Category: Life

Nance and Jane only keep me around because I keep things light (read: shallow). They are the Queens o’ Snark, and I am the yappy little sidekick dog. I would have stomped off in a huff, but it’s too true to be denied. (Also, Nance called me “nice.” That bitch!)

* * * I tried the Sweet Potato Crack that all the TUS-ers have been raving about for ages, and I’ll admit it – I was skeptical. Sweet potatoes, thyme, salt, and olive oil? Thyme. Who likes thyme? How could this dish be good? As if! Also, it makes me nervous to follow recipes that don’t have exact measurements. I have not the words to describe the tasty goodness of Sweet Potato Crack. It fucking ROCKS, and I’m about to sell Tubby on the street so I can afford to buy up every sweet potato in the country and spend the rest of my days standing over the baking dish burning my fingers as I pick pieces of fresh-out-of-the-oven SP Crack and stuff them in my face. Also! Sweet potatoes are GOOD FOR YOU!

Ounce for ounce, they have as much beta-carotene as carrots. A mere four ounces contain 50 percent of your daily requirement of vitamin C, as much potassium as a banana and a good amount of fiber.

Next time, I’m going to add more garlic, though. There’s no such thing as too much garlic. (Don’t look at me like that; Fred loves my garlic breath!) * * * I am even more klutzy than usual lately. Yesterday, I smashed the pinky toe on my right foot into the end of the bed, even though I could have sworn I was at least six feet from the bed at the time of the smashing. Today, while stepping into the SHOWER, I smashed my entire foot into the bottom of the shower and now, two hours later, it still aches. One of these days I’m going to smash my foot into something, and ::plunk!::plunk!::plunk!:: my toes are going to pop off one by one and go rolling under the bed, to never be seen again. * * * I stayed up late to finish Life of Pi, and while I’m giving it three Poos over on the reading list, the end kind of made me roll my eyes a little. I don’t know, I guess that’s just not what I wanted to see, but it was a fairly cool book all in all. * * * POSSIBLE THE BACHELOR SPOILERS IN THIS SECTION I wasn’t surprised to see Meredith go last night, though I was a little disappointed. When the rose ceremony started, I said to Fred, “Either Meredith or Mary is going tonight”. I suspect that Mary will go next week, because the fact that she wants to start a family immediately is scaring Bob a little. My prediction is that it’ll come down to Kelly Jo and Estella. I liked Kelly Jo a little more until just now when I went over to check out Estella’s profile and saw that she listed her hobbies as Doing the running man, break dancing and making animals out of balloons and answered the question “What are you most proud of” with My ability to walk fast while talking on a cell phone. Heh. At this point, though, I’m having a hard time preferring any of the women because they’re all so gorgeous and sweet. I think Kelly Jo is maybe a little too much like Bob and he needs someone to offset his crazyzanydorkiness. But he can’t wrong with any of them, really. Ah, I miss the old days when I had LeeAnn to hate… (Not!) * * * We watched the last hour of Joe Schmo last night, and it was fairly interesting. I like that Matt pointed out that even though everyone kept saying the show was “for” him, that it really wasn’t – they came up with the concept and then found him, so it really wasn’t for him. I also like that he pointed out that although everyone said he was such a nice guy, he was aware that the cameras were around him and acted accordingly. Also – Marcia! – he didn’t say whether he and Brian were still friends or not, but he did say that he had to work through his anger at Brian (who was also a writer for the show) before they could continue their friendship, which I think is a good sign. That he’s still willing to be friends with Brian, I mean. * * * I CAN’T WAIT ‘TIL IT’S TIME FOR SURVIVOR!!! * * * In case you were wondering, Gizmo is doing well. She and her big sister Dulcinea are Best Friends Forever. The Bean says “Who, me? I was just sitting here! I didn’t smack at your ass, really I didn’t!” Miz Poo decides not to put the smack down and instead heads for a nice, warm sun spot. But the Bean follows. Frightened by Miz Poo’s scary growl, he flees to the living room, where he curls up and dreams of kicking her ass. ]]>

I always look like a fucking lunatic when I take my own picture. Maybe I’ll go back to layered-with-bangs, like I had it back in 99.

