Category: Life

recapping The Newlyweds! And also, Nance has gone un-passworded, so I don’t have to strain my brain every time I go to her site! Lastly, Pamie has herself a blog. I find that to actually see the whole blog I have to reduce the IE window size and then maximize it. I have no idea why it works, only that it does. It’s a good day, indeed.

* * * Fred came upstairs this morning after I thought he’d left for work and made me get up and get my nightgown on and come downstairs with him. (He also made fun of me for walking funny because I can’t completely straighten my legs due to Wednesday’s lower body workout kicking my calves’ ass) He opened the back door and invited me to step outside. And that’s when I felt it. Finally. The very first Fall coolness in the air. Time to get out the sweaters! * * * Every once in a while, when he’s trying to cough up a hairball, Tubby will make this high-pitched sound, and it sounds EXACTLY like he’s saying “Mama.” It’s fucking creepy as hell and every time it happens it takes me by surprise and the hair on the back of my neck stands up, and it’s all I can do not to run screaming down the street, even once I know what’s making the sound. I can’t even describe to you how creepy it is. It’s so creepy that just thinking about it creeps me out. Last night, Fred and I were laying in bed talking (just talking, Nance!)(heh), and during a moment of silence a long, squeaky sound began and went on and on and on. It sounded like it was coming from the far corner of the room – which is where I’d last seen Tubby – and every muscle in my body locked. I held my breath while it went on (and on!), and when it ended Fred said nothing. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” I shrieked, sure that Fred was as freaked out as I was. He started laughing. “I was making a whistling sound through my teeth!” Freak. * * * There’s a cricket somewhere in the computer room, and every now and then he sings a little song for me. If I could locate him, I’d shoo him into a big cup and take him outside, but his little song kind of echoes around the room, so I’m at a loss. I’m sure we’ll find either his dead body in a few days, or cricket legs spread across the floor culminating in a pile of kitty vomit. Something to look forward to. * * * 1. What housekeeping chore(s) do you hate doing the most? I’m not terribly fond of any of it, really, although I’d say cleaning the bathroom ranks pretty high on the list. I’ve only done it once since I got home from Maine – I’m waiting for Fred to start whining about how nasty it’s looking before I actually get off my ass and clean it, though. The thing that pisses me off about cleaning the house is that as soon as it’s done, it needs to be done again. I need to win me the lottery so I can hire full-time cleaners. A full-time chef, too, while I’m at it. That said, I do keep the kitchen fairly decent, and pretty much keep on top of the laundry. 2. Are there any that you like or don’t mind doing? Actually, no. I hate it all. I vacuum more often than anything else, because getting the cluster of dust bunnies off the floor always makes the house look cleaner than it is. 3. Do you have a routine throughout the week or just clean as it’s needed? Every now and then I think “Monday I’ll clean the upstairs. Wednesday I’ll clean the downstairs. Thursday I’ll do laundry. What a plan!”, and then Monday I clean the upstairs, and Wednesday I say “Fuck it.” When the voice in my head with it’s “GodDAMN it looks nasty in here, are we EVER going to clean?!?!” gets unbearable, I clean. Luckily I’m pretty good at ignoring that voice. 4. Do you have any odd cleaning/housekeeping quirks or rules? I don’t think so – maybe my insistence on shining around the sink when I clean the kitchen is a little quirky. 5. What was the last thing you cleaned? Myself! I took a shower this morning! Heh. Uh, last thing I cleaned in the house… Dishes. I did dishes earlier, and wiped down the kitchen counters. So there! * * * This is Miz Poo’s “Mother, may I have some love?” look. Every night while we eat dinner, Spanky flops down in the sun and washes himself… ..stops to see what’s going on (nothing)… And washes himself some more. * * * Previously 2002: FUCKING telemarketers. 2001: I turned to Fred and said “He looks all dilemmanated, doesn’t he?” 2000: Trip to Tennessee.]]>

* * * So, my sister’s friend Kristine has adopted two adorable little gray kitties, and is having a hard time coming up with names for them. One is light gray and white, and the other is a darker gray tabby with white. Oh, and they’re both girls. Got name suggestions? Leave ’em in the comments! Debbie, if you love me you’ll borrow Mom and Dad’s digital camera and take pictures of them and send them to me. Because I love the little kitties, dontchaknow.

