Category: Life

The other day, as we were laying in bed talking, Fred turned to me with a smile. “What?” I said. “Bessie,” he said. “I think it’s time to switch beds.” Because he’d said that before and changed his mind, I didn’t believe him. I just smiled and nodded and changed the subject. But last night, after we watched The Amazing Race, he said “Why don’t we go upstairs and switch the beds around now?” I’ve been coveting Fred’s bed pretty much since he bought it. It’s a queen and smaller than the king-size bed I’d been sleeping in, but it’s a much nicer bed with a firmer mattress, and I thought it would look better in the master bedroom with all the dark furniture than the king-size bed did. In about half an hour, we had the beds switched around, and I was right. The queen-size bed looks better in the master bedroom than the king-size did. I need to buy a new comforter for the bed, though, because the red, green, and gold doesn’t really go with the blue chair in the corner of the room. I went to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to look for a new comforter today, and didn’t see a single thing that I wanted. I think I’m going to order this one. And this is what Fred’s room looks like now (he didn’t want the headboard, so it’s basically a frame with a boxspring and mattress): Oddly, though the bed is bigger, his room looks bigger than it did with the big, dark bed in it. And the master bedroom looks bigger with the smaller bed in it. I didn’t sleep terribly well last night (Miz Poo was freaked out, and insisted on sitting next to me and digging at the sheets half the night), but I think that when I get used to the new bed, I’ll sleep like a baby. At least, I damn well HOPE I do, because I don’t want to have to switch the beds around again.

1. Is your hair naturally curly, wavy, or straight? Long or short? Naturally wavy, I guess you’d call it. It can get curly in the back sometimes when it’s layered, but for the most part I’d call it wavy. 2. How has your hair changed over your lifetime? When I was a kid, my mother kept my hair fairly short. When I got in high school, I went between very short and just past shoulder length. I haven’t had it really short in about 10 years, but I have been going back and forth between long and chin-length. 3. How do you normally wear your hair? Normally I wash it and let it air-dry, pulled messily back in a clip. Once or twice a month I’ll blow it out straight, although it doesn’t really stay straight. I blew it out this morning so I’d look decent tonight (we’re going out to eat), and it was pretty straight this morning, but now this is what it looks like: I kinda like it, though. 4. If you could change your hair this minute, what would it look like? All one color, for one thing, because my ends tend to lighten a lot between colorings. I’d like to have stick-straight hair that dries completely straight with no fuss. 5. Ever had a hair disaster? What happened? My first perm was a total disaster. I wanted a body wave, and I ended up with a poodle perm. GodDAMN did it suck and look horrible. I can’t believe I ever got another perm in my life, but until my early 20s I regularly got a perm. Momma loves The Poo.]]>

(That’s a yawn, not a bitch)