Not a good angle. In fact, all angles are bad for me, it would appear. Eh. Who the fuck knows what I’ll do with my hair. I hate my hair, and it hates me back. Damn hair. It just exists to give me something to bitch about every six months. * * * Nance and Jane think I should have a BitchyCon. Except Jane is too scared to step foot into Alabama (who can blame her?). Actually, I think it’s fear of flying that keeps her from Alabama. Chicken. Bawk! Bawk! Bawk! By the way, speaking of Jane and Nance, this is what it looks like when we’re chatting: Jane: (something funny that makes me laugh until I cry) Nance: (something that makes what Jane said even funnier) Robyn: Hee! Nance: (something pithy and insightful) Jane: (something brilliant) Robyn: LOL! Jane: (a statement that clarifies the way the universe works) Nance: (makes fun of Jane for using big words) Robyn: Hahahah! And so forth. * * * POSSIBLE JOE SCHMO SPOILERS IN THIS SECTION Oh man, what a GREAT ending to the show. Of course, I should add that we only saw the first hour last night and had to tape the second, but seeing Matt so happy and crying all over the place made me happy. He really did turn out to be a pretty sweet guy, and I’m glad he ended up getting the $100,000 (though I didn’t doubt that he would), and I’m looking forward to watching the interview with Ralph that we taped last night. When Matt kept saying “What is GOING ON?” last night, Fred said “He’s turned into Edith Bunker!” Heh. * * * I was so pissed this morning when I realized it was only Wednesday, because I thought it was Thursday and that tonight was Survivor night. I cannot WAIT! * * * Okay, this’ll be the last thing about television (today), I promise! I taped Joe Millionaire Monday night and watched it after Fred went to bed last night. It was okay, but I think the bloom is off the rose when it comes to that show, I wasn’t riveted the way I was the first time around. Also, there was apparently a bonus show on last night that I missed. I think I’m going to skip the rest of Joe Millionaire this time around, especially since Average Joe is starting next week and that looks REALLY good. I felt sorry for Joe – what’s his name? David? – when the one girl asking him where his horse was, and he couldn’t understand her, even when she repeated herself. Been there. Done that. Felt like an idiot. Poor Joe. * * * I bought the Liz Phair album last week, and I’m liking it a lot, especially the song “Little Digger”. If you’re listening to the album with your 15 year-old daughter I’d give track number 11 (“H.W.C”) a miss, though. * * * The Bean loves to hang around Spanky, because Spanky is so bothered by having another cat in his space. Our Bean is a troublesome Bean. ]]>

check ’em out!

* * * I was laying in bed reading Life of Pi last night. I put it on my wish list after Pamie said it was good last year. Seriously, that’s all it takes. You say “Hey, this book was pretty good” and I add it to my wish list. That’s how I ended up reading that goddamn Mulvaney book, so sometimes believing what other people say about books gets me in trouble. Of course, if someone rants about how much a book sucks, I tend to buy it, because I foolishly think “Oh, p’shaw. It can’t be THAT bad!” I’m sure some of y’all do that, too, which probably means that I’ve sold an assload of copies of that FUCKING Mulvaney book. I swear, if I ever meet someone who has the last name Mulvaney, my fist will probably fly out and strike them on the chin automatically. But I digress. So I was reading Life of Pi, which isn’t bad so far – neither amazingly good nor horridly bad, and I do want to see what-all happens next – and I was suddenly absolutely dumbstruck, out of the blue, by the fact that I’m going to die. I’m going to DIE. Someday, I’m going to die. I’m going to die, you’re going to die, Fred will die, the spud will die. We’re going to DIE. All of us. Before you point out that 35 is awfully old to come to this striking realization, let me point out that I’ve always known, in a vague sort of way, that we’re all going to die, but it never hit me with such clarity. I stared in the ceiling and thought to myself “One day, I will be laying in bed, and I will know that I’m about to die.” That, of course, is assuming that I don’t die screaming in some horrible car or plane wreck, or am tripped while going down the stairs by Stanley-bean, and break my neck, black out, and die. I was actually shaking with the whole realization that I was going to DIE some day, just laid there and thought about it for a good ten minutes or so. Then I ditched that deep, introspective shit, picked up my book, and kept reading until I was tired. * * * This morning I came to yet another realization. You might die someday, but I am going to live forever. * * * I tried an experiment this morning. Last night before bed I turned my computer off (we usually keep our computers running all the time), and this morning I wouldn’t let myself turn it back on until I’d exercised and showered. I have the tendency to sit at the computer and put off exercising, which is why lately it’s been noon or later before I get around to taking my shower. Today I sat down in front of the computer having exercised and showered right after 10:00. I would call the experiment a success. * * * Speaking of last night, I sat down at the computer to check my mail one last time before bed. I jiggled the mouse to disable the screensaver, and found that SOME BASTARD NAMED FRED had made that creepy fucking picture I linked yesterday my wallpaper. Fucker. * * * Look at how close they’re laying to each other! They’re practically cuddling! “MEH!” ]]>