* * * Reader Kat sent me another absolutely hilarious “cup of shut the fuck up” picture. Go check it out. I think it’s the big smile that makes me laugh until I wheeze. * * * The hummingbirds are apparently going to stick around for a while – I’m fairly certain they’re nesting in one of the trees in our neighbor’s next yard. There are at least two of them, and one of them is always chasing the other one away from the feeder. I have no pictures to share at the moment, because I’ve been too busy watching them to actually take pictures; they’re so freakin’ cool. Fred must certainly love me a lot, because I think I’ve said “Oh! He’s eating… Oh! The other one chased him off. DAMN they’re cute!” approximately 45,000 times, and Fred hasn’t killed me yet. He’s probably just tuning me out. * * * Have I mentioned that the spud goes to a youth group at the church every Wednesday night? Well, she does, and no – we don’t know where we went wrong. Last night we picked her up from church, and as she got in the car, she said “Guess what the subject was tonight?” “What?” Fred and I chorused. “Homosexuality,” the spud said, and then went on to tell us the many wonderful things the youth minister had told them about homosexuality, and how god cried when the Texas courts overturned the law against sodomy. Fred lectured the spud that it was GOOD that the law against sodomy was overturned, because what two consenting adults do in their bedroom is no one else’s business, especially not the government’s. (Though personally I think there should be a law against noxious farts)(And in the interest of full disclosure, I’d be doing jail time at certain times of the month) It’s at times like these that I’m thankful my husband has such a keen analytical mind and knows the Bible so well, because he can pretty much counteract the teachings of Anthony the youth minister when necessary, whereas if it were left at me, I’d probably end up spluttering “Yeah, well FUCK Anthony!” As we pulled into the driveway, the spud said “Anthony said a gay guy came on to him, and Anthony felt really sick and thought he was going to throw up!” I think Anthony needs to get off the farm a little more often. * * * Jeez. I just did a virus scan on my computer and it took almost 90 minutes. There’s something wrong with that. But hey! At least I didn’t have any virii. * * * I haven’t had to vacuum the bed even once since I put these cat beds on the bed. Spot does seem a bit cramped in the small bed, though. I might need to buy one last big cat bed. “Get OUT of my face, or I will chew your eyes out!” The word “addled” comes to mind when I look at this. It also makes me giggle a lot. Damn he cracks me up. Previously 2002: What I’ve been doing. 2001: I’m wise to your stalker ways, Margaret! 2000: No entry.]]>

Tracy. (Another Tracy, not my brother Tracy. But I love him, too!)

* * * So last night we were sitting in front of the TV watching Joe Schmo, which by the way is pretty damn funny (the first hour of it, at least – we taped the second hour, which we’ll watch tonight) because they found the biggest schmo in all of America to be the sucker who doesn’t know that the “reality show” he’s on is no reality show. Anyway. We were watching the show, and it went to commercial. A trailer for The Order came on. “Is that Heath Ledger?” Fred asked. I confirmed that it was. “Hey!” I said as Shannyn Sossamon‘s face flashed on the screen and then the trailer ended. “That’s… that girl.” I thought hard. “What’s the movie that Heath Ledger was in as a knight?” “Uh. A Knight’s Tale,” Fred said distantly. “Yeah, she was the girl in A Knight’s Tale!” I said. No answer from Fred. “You know, the girl? The love interest?” Again silence. Birds chirped in the distance. I finally looked over at Fred, who was staring at the TV screen, his eyes glazed over, his mouth hanging open, a thin string of drool stretching from his lower lip. I looked at the screen to see what had him so fixated, and saw a commercial. A Just for Men commercial. As it ended, Fred came out of his trance, swallowing and wiping the drool from his lip. He blinked and turned his head to see me staring at him. “Huh?” he said. I guess Spike TV really IS television for men. * * * Lately, we have been using a certain line from Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back almost constantly. Yesterday in the car, we were discussing Amazon and their way of ordering that drives us crazy, and how their ranking system makes no sense, and also the way we’ve sent them, like, 50 books and they claim to have sold 3 and have only 8 in stock, and really nothing about it makes sense to us. “Fuck ’em,” I said, which is my standard response to most anything these days. “Just fuck ’em.” “That’s right,” Fred said. “THEY are the ones – “I began. “who are the ball-lickers!” he finished. Yep. We’re dorks. * * * While I’d like to take the credit for coming up with “a nice big hot steaming cup of shut the fuck up”, it was reader Belinda who sent me this picture, which made me desperate to use the line. She said she saw it and immediately thought of me. I can’t imagine why… * * * I know that I’ve bitched about Staples plenty of times, so here’s a story about how they rock. I ordered a new chair mat online from Staples because the one I have has cracked and has pieces of plastic sticking up which impede my progress from one side of the mat to the other side of the mat. Because my chair has rollers on the bottom, and I am a rolling fool. Fred wrote about the last time I bought a new chair mat. Read it to the end; re-reading it had me laughing so hard I cried. So I ordered the new chair mat, and yesterday as I was doing something which escapes me at the moment (something important, I’m sure), my cell phone rang. I answered it (usually I let it go to voicemail, but I decided to live dangerously for once). It was someone from Staples’ customer service letting me know that the mat I’d ordered was out of stock and wouldn’t be in for 2 – 3 weeks. He went on to tell me that there was a similar mat available, and I agreed that it would be fine to substitute that mat for the one I’d ordered, because I’m not picky about that sort of thing. And then he said they’d waive the delivery fee, because the one I’d ordered wasn’t in stock. Staples rocks. * * * Spanky’s sexy cheesecake pose. The happiest! kitty! in the world! Spot, right before he turned tail and ran for the cat door, because he is of the impression that he’s not supposed to be outside. I have no idea why he has this impression, and I always tell him he’s fine, he can stay out, but he always freaks out anyway. Previously 2002: When married characters are that cruel to each other, all you can think is, “Why the hell are they married if they hate each other so much?” 2001: Gatlinburg pictures! 2000: No entry.]]>