One day last week I stood in my closet looking for a shirt to wear, and I said to myself “Self, you sure do have an awful damn lot of light gray t-shirts. What’s up with that?” And then I answered myself with “Bite me. I can’t help it if Cafe Press doesn’t offer t-shirts in various colors! White or gray, that’s it! (Except of course for the baseball t-shirts, which are white with a choice of red arms or blue). Don’t bitch at me, bitch at Cafe Press!” Then, I stopped and thought about it, which hurt a little. I came up with a possible solution, and the next day I stopped at the drugstore and bought two small packages. The packages then sat on the desk by the door because I am nothing if not a procrastinator. Yesterday, I got a bug up my butt (figuratively speaking), and I did what I’d planned to do, and it was good. That’s right, I dyed the motherfuckers. I think they came out pretty well, too, although I think I would have preferred the blue one to be a bit lighter, and the yellow one to be less gold. But they’re not light gray – which is SO not my color – and thus I’m going to declare the experiment a success. Apparently my love for the music of Lisa Marie Presley is limited to two songs: “Lights Out” (because really, how can you not laugh a little bit at the line “In the damn back lawn”?, and also, it’s got a good beat, and I can dance to it. If I could dance, that is. Does anyone get that “It’s got a good beat and I can dance to it” line, or are you all too young? And further, if you go to this page, you can listen to the song in Windows Media, and you won’t have to go do that illegal download thing that will blow up your computer, just because I like the song) and “Nobody Noticed It” (which I LOVE, because I love the sad songs. You can also listen to that one on the page linked above). The rest of her songs, however, kind of sound alike to me. I guess 2 out of 12 ain’t bad. Speaking of sad songs, have I mentioned that I love the sad songs? If I put together a compilation cd of my favorite songs, they’d probably make y’all want to kill yourselves. (And now someone will email me to tell me that suicide is no joking matter) I talked to the spud this morning. She didn’t go to the zoo the other day because it rained all day, so they went shopping instead. Lisa, the ex’s fiancee, had the spud professionally measured , and then bought the her a bunch of new bras at Victoria’s Secret. I am oddly amused by that. Reminds me of the (Jeff Foxworthy?) story about how he came home and his wife was folding laundry. He picked up a skimpy pair of underwear, leered, and said “Hooo, when are you going to model these for me?” His wife smiled and said “Probably never, since they’re YOUR DAUGHTER’S UNDERWEAR!”, at which point he screamed and threw the underwear across the room. This is Spanky. He is the cat who, on every trip through the bathroom to the bowl of food, stops and says “HOLY SHIT! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!” when he sees the bath mat sitting in front of the shower. In front of the shower, where it always sits. And then he spends half an hour poking at the rug with his paw, backing up, and then walking forward to poke-poke-poke again. If you make a loud noise, he will jump three feet in the air and haul ass for a safe place. Uh, I mean, I think he’ll do that. I don’t know for sure, because I would never deliberately scare him. Nope, not me.]]>

Jenniffer sent me the link to this at the beginning of the month, and it absolutely cracks me up. Check it out. And also, thanks to reader Tammy, who sent me this link. I’ve seen it before, but it had been a while, so I enjoyed reading it again. I’m thinking that’s something that would happen to us. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already.

In the most recent copy of People, there’s an article about Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart, talking about how they’re so in loooove. So all I can wonder is whether Melissa Mathison (Harrison’s ex-wife, or soon-to-be) sees the cover of him talking about how in love he is, and thinks “Motherfucker. He never told People how he was soooooo in love with me when WE were together!” Harrison Ford, it seems, is into long-term monogamy. He was married to his first wife for 20 years, and his second wife for about the same. I guess in 2023, we’ll be hearing about the Ford/ Flockhart breakup, and how he’s dating Carys Zeta Douglas (that would be the 2 month-old daughter of Catherine Z-J and Michael Douglas, for the uninformed out there. And it scares me that I knew not only the child’s name, but approximately how old she is.) I’m going to stop mentioning The Fancy One all the time. Assume that he’s still gone if I haven’t said he’s back – though if he shows up, you know the second thing (after calling Fred) I’ll do is post to let y’all know. Thanks for all your suggestions, but I really do think we’ve done everything we can do to let everyone in the neighborhood know to keep an eye out for him, and there’s no inch in the house that has gone unchecked in our search. I really do suspect that he’s honoring another family with his Fancy ways, and when he gets bored with that, he’ll mosey on home. We decided last night that I’ll definitely be flying to Maine in July, rather than driving. Originally, I was going to drive to Maine to bring the spud’s old computer with me, to give to my nephew Brian. Then I discovered that the spud’s old computer is a piece of shit, and won’t even play The Sims (which Brian loves to play) and that the computer Brian has now is actually a better computer than the spud has. Then, after looking at ticket prices, we thought I should drive to save money (it really pisses me off that a one-way ticket from Portland to Huntsville costs as much as a round-trip. That’s bullshit, it really is). But after checking out the price of renting a car (we no longer trust our Jeeps to get me to Maine and back) and then renting a room one night on the way there and one night on the way back, it’s not really that much more expensive to fly. And it takes up a lot less time, which is always a good thing. So flying it is. We had yet another visit from the squirrel who comes by to partake of the bird seed we provide. (“Partake” always makes me think of Billy Crystal saying “But I would be proud to partake of your pecan pie.” in When Harry Met Sally.) We recently bought some cheap tinfoil sheets to put on the ground under the bird feeders, to catch all the bird seed the bastardly Blue Jay likes to toss on the ground. The ground feeders seem to like it, because they can feed from the ground, and it keeps the seed from piling up and attracting flies and all sorts of bugs. We put a neoprene weight on each sheet to keep it anchored. The squirrel was rather pleased, it seemed, that he wouldn’t be required to climb up to the bird feeders this time around. “Mmm… so nice of those And3rsons to put out seed for me…” “Did I just hear the whining sound of a small animal – a portly cat perhaps?” “Where on earth is that sound coming from?” “Oh, heavens! A kitty coming after me!” Somehow, despite the fact that Miz Poo sat under the tree for at least an hour, watching for that damn squirrel to come down, I failed to get a picture of her.]]>