Miss Saigon on Saturday – that was one of the spud’s birthday presents – and the show kicked ass. I was occasionally distracted by the fact that the actor who played Chris had a very strong resemblance to Jon Walmsley (you might recognize him as Jason from The Waltons). We had second row seats, and we have first row seats for Jesus Christ, Superstar next month, and Les Mis in the spring. I teared up several times during the show (PMS is a bitch, yes it is), and a woman sitting in the row behind me was sobbing pretty loudly at the end. Great show, but also a downer. After the show (it was the Saturday matinee, and we got out about 4:30), we had dinner at Lonestar, and then came home and had cake and the spud opened most of her presents (she saved one to open on her actual birthday), and then she went upstairs to watch Crossroads and Fred and I sat around and waited for it to be bedtime. I was absolutely stuffed from the birthday cake. I’m glad the bakery we get our cakes from is on the other side of Huntsville. If it was any closer, we’d be in trouble. I think the spud had a pretty good time, and she got plenty of good gifts, so I’d call it definitely a happy birthday.

This picture seems to make the cake look kind of hideous, but it was pretty in person. I swear it! (And DAMN was it good…) * * * Pet store kitty pics are yonder. * * * I swear to god, I don’t know about my husband sometimes. He spent a good part of Saturday morning altering a picture of himself so that it would look creepy and make me scream and run away. It is SO fucking creepy, I can barely stand to look at it. Naturally I’m going to link to it so you can be creeped out as well. Go check it out, but don’t say I didn’t warn you! Creepy, ain’t it? * * * Speaking of creepy, we watched The Ring again yesterday, this time with the spud. Naomi Watts could be Nicole Kidman’s twin sister, I swear. She looks like her, she sounds like her, she has many of the same mannerisms. It was kind of distracting, really! Naomi Watts, Nicole Kidman, and Meg Ryan should play sisters in a movie and get it over with. Speaking of movies (nice segue, eh?) I also watched Bend it Like Beckham this weekend. Good movie! I love that adorable little Parminder Nagra. * * * When we adopted Stanley-bean, he had an upper respiratory infection and was on medication. The vet gave him an injection and told us to keep giving him the medication until it was gone. We did, and the wheezing and sneezing stopped. Over the weekend, the sneezing and wheezing started again, so after a discussion with the vet, Beanie-bean will be going on a different, stronger medication. Being sick hasn’t slowed Beanie down any, though – he still runs around like his ass is on fire. He and Fred have a game that keeps them entertained for hours. Fred sets the mesh hamper in the middle of the living room floor, and then tosses a ball in the hamper. Beanie comes running from his hiding place under the kitchen table, and attacks the hamper, sometimes pushing it all the way across the room. Then he runs off and waits for Fred to do it again. To see him in action, click on the “Movie of the week” over there in the sidebar (it’s under “about”). * * * For some reason, Stanley-bean loves to be held like this, so that he’s laying along the length of Fred’s arm. As soon as Fred picks him up like this, Bean starts purring so loud you can hear him from three rooms away. He just lays there and looks around, purring to beat the band. Freaky cat. ]]>