The Muddy Rudder in Yarmouth, ask if Millie’s working, because she’s a kick-ass waitress. Things I want to do in Maine in 2004: 1. Go on a Bailey Island or Portland Cruise 2. Walk around the Back Bay in Portland (I never have!) 3. Walk the bike path in Brunswick (I never have!) 4. Go to Boothbay or Bar Harbor Things I do not need to bother packing when I’m packing for Maine in 2004: 1. Blowdryer or any kind of hair styling things (curling iron, etc.); you won’t use ’em, and if you need a blowdryer there’s one on the premises 2. More than 5 pairs of pants or 5 shirts. There’s a washer, y’know. We saw a license plate that said “IMI UBU2”, and I thought Debbie was going to pass out, she was laughing so hard as we discussed the possibility that rather than it meaning “I am I, you be you, too”, it was someone’s name. “Ibi Ubu!” she giggled all the way home. “Ibi Ubu!” Maybe you had to be there. And lastly, while we were at The Christmas Tree Shop in Portland, I picked up a paperback, read one paragraph in the middle of the book, and decided that it was probably the worst book ever written. Blood Posse, y’all. I’d even rank it below that fucking Mulvaneys book.

* * * So the spud has decided that she’s interested in collecting coins, this interest probably brought about by her visit with her paternal grandparents earlier this summer. So she wanted a certain kind of envelope to keep said coins in, and I ran her over to Staples last night so we could find them and buy them and she’d shut the hell up about them. As we drove home, the spud sitting in the passenger’s seat, happily clutching her box of envelopes to her, I reflected upon just how BORING the act of collecting coins is. I mean, the only thing more boring is collecting stamps, I’m sure. And then I remembered that when I myself was just a tad younger than she, I collected bottle caps. I had hundreds of the fucking things, all kept in a coffee can, and every time someone in my family found a bottle cap, they were all “Hey, do you have this one?”, and I’d get excited and say “I do, but this is in MUCH better shape!”, and I’d hold it happily to my heart. One day I realized what a freakish thing it was, to collect bottle caps for no reason, just the sheer act of collecting them, I decided I was lame, and I tossed ’em in the trash. They’d probably be worth a fortune these days. (Hee!) * * * And amen to this: Ex-Smokers are not ex-smokers, they are the televangelists of QuitWorld, and do they have a story for you! I’ve never smoked (except for that one week when I was 19 and didn’t actually inhale. The first time I did actually inhale was the last time I ever put a cigarette to my mouth. But I think I’ve told that story before), and I’m far more tolerant of smokers than many ex-smokers. See, I’m a big fan of “Say it once, maybe twice, and then keep it to yourself, because NO ONE is interested”, whether it’s about smoking or drinking or failing to clean the bathroom in a timely manner. * * * The sunset from our back yard. Miz Poo hanging out in the back yard. ]]>

