby!”), and sometimes they don’t have to at all and they just look at you with a blank face. We’re currently working on a way to make it easier for Tubby to get to the litter box while still protecting the wall from Spanky’s pee. Fun times, folks. Fun FUN times. * * * Last night after watching 10-8, Fred and I decided to go upstairs and read until bedtime. As Fred went to turn the TV off, an advertisement for some interview or another with Jessica Lynch came on. “Jessica Lynch!” I said. “Isn’t she the only POW we’ve ever had in all of history?” Fred smiled. “Yes. Yes, she is! And I think Todd Beamer rescued her!” * * *

Put something on the counter, and chances are good that a portly Poo will come along to sit upon it.

Looking beany.

And even beanier. A year ago: Obviously that’s made a big impact on my life. Two: I don’t want to hate the carpet on my stairs Four: Like sit on my lazy ass.]]>

2003-10-31

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, BABY! I LOVE YOU!!!

* * * THIS SECTION CONTAINS SURVIVOR SPOILERS FOR LAST NIGHT’S SHOW!!! Okay, HOW FUCKING COOL WAS THAT??? I thought Drake and Morgan were going to shit when they saw the Outcasts appear. TOO FUCKING COOL!! I was immediately rooting for them to win, and was THRILLED when they did. And I’m not particularly a fan of any of the Outcasts, although I like Lillian and Skinny Ryan, I guess I just tend to pull for the underdog. Andrew needs to GET the fuck over himself, though. What was that shit he was spouting, about how none of the outcasts deserve to be on “this beach”? Tell me exactly why Lillian was voted off? Oh yeah, because she lost the popularity contest to Mush Mouth – I’m remembering that correctly, aren’t I? Wasn’t it a matter of Lillian, who worked her ass off constantly, versus Mush Mouth, who sat around and looks pretty until she opens her mouth? Best. Twist. EVER. Also, I love that Andrew was all “Well, we’re just going to vote whoever comes back out at the first opportunity!” until someone (Ryan?) said “No, they’re immune at the first tribal council after they’re back.” HA! I was SO glad to see Osten go, because this whole “I’m ready to go!” thing he’s been doing since, like, day 2 was seriously getting on my nerves. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jeff Probst get so pissed at seeing someone give up. I think Jeff’s forgetting B.B. from Pulau Tiga, who asked to be voted out, and I’m pretty sure I remember Jenna asking to go at some point last season, didn’t she? Fucking Osten. What a wimp. I take exception with Jon referring to himself as “loyal” to Drake, especially after he tried to vote Rupert off last week. Jon is amazingly annoying and I cannot believe he’s made it this far. I fear for Rupert once the tribes merge (if they merge!). He’s clearly the strongest one out there, and they’re going to be gunning for his ass immediately. He’s going to need to win every single immunity challenge to make it to the end, I think. (If you comment on Survivor in the comments, please put SURVIVOR SPOILER at the top of your comment so as not to spoil it for anyone who hasn’t seen the show yet. Thanks!) * * * When Fred got home from work yesterday, he and I headed upstairs to lay down and talk about our day. As usual, Fred stripped down to his t-shirt and underwear, and then shut the bedroom door in case the spud came to ask or tell us something, and was scarred for life by seeing him in his underwear. (Or something hanging out of his underwear – he wears fairly loose underwear. In case you were wondering.) We lolled about on the bed and talked about various and sundry things, and then we heard the sound of a cat scratching at something. Fred turned to look at Tubby, who was scratching at a pillow propped up against the wall. He got up and moved the pillow out of the way, and then I heard it. The sound of rushing water. Rushing as it left Tubby’s bladder and splattered all over the wall and floor. I wanted to fucking drop-kick him across the floor, because even with me yelling at him, he just squatted there and peed for a long, long time. The fucker must have had a gallon of stinky cat pee in his stinky cat bladder. Certain that if I stayed in the room I would end up killing Tubby, I stomped downstairs and let Fred deal with it. After looking, I realized that I had used the rest of the container of Nature’s Miracle EARLIER THIS GODDAMN WEEK WHEN TUBBY PEED ON THE CLOTHES THAT WERE LAYING ON THE FLOOR IN THE CLOSET. Don’t be emailing or commenting and telling me to take Tubby to the vet. He goes through random stages where if we leave something on the floor, he pees on it. He’s always done it, and the vet can find nothing wrong with his stupid ass. We can go for months and months with him not doing it, and then all of a fucking sudden he does it a few times. Asshole. So I grabbed the spud and we went to the pet store to buy some Nature’s Miracle – a big jug along with a spray bottle – and when I got home I poured an assload of the stuff where Tubby had peed, and I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD IF HE DOES IT ONE MORE TIME I’M GOING TO DROP KICK HIM, JESUS, THROUGH THE GOAL-POSTS OF LIFE. I hate Tubby. I HATE HIM. And I don’t mean that I hate him in the way that people SAY they hate a cat when secretly they adore it. HATE. HIM. Don’t try to tell me I don’t hate him, because I really and truly do. I can admit that he’s amusing sometimes, but he’s never amused me so much that I can forgive his peeing a fucking gallon of stinky cat pee not three feet from my BED. Asshole. * * * 1. What was your first Halloween costume? I don’t know what my first costume was, but the first one I can remember is my witch costume. I think I was a witch for several years in a row.

2. What was your best costume and why? Oh, probably the witch costume. Although, my Sophomore year of high school, I painted my face green and black with greasepaint and wore a camouflage chamois shirt. I got sent home by the vice principal – who continues to be a dickhead to this day, I’m sure – to wash my face because it was “distracting to the other students.” Horseshit.

3. Did you ever play a trick on someone who didn’t give you a treat? Nope, never. 4. Do you have any Halloween traditions? (ie: Family pumpkin carving, special dinner before trick or treating, etc.) Not really. 5. Share your favorite scary story…real or legend! I like the one about the couple who were making out at Lover’s Lane and heard the story on the radio about the escaped criminal with a hook for a hand, and the girl got scared, so they left. When they got to the girl’s house, hanging on her door handle was… A HOOK!!! I have no idea why I like that story so much, but I do. * * * In the interest of clearing out my memory stick, I’m going to post a buttload of pictures so that I can start November anew.