Angela, who posted in my comments yesterday and pointed out the idea of actually CALLING the school to see how formal the Homecoming dance will be before going out to buy a dress. Call and actually ask how formal the dance is going to be. What a radical idea! And yet somehow it simply never ever occurred to me. Duhhh. I made Fred call, of course, due to that whole phone phobia thing. It’s not formal. The guys will be wearing khakis and button-down shirts. Whew! I’m still going to take the spud shopping for a skirt and maybe a shirt, but the pressure is OFF. I never know what will set y’all off. I got a lot of comments about the horribleness of that dress that I linked. Hmph to you! What I’m thinking is that if the spud goes to her prom, I’ll need to have a PromGownCon and y’all will have to come to Alabama and help with the shopping and preparations. Deal? (I’m glad I didn’t link the dress SHE really liked…)

* * * A Robyn And3rson wrote a letter to the editor (fourth one down) over on Salon.com. People have been emailing me about it – who knew so many of y’all read the letters to the editor at Salon.com? – so just to let you know, no. I didn’t write it, but I wish I had! Just goes to show that we Robyn And3rsons agree about most things. Except for buying guns for high school students, that is. * * * Smokers, Fred and I were having a disagreement last night about how much cigarettes cost. I thought they might be up to $5 a pack, and he said they were only about $3.50. How much are y’all paying these days? * * * I did a little experiment. Once it was apparent to me that Stanley was a beanie-bean (because clearly, he is. He is SUCH a beanie-bean!), I wanted to see how long it would take Fred to pick up the nickname. It took two days from the first time I called Stanley “Beanie-bean” in front of Fred before Fred started doing it too. He’s such a copycat. Of course, you can hardly blame him. Stanley’s a total bean. * * * Almost sixteen years ago, my brother Tracy came home to visit with his 6 week-old son. I’d never had much to do with babies and always said I never wanted any of my own, but after spending time holding and playing with (and taking a million pictures of) Christopher, I fell in love. “Please god don’t let me break the baby…” Baby power! (Chris at about 4 months) Fifteen years ago today, this is what I looked like: I didn’t show until I hit my 7th month, and one day I woke up and my stomach was poking out three feet in front of me. When this picture was taken, I was one day away from the doctor appointment where the nurse practioner would do an ultrasound, estimate the baby’s weight at 10 pounds 4 ounces, and get the doctor on the horn. The doctor told me that since the baby was the size of a small moose (“The nurse saw antlers!” he said) it would be prudent to go ahead and schedule a c-section. I’d actually suspected all along that I’d never actually use all that stuff I learned in Lamaze class. Fifteen years ago on Sunday, I was coming out from under the anesthesia, and when I could stay conscious for more than five minutes, the spud’s father went and got her from the nursery and brought her to me. Everyone else was talking about how big she was, but to me, even at 10 pounds 2 ounces, she was tiny. My immediate thought when I first held her was a panicked “What the hell have I done? I’m not ready for this! I can’t have a BABY.” I was almost 21. I think she’s turned out pretty well so far. * * * When I was looking for the above pictures, I found this: How could I have thought this was a good look, ever? * * * “Iiiiiii’m too sexy for my dad, so sexy for my fur, so sexy it hurrrrrts…” ]]>

* * * The spud will be attending the Homecoming dance at the high school next week. Apparently she and some of her friends sounded like it would be fun. When I asked the spud what she intended to wear, she said “Some of the girls are going to wear skirts. I have a skirt, I’ll wear that.” Now, let me just say that I pretty much have no clue what the spud has for clothes. If she needs a certain piece of clothing we go out and buy it for her, and then I don’t think about clothes again until I absolutely have to. She does her own laundry, her grandparents buy her (way too many) clothes. I simply have no idea what she has for clothes save what I see her in – and even then I tend not to notice what she’s wearing all that often. If it’s clean and covers her, then she can wear it as far as I’m concerned. A few days after our first discussion about the dance, wherein I pinned down all the particulars – she’s going to meet her friends there, her friend Shawn/ Sean/ Shaun is going to be her “date”, no she doesn’t like Shawn/ Sean/ Shaun “like that” but the rumor mill around school that they’re dating, and she thinks the dance starts around 6 – I asked her to show me the skirt she was planning to wear. It was a knee-length denim skirt. I know nothing about Homecoming, but even I know that a knee-length denim skirt is a tad less formal than what she needed to wear. I did a google search on Homecoming dresses, and guess what? They’re QUITE formal. They’re pretty much like prom dresses. Oh happy, HAPPY day. Now we need to get her a formal dress and all the accoutrements in a little more than a week. And I will be FUCKED before I spend $200 on a dress. I was looking at dresses online and found one I thought might look good on her (why are they all sleeveless or spaghetti-strapped? What the fuck is wrong with SLEEVES?), and then saw the price and gasped. $250. The spud, who was standing behind me said “Why would anyone want to spend that much money on a dress for ONE night?” Clearly, she is her mother’s daughter. We’re going to go look for dresses at Kohl’s this afternoon. Y’all, shut up. I found a perfectly suitable and lovely dress on their website, so perhaps they’ll have something even better in the store. I love shopping, so this will be BIG FUN for me. Except for the “love shopping” and “big fun” part.