know. I’ve never been the patient sort.

The spud is now in Rhode Island. She flew from Orange County, California to Rhode Island on Sunday, and according to her itinerary was to land in Rhode Island at 7:30 Eastern time. I waited and waited and waited for her to call, and when it had been 2 hours since her flight landed she still hadn’t called, I sucked it up and called her father’s apartment. They’d decided to go out to eat on the way home, and had just walked through the door when I called. All was fine, nothing went wrong, and now she’s spending a week with her father and his fiancee before going up to Maine. I can officially stop worrying about the spud having to fly on her own, since she won’t again, at least this summer. She called this morning to talk to me. She’s getting a little better about talking on the phone, but there are still too many long, long silences. I got an earful about her father and his fiancee, how they’re looking for a new apartment, but can’t seem to find one they like, how they only have marshmallows in the house (mmm.. marshmallows), because instead of keeping a store of food they go out each night and buy whatever they need to to make dinner, how Lisa (the fiancee) was at work, and was going to call in sick tomorrow so they could go to the zoo. You know – more than I ever really wanted to know about the ex and his fiancee, really. At least the spud is good at forthcoming with the details. If she knows the answer, she’ll tell me, which is a good thing, considering my nosiness. In my comments yesterday, reader Elana pointed out that Tubby looks an awful lot like Cartman, from South Park. I definitely see the resemblance. A definite good mail day today. I checked the PO box to find a t-shirt from the wonderful Rachael. Is that perfect for me, or what? In fact, as I told Rachael when I emailed to thank her, I think that my new journal tagline should be Bitchypoo – just one big fuckin’ ray of sunshine. After some coaxing… Miz Poo… …shows that damn Hand O’ Evil just exactly who’s the boss ’round these parts. ]]>

Can you see Spot reaching out, hoping to be Fancified? Fancypants was not trapped in the house of the people who moved – they’re actually still living there, it appears, or at least getting the house ready to be sold. He also was not trapped in the moving truck, but thanks for the suggestions, y’all. Fred said last night, “I keep thinking that Fancypants is trapped in the house somewhere.” Every time the washer or dryer is running, Fred thinks he hears a cat meowing, and ends up going to investigate. There’s no way he could be in the house, though – we’ve searched every corner, every cabinet, every closet, every inch of every room.

So, if you’re a pain in the ass, and you get into your big, expensive pain in the ass vehicle, and you drive your yuppie self to the nearest McDonald’s, and you plan on placing a great big special-item order (“A cheeseburger with no onions. Another cheeseburger, this one with no ketchup. A third cheeseburger, with no pickles. A large fry with no salt. A large fry with extra salt. A Diet Coke. A regular Coke. An iced tea, with only lemon. An iced tea, with no lemon and no sugar. Oh, and could you write on the wrapper to all of those cheeseburgers exactly what each is, so I won’t have to unwrap it with my lily-white fingers and figure out which cheeseburger goes to which kid?”), would you kindly get your big bitchy ass out of your big gas-guzzling SUV (yeah, I know, potkettleblack) and haul your ass INTO the store so that you can oversee the