* * * So how about that Ethan Hawke/ Uma Thurman split, eh? For the uninformed, apparently he was shtupping a 22 year-old Canadian model. Uma found out about it, talked to him, decided they could work past a one-night stand, AND THEN HE KEPT SEEING THE HO. Y’know, I’ve never really understood the great appeal of Uma Thurman, she’s always seemed kinda funny looking to me, but most of those model types usually do. Give me Janeane Garofalo any day. But I could see that she had far too much class for the likes of Ethan Hawke, because anyone who insists upon being introduced as “Actor and Novelist Ethan Hawke” every single time (and you KNOW he insisted on it, was all temper tantrumy, screaming and beating his fists on the floor, wailing “ACTOR AND NOVELIST! ACTOR AND NOVELIST!”) is so pretentious that when it hits him that his wife far outclasses him in every way, he’s not the big-ass star he thought he’d be, and no one’s buying his damn books (which I know, because they don’t introduce him as “Actor and BEST-SELLING novelist Ethan Hawke”), well that’s the sort of man who feels entitled to start fucking any random 22 year-old who can stand to have him. Nope, not an Ethan Hawke fan, not really. (In the interest of full disclosure: I have not read any of the books created from the genius brow of Ethan Hawke, because when I hear “Actor Ethan Hawke has written a novel!”, I think “Oh, shut the fuck up and go away.” It may be brilliant. I sincerely doubt it, but I’ll accept that the possibility – however far-fetched – exists. And also in the interest of full disclosure, I had a crush on him when I saw him in Dead Poets Society. Shut up, you did too. My crush lasted about ten seconds until I saw the fey Robert Sean Leonard. Hello, dahling.)

* * * We went to feed the ducks yesterday to get the hell out of the house for a little while, and so Fred would stop his GODDAMN gotta-go-somewhere-gotta-do-something dance, and I would like to report that yesterday, unlike our trip to the lake near UAH on Friday, was quite calm. On Friday I was pecked several times by evil Canada Geese who didn’t think I was handing out the food nearly quickly enough and wanted me to hop to it. Yesterday – probably because people like to go to the lake on the weekend and feed the ducks and geese – they weren’t nearly as frantic. Why, they were downright mannerly, waiting patiently to be fed. They still stood a little too close for comfort, but it beats being pecked. They crack me up, the way they start running toward us when they realize there’s food to be had. This white goose is an aggressive motherfucker, and if you don’t feed him quickly enough, he’ll coming running at you, hissing and honking. And if you’re not careful, you’ll lose a finger. * * * Today, we went to Montesano State Park, where we grilled hamburgers and had potato salad and coleslaw. We also went on a bit of a hike while we were waiting for the fire to die down. There were an awful lot of people who had the same idea, but the tables were far enough from each other that you didn’t feel crowded. It’s a nice, sunny day out if a bit muggy, and we had a pretty good time. And now I must nap. * * * Miz Poo hopes we NEVER sell all those books. How else would she get up on top of the bookcase? ]]>

“I see the Poo looking at me, but if I stay very very still, maybe she’ll go away…” “Hmm… she’s still looking at me. Why won’t she go away?” “I’m tired of waiting. I’m going to haul ass for the nearest fence, and trust that I can go faster than those portly little legs can carry her.” (The squirrel was pretty much over the fence before Miz Poo knew what was going on) Such a purty boy. “I am NOT too big for this thing, I am NOT too big for this thing…” “Meh.” “Me-yawwwwwwn.”]]>