* * * Yesterday after dinner, as I stood up to put my plate in the sink, I heard a whiny little war cry coming from the living room. Stanley-bean was standing in front of Tubby, ready to start some shit. So I grabbed the camcorder and shot a little movie of it, for your viewing pleasure. Before I provide the link, a warning. It’s fucking HUGE. It’s only a 45-second movie, but it’s 7.3 MB. It will probably take forever and a day to load, even if you’ve got a fast connection. Your best bet would be to download it to your own hard drive and watch it from there. It’s an .mpg, so if you can’t view .mpgs, you won’t be able to view this. I did attempt to cut down on the size a little by saving it as a .wmv, but that looked so crappy that you could barely tell what was going on. So an .mpg it is. The movie’s probably not going to be available for more than a few days, since it’s so huge. I’ve put a “movie of the week” link over on the sidebar (it’s the last link in the “About” section), and I’ll probably change the movie out whenever I get around to it. Whether that’ll be once a day, once a week or once a month is anyone’s guess. So go see Stanley-bean in action here (sorry, it’s been removed due to the size). Make sure your volume is turned up so that you can hear his war cry! * * * A few months ago while wandering around the internet, I found a cool pattern to make a plastic canvas Cartman. The pattern was for yarn and something called “continental” and “reverse continental” stitches, which is nothing I know anything about, but I decided to give it a try with cross-stitches. I think it turned out pretty well, though the eyes look a little funny. If I make it again, I’ll probably do his eyes squinched shut, like when he gets mad. Also, next time I’ll only use one thread to do the outline, instead of two (I wasn’t paying attention, apparently). It’s only about an inch and a half tall, so I think I’m going to slap a magnet on the back and stick him to the fridge. The pattern, by the way, is here. She has a bunch of other free patterns here, as well. Yes, this belongs over in the crafty blog. I’m sure I’ll get around to it one of these days… Of course, without the “To Do” blog to keep me on the straight and narrow, it may never happen! Heh. * * * Does this look particularly comfortable to you? Doesn’t it look like the whole kit and caboodle is going to topple over at any moment? Stanley-bean makes a funny face at The Momma.]]>

* * * I watched the season finale of The Newlyweds last night, and I have this to say. When Nick said “Seabiscuit is racing here today”, and Jessica said “The real one”, if that was meant to be a “stupid Jessica” moment, it’s also a “stupid Robyn” moment, because I know zilch about the Seabiscuit story. Just so you know.

* * * Hey. Hey! If you are SO very important that you cannot get your stupid ass entirely through the drive-thru at McDonald’s without yapping on your stupid-ass cell phone the entire way, then perhaps you are FAR too important to lower yourself to actually drive your important ass through the drive-thru, and you should hire someone who is less important to do silly unimportant errands FOR you, instead of annoying those around you. But by golly, I SURE AM impressed by you! * * * Kate, who is a brat, posted the following in my comments yesterday: I think the kitty DIED and you are afraid to tell us so you have draped his lifeless body across and around various props to try and fool us! Yeah. And Tubby was trying to EAT the poor, dead kitty. That’s what I think. Stanley is NOT dead. He is alive. Much to the detriment of my chair upstairs, since he still won’t use the damn scratching post. I shot a little movie today of the TV with the date and time, and then a continual shot across the room of Stanley-beanie-bean acting a fool, but I have to install the software on my computer to actually look at the footage, so that won’t be up today. Maybe tomorrow. He does look kind of stiff and dead in this picture, though: Note the look of consternation on Miz Poo’s face. A few minutes earlier than the one above. * * * When I’m signed into MSN Messenger, if an email arrives at my hotmail address, a little box pops up on my screen to tell me that I have an email and who it’s from. Imagine my delight the other day when this popped up: Spam, naturally. I should have known when I saw that it was spelled “Goerge”, but I still got a little excited. It appears that Goerge W. Bush has a vision for me, and that vision includes porn. Surprising, no? * * * Last night’s sunset from the back yard. I love it when the sky goes all pink and purple and blue. ]]>

this cat makes Tubby, who weighs around 25 pounds, look positively svelte! (Thanks to reader Susannah for the link!) I went to the pet store yesterday and bought a harness and leash for the Stanley-Bean (he’s a beanie-bean!), and after dinner last night we gave it a whirl. The harness claims to fit all sizes, but it probably meant all adult-sized cats, because as much as I tightened it, it was still pretty loose on him. Not so loose that it was falling off, though. So we took him out back and put the leash on him, and Fred walked him around the yard. It’s possible that he’s never walked in grass before, because he seemed a tad weirded out by it. Also, on the other side of our fence is a very busy road, and I think the traffic was freaking him out. He led Fred along the front part of the fence, sniffing at everything, and then they turned to walk back to the patio. Which is when Stanley thought “Hey! I shouldn’t just skulk back! I should run and leap! Into the air! Like a big mexican jumping Stanley-bean!” He began to run, and Fred moved faster to keep up with him, and then Stanley began LEAPING into the air, and each time he leaped, he reached the end of his leash and would HANG in the air for a few milliseconds before the leash and gravity would force him back down to the ground. He would run a few more steps and then, overcome, would once again LEAP. I regret hugely that I didn’t have the camera with me. While buying the harness and leash, I also bought a – oh, what the fuck’s it called? One of those things cats sharpen their claws on. A claw-sharpening thing. Argh! What the FUCK is it called? (A phone call to Fred revealed that it is called a scratching post.) So, I bought a scratching post for Stan-da-man-bean because every – EVERY! – morning he wakes me up at 4 by sharpening his sharp little claws on the chair in the corner. I was hoping that buying a scratching post would distract him from the chair. When I got home, I put it together and put it over by the bed downstairs where he likes to sleep. All the other cats sniffed around it and tried it out, but Stanley had a blind spot when it came to the new scratching post. Finally, I picked him up and put him down by the post, then grabbed his front paws and tried to show him how to use it. He looked a little scared, and didn’t want me to touch his front paws, damnit! So Fred and I dragged our fingers over the scratching post to give him some idea, and he looked at us as if we were quite insane, and hauled ass away from us. At 4:00 this morning, rather than scratching on the chair and waking me up, he tried something new. He attacked my feet. Little bastard.

He loves to sleep draped over the side of the bed. Fred won me that stuffed pumpkinhead at a grocery store machine. Stanley has taken quite a liking to it. ]]>