Sometimes I miss Maine with a visceral pain and I wonder whether Alabama will ever truly feel like home the way Maine does. Sometimes I wonder how on earth I ended up living so far from the ocean. Sometimes I am saddened knowing that I can never move back to Maine. Sometimes I wonder why I’m so resistant to change. Sometimes I can’t wait until Fred gets home from work, and I practically sit at the front window with my tongue hanging out, panting happily like a puppy. Sometimes I wonder if I could sneak something into Fred’s food to cut down on the gas factor. But I think he’d be seriously depressed if he didn’t have the Joy of Farting in his life. Sometimes I wish I could adopt every kitten I see, and let them live long, happy, healthy lives in comfort and peace. Sometimes I wish I could spay and neuter enough cats in the world so that there would never be another unwanted kitten. Sometimes I think people who are cruel to animals should be strung up by their toes and left there to slowly, painfully die. No, strike that. I always think that. Sometimes it amazes me that people who shit (figuratively speaking) on those around them can be surprised when no one wants to be near them. Sometimes I want to get pregnant IMMEDIATELY and give birth to triplets and spend the next 20 years raising them. (But mostly, I do not) Sometimes I wonder when I’m going to get my ass in gear and write down the stories which have been bouncing around in my mind for years. Sometimes I wish I could shave all the cats so I’d never have to see another dust bunny compiled of nothing but cat hair go sailing across the floor. Sometimes I wish I was someone who found cleaning the house fulfilling or soothing, or even something I could force myself to do on a daily basis. Sometimes I think about heading to Canada, swinging by to pick up Nance, visiting Mo, and dog-napping Vince. (But I know that the argument over who gets to be Thelma and who gets to be Louise would probably degenerate into a slapfight somewhere before we hit the Canadian border) Sometimes I think I’d like to live in Canada, then I remember it gets all cold and shit up there, and I consider Florida instead. Sometimes I lay in bed at night and think about my cottage, and it seems so real that I can almost touch it. And sometimes I end up dreaming about my cottage, and I wake with a smile on my face. Sometimes I lay in bed at night and dream about what I’d do if I won the lottery, and I come up with very elaborate ways to give money to friends anonymously so we wouldn’t have to do the “Take this money!”, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly!”, “TAKE IT!” dance. Sometimes I think I’m evil, because I laugh so hard I cry every time one of the cats gets startled and jumps three feet into the air. Sometimes I wonder how I lucked out in this life and ended up with such a great husband, kid, and life. Sometimes I’m just a great big sap.]]>

Go Fuck Yourself“, after all.

* * * I forgot to mention this yesterday – that big picture I bought in Maine is here. After I got several inquiries about it, I knew I had to go looking for it, and after a half hour search on art.com, I found it. I also like this one by the same artist, but I really really LOVE this one. I love that last one so much, because that’s exactly how I envision the bedroom in my cottage. Except that the bedroom in my cottage has long sheer white curtains that blow in the breeze. * * * I also forgot to mention yesterday that pet store pics are up here. * * * I see a little silhouetto of a Poo, Scaramouche, Scaramouche, are you going to bite your Mama? Little teeth and paws are very, very fright’ning. (Little Poo.) Little Poo. (Little Poo.) Little Poo, Little Poo figaro Yeah. I hate it when songs keep bouncing around in your head and you have to make up your own words to them to stop the bouncing. * * * So I only caught a few minutes of the Video Music Awards on MTV last night and missed the Madonna/ Britney slurpfest, but I’ve certainly seen enough pictures today to make up for having missed it. Does this mean that next year there’ll be two guys with their tongues in each others’ mouths? I nominate Viggo Mortensen and Olivier Martinez! Won’t happen, since neither of them has anything to do with MTV or videos. I can’t think of any male singers I want to see trading spit, though. Except maybe Snoop Doggie Dog and Eminem. Oh, god. That’s not even funny. * * * 1. Are you going to school this year? No, and I thank god for that every day. 2. If yes, where are you going (high school, college, etc.)? If no, when did you graduate? I graduated from high school in 1986, and took some college courses in the late 80s and early 90s. 3. What are/were your favorite school subjects? I liked English and Psychology. 4. What are/were your least favorite school subjects? Any kind of math beyond the basic adding/ subtracting/ multiplying/ dividing gave me fits. I was also not terribly fond of Gym. Shocking, no? 5. Have you ever had a favorite teacher? Why was he/she a favorite? Mr. Hall, because he was funny and he didn’t take himself too seriously. * * * Tubby is laying on the living room floor, so I flop down onto my stomach to get some pictures. Before I can take a single picture, he’s up and on the move. He walks over to me and headbutts me in the side. He lays down beside me and peers at the camera. He gives me a Look O’ Love. He peers at the camera again, and this time we see that the Evil Poo has appeared. Miz Poo saunters over and sniffs around to determine what’s going on. She shoots an evil look at Tubby, who is laying far FAR too close to Her Mama. She walks over and sniffs at Tubby, then smacks him upside the head. Tubby retreats to a safe place.]]>

Allison said in her journal that she was hooked on Newlyweds (the MTV show with Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson), I looked to see when it was on, and voila! It was on yesterday afternoon, so I made a special point of checking it out. And I’m embarrassed to admit that I think I’m hooked, too. That Jessica, though, I don’t know about her. On the first show, they were eating something with tuna in it for dinner, and they’re sitting on the couch eating, and she says “Is this fish or chicken that I’m eating here?” And Nick gives her the “Please, babe. I’M TRYING TO WATCH THE GAME!” look and says “It’s tuna fish. We’ve had this before.” And she says “Well, why does it say “Chicken of the sea” on the can?” Oh my lord. And then they interviewed a maid to come organize their messy-ass house, and they were sitting and talking to her and Nick says “So, how much would you charge?” And the maid doesn’t come out and say “Oh, I charge blah-blah per hour”, she just kind of shrugs and stares at them, and birds chirp in the distance, and then finally Nick says “Well, let us show you around, then maybe you’ll have a better idea” and they show her around, and then she’s about to leave, and he says again, “So how much will you charge?” and the woman SHRUGS AND MUMBLES SOMETHING, and he finally says “Well, we can discuss it Wednesday when you come…” So she comes Wednesday and spends, like, 6 hours folding and putting away clothes and maybe cleaning the kitchen, and when she’s done for the day, he’s all “Okay, how much do I owe you?” AND SHE STILL WON’T COME OUT AND GIVE HIM A NUMBER. She shows him a check with a number on it or something, and he’s like “120? 140?”, and they finally decide on 120, so he goes and gets some cash and pays her, and then he’s talking to his friend (or maybe his brother) about whether $20 an hour was too much, and I’m thinking: Kids? Should you have not settled the money issue BEFORE she left the first day? These kids need someone to come organize their lives is what they need. And I think Jessica Simpson’s parents must have been about 10 years old when they had her, they’re so young looking. Nick was auditioning dancers for his video and Jessica was dealing with the jealousy of it all, and I thought “You know, I’m sure glad Fred’s not a singer who has to make videos with girls rubbing their booties all over him”, and then I remembered how Fred reacts when someone flirts with him, and I decided I’d kind of like to see strange girls try to rub their booties on him, just to watch him run screaming from the room. Any volunteers?

* * * Yesterday afternoon I had just finished making my dinner (we were having sandwiches for dinner, which translates to “Get your own damn dinner, I’m not cooking”) and was about to head for my desk (yes, I eat in front of the computer sometimes) when I suddenly heard the sound of a cat coming through the cat door, and then some frantic squeaking. “Tubby!” Fred said scoldingly, and so I put my plate down and went to see what was going on. Tubby was hunkered down, and in his mouth was not the mouse I expected to see, but a small bird. A cardinal, to be exact. Ironically, just half an hour earlier I had called Fred to the window and pointed out a bird. “I think that might be a baby cardinal,” I said, coming to that conclusion because he not only looked like a cardinal, but also was squawking at the adult male cardinal to be fed, and the male cardinal would pick up some bird seed and drop it in the smaller cardinal’s mouth. Fred had to pretty much pry Tubby’s jaws open to get him to drop the bird, and I went to grab a box and some paper towels to put the bird in. He was bright-eyed and loudly squawking, but wasn’t moving much. We put him in the box, and then put the box in the garage for a while to see what would happen. About half an hour later, when it was time to run to the post office for our nightly drop-off-the-book-orders run, we went to open the box and see what the bird was doing. As we opened the box, the bird jumped several inches into the air, squawking loudly. I ran screaming to the other side of the garage, because I have a secret (not so secret now!) fear of birds, because I just know that some day I’ll be minding my own business, and a bird will swoop out of nowhere and attach itself to my face and peck out my eyes, and my won’t that suck. When I ventured back to the other side of the garage to peer into the box, the bird had gotten himself over on his back, and was squealing exactly like a baby pig – weeweewee! – and kicking his legs furiously. After some debate we decided to put him in the back yard so his mother and father could keep an eye on him, and shut the cat door so the cats couldn’t go after him, and one way or another nature would take its course. Fred gently placed him in the grass and the bird hopped a few hops, and then fell over onto his back, squealed like a piglet and kicked his legs furiously. Fred set him upright again, and finally he hopped under the shed, and stayed there. I wandered over to the bird feeders, where Tubby had caught his prey and decided that perhaps the reason the bird was having some difficulty staying upright was because most of his tailfeathers were gone. Tail feathers, and some Tubby hair. I checked outside a few times through the evening but neither saw nor heard him again. The cats were a tad freaked out that the window was closed, and Spot walked around meowing his squeaky meow for a good part of the night, but this morning the little bird was nowhere to be seen. After we went and fed the cats at the pet store, we came home and Fred sat down to his computer and his coffee, while I headed upstairs to take a nap, because I hadn’t slept very well last night. I’d been asleep about half an hour when I was startled awake. I took out an ear plug and heard a squeaking noise. I sat straight up and saw Fred running through the door. “Where did he go? Where is he?” he asked. “I don’t know,” I said, and there was another immediate squeak. Fred dropped to his knees and looked under the bed, then began scolding Tubby. Eventually Tubby dropped the bird, and Fred held him up so I could see him. He was certainly bright-eyed and pissed off, squeaking and squawking and looking around. Fred grabbed a box and put him in it, and after thinking about it, decided to run him over to the vet’s office. This afternoon Fred called the vet’s office to check on the bird, and unfortunately it had died before the vet could get to it. Poor damn bird. * * * Miz Poo loves to jump up on my desk and lay down between me and the keyboard, so that I may scratch her belly and her ears, and other various parts that need scratching. Sometimes, if I’m busy, I shoot compressed air at her, and she lays her ears back and runs away. But sometimes, if I’m just surfing, I’ll scratch and scratch and scratch and kiss and hug and scratch, and she will purr her ass off. And then, after a while, she reaches overload, and instead of laying and being petted, she starts biting and kicking and growling at me. This morning, I got a picture. Evil looking, isn’t she?]]>