Sad Eyes” by Robert John (oh shut up, I KNOW it’s one of your little guilty pleasures too, don’t deny it! I know you also sing all high-pitched and screechy to it when no one else is around, but that’ll be our little secret), and I recalled that last week when the spud and I had lunch at Applebee’s, I’d heard a song that I really liked. “Spud,” I said, as she is my link to all that is youthful and cool these days. “Who sings this song?” She listened, shrugged and suggested “Michelle Branch?” When we got home, I hypothetically opened Kaza@ and downloaded a bunch of Michelle Branch songs, hoping to find the song I’d heard, all to no avail. A few days later, I heard the song again on the radio, and learned that the woman singing the song was not only not Michelle Branch, but was not even close to Michelle Branch. And now, on Sunday, I wanted to hear the song again. But do you suppose I could remember the name of the woman who sang it? Do you? Because there was all kinds of crap floating around in my brain (including a little ditty that goes “Stanley-bean, Stanley-bean, he’s a Stanley-Stanley-bean!”) and none of it was the singer’s name, OR the name of the song. I sat in front of the computer, smoke coming out of my ears as I thought very hard, searching my mind desperately for the elusive name. It refused to come, and I tried to figure out how to track down her name. I thought about calling the radio station, but didn’t think I’d get very far with “Can you tell me the name of the song that that chick sings?” The most frustrating part was that I could SEE her face in my mind. I could come up with her face, but not her name and not the name of any song she’s ever sung. But I was pretty sure that Erin had recently written about her, so I went over and did a quick scan of her last several entries. No luck. I sat and thought some more. The kitten, attracted by the smoke coming out of my ears jumped from the chair to the scanner to the top of my desk, knocking papers everywhere. He chirped, gave me a wary look, and hopped off the side of the desk to get away from my Look O’ Evil. The gears in my brain turned ever-so-slowly and I remembered that she was filed in my brain in the same basic section as the alternative explosion – Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Mother Love Bone, and other alternative bands whom I cannot name at the moment. It’s got to be early-onset Alzheimer’s, y’all. Further, I managed to remember that her first album was a song-by-song response to that… album… by that group… and the lead singer has big lips. ARGH. It took me ten minutes of sitting and forcing myself to not think about it before the name of the band, where the singer has big lips (NO, not Aerosmith), popped into my mind. The Rolling Stones. And it took another few minutes for me to do a search on Amazon to bring up all the Stones’ albums before I remembered the album in question was “Exile on Main Street”, and another search on “Exile” in “Popular Music” brought up “Exile in Guyville”, which finally – FINALLY – led me to the name of the singer in question. Liz Phair. The song is “Why Can’t I?” (How many of you figured out her name before I got this far?) It’s a good song, but I don’t know that it was worth 20 minutes of trying to get my brain to spit out the name of the song. I was right, by the way. Erin DID write about Liz Phair. I apparently just didn’t go back that far in her archives. And you thought YOUR Sunday morning was exciting!

* * * I keep trying to convince Fred that we need another kitten who will play with Stanley – besides, we really need an even number, don’t you think? I got a little excited last night, because Spanky went chasing into the closet after Stanley, and I thought there might be some playing, but what mostly happened is that Stanley hid behind the clothes hamper and batted at Spanky, and Spanky looked at Stanley as if he were completely insane. Poor Stanley. * * * Pet store kitty pics are yonder. * * * I am possibly the only person in the world who, while in a toilet-related position, could have her foot slip on a piece of toilet paper that is laying on the floor for some reason, and pull a painful muscle in her thigh and hip. Fred got a good laugh when I told him about it, anyway. * * * Speaking of good laughs, I was reading Reader’s Digest last night, and you know how at the end of articles, they have two or three little funny blurbs? Well, at the end of one, I read this, and laughed out loud: From McKinney Living magazine: “In our last issue, the man pictured as the second-place winner of the photo contest was incorrectly indentified as ‘Jesus.’ His correct name is ‘Anthony Wilson.'” * * * Miz Poo stares intently out the window at… .. that damn squirrel! Stanley hanging out in the sun. ]]>

* * * When the spud got home from school Wednesday, she asked us whether she had gone to church last week. When we reminded her that she hadn’t, she sighed and said “Then I guess I’ll go this week…” Fred and I thought that was odd – we were under the impression that she was going to church every week because she wanted to – so later, Fred went upstairs to talk to her. It turns out that she’s been going to church every week because her SO CALLED FRIENDS have been pressuring her into going by telling her that if she DIDN’T go, she’d go to Hell. Fucking Jesus freaks. One of the problems that comes along with growing up in the Bible Belt, I suppose. Fred told her that she should tell her friends we wouldn’t let her go to church anymore, and if they had a problem with that, they could give us a call. The spud seemed almost giddy with relief – “I like the singing part,” she said. “But then we have to listen to Anthony talk for a long time.” – and was happy and cheerful for the rest of the night. We really should have seen this coming, I suppose. Not only did the spud seem to have problems with Anthony’s anti-gay lecture, since she has a friend who is bi, but last week she came and asked if she would GO TO HELL if she watched Charmed. Apparently Anthony has a problem with it what with the witchcraft aspect of it and all. I believe the attitude around the And3rson household at the moment is “Fuck Anthony, for he is the one who is the ball licker.” We’re kind of hoping that the spud’s friends tell Anthony that the spud’s heathen folks won’t let her go to church anymore and that he shows up at the house. I think I’d have to break out the camera to record THAT little confrontation.

* * * I meant to mention this yesterday when I was talking about Nairing the fuck out of my face. Years ago, I had a device that would yank the hair out by the roots – it wasn’t an Epilady, but something similar – and I’m only sorry that I don’t have it anymore. It hurt like hell to use it on my facial hair, but once I got it done, the hair would stay gone for a good, long time. I think someone out there should get the hair lasered off their face and tell me whether it hurts or not. * * * POSSIBLE SURVIVOR SPOILERS. SKIP TO THE NEXT SECTION IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT YET. My god in heaven, what is WRONG with those people in Drake? Why is Jon’s ANNOYING FUCKING ASS not gone with the wind? WHY? He acts like he’s perpetually high and he’s definitely a perpetual annoying asshole. I think that Rupert made some serious brownie points with Drake when he went back to them without taking part in the reward challenge he helped Morgan win. God, I love Rupert. And how cool is he for working his ass off for Morgan instead of sitting around and pouting? Osten continues to annoy me. I hate listening to Darrah; that is one horrible accent she’s got, and I can hardly understand a word that comes out of her mouth. Like Fred said to me last night, she’s really pretty until she starts TALKING. * * * Poor Stanley. All he wants to do it play, and none of the big cats will play with him. This morning, Miz Poo was snuggled up to me, and Stanley hopped up on the bed, saw her, and got so excited that he galloped across me on his way to her. He jumped at her and put his arms around her neck, hoping to play, and she freaked out and smacked at him. She’s hissing and growling a whole lot less than she did when we first brought him home, though. I guess she’s decided that you can only hold on to that state of hysteria for so long before it gets too stressful. Stanley’s developed a big, round belly in the last week. He’s so funny looking now, because he’s a skinny cat and you can feel his spine when you pet him, and then he has this big round gut. I suspect he likes the food we provide more than the food he was eating at the shelter. Also, he’ll eat anything even remotely food-like. Fred gave him a piece of popcorn earlier this week, and he hoovered it down. That cat sure does crack me up. * * * 1. Name five things in your refrigerator. Mini Babybels, cottage cheese, Diet Coke (for me), Diet Vanilla Pepsi (for the spud), a gallon container of tea (for Fred). 2. Name five things in your freezer. A stack of Lean Cuisine Pepperoni pizza, Lean Pockets, leftover seafood gumbo (for Fred’s lunches), Blue Bell vanilla ice cream, frozen blueberries. 3. Name five things under your kitchen sink. A spray bottle of ammonia and water, extra sponges, Oxi-Clean, a spray bottle of Clorox Clean-up, Electrasol dishwasher tabs. 4. Name five things around your computer. My Steakout cup, filled with water. A can of compressed air to scare away the kitties when necessary. My digital camera (Sony Cybershot DSC-P50). Our digital camcorder (JVC GR-D7OU). A pile of papers that need to be dealt with (but that won’t happen anytime soon, I’m sure). 5. Name five things in your medicine cabinet. It seems to be a weird thing that in the south there aren’t medicine cabinets in the bathrooms (or perhaps it’s just the houses in this area?) We use a cupboard in the kitchen as our medicine cabinet, and it contains: Tylenol. Aspirin. Advil. Pepto-Bismol. Metamucil. Nothing too exciting, obviously. * * * I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before, but recently I was in the spud’s bedroom, and saw a list on her bed entitled “Things I will need when I get my own apartment.” Naturally I read it. Oh, shut up. You would have read it, too! Number three on the list after bed and tv/vcr? Pepto-Bismol. At least she’s got her priorities straight. * * * I love the look on his face. For some reason, during the day he prefers to stretch out next to the cat bed, instead of stretching out in it. He likes to sit in this chair and watch the kids play outside. We’ve been talking about buying a halter and leash for him. It would crack me up to be able to take him for short walks down the street. That would also put me firmly into “That crazy-ass woman who has all the cats” territory. Miz Poo could probably crush Stanley by dropping on him from this height. ]]>