cute little kiiiiiiiitties! I need a baby kitty! Wah!” and then half a second later you’re like “If I don’t shove 43,000 calories of pure milk chocolate with some kind of creamy nougaty filling in my face RIGHT FUCKING NOW, I’m going to kill you all!” and then you’re all “GodDAMN shut UP, I just want to curl up in a ball and sob into the pillow AND I CANNOT DO THAT IF YOU’RE LOOKING ALL CONCERNED AND ASKING ME WHAT’S WRONG AND YOU DON’T LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE ME!”, and before you drift off to sleep, you’re all “Damn these boobs, DAMN THEM TO HELL, WHY must I gain 15 pounds of water in each boob EVERY damn month!”, that kind of PMS? Yeah, it sucks.

* * * Oh man, this is so cool. You can enter a url and your email address and this site will monitor the url you provide for changes, and when there’s a change it’ll send you an email. Kind of like a notify list for those awful people who don’t have one, or the bloggers who don’t update every day. It’s a godsend is what it is. Of course, it won’t work on sites that are passworded or require membership to read, but it sure helped me clear out my nibelung ring. There must be other sites out there that do this as well; if you know of one you really like, feel free to leave a comment about it! * * * Did I mention that the PMS Fairy came and made my boobs the size of Pamela And3rson’s head? It wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t also HURT. Damn PMS Fairy. * * * In case you don’t read my comments (and why not? We had a perfectly good butts3x discussion going on in there the other day!), you can find the cat print, which is entitled “Fat Cat Capsizing” (thanks Christy!) here, for one, though a search on “Fat Cat Capsizing” would probably bring up other places to buy it. And the egg-shaped cats (at least some of them) can be found here. Now pull the por-shuh around, Muffy, and let’s run to the Tar-zhay. * * * That Elizalou, such a copycat with linking to the old entries. Of course, did I mention that I copied the idea from Shelley, who copied the idea from Beth? Copycats, the lot of us. * * * Embarrassing confession: It wasn’t until this past weekend that I realized that Joyce Maynard and Jacquelyn Mitchard were two completely separate people. Apparently I had them blended into one person in my mind. I did think it was odd that Twelve Times Blessed and The Usual Rules came out at pretty much the same time. * * * What is wrong with me? (Don’t answer that!) I have this horrid habit of knowing that something is going to suck and yet, I still buy it and read it or watch it anyway. My friend Skip told me that the Carni3 Wils0n book sucked in a big way, and I totally believed her, and yet I still bought it and read it for myself. And that’s an hour and a half that I’ll never get back. I’ve read the reviews and I know – just KNOW – that Solaris is going to suck in a big way, and yet? I rented it yesterday. I guess sometimes you just have to see the suckage for yourself to realize the depth and breadth of it. * * * I sure do love that kitty. Soon, I’ll just give up and cover the entire people bed with kitty beds, and sleep on the floor in the corner. At least the kitty hair is being contained to the kitty beds instead of being spread all over the (too-dark) bedspread! Sweet-looking, ain’t he? Who’d ever think… …he could be so bitchy?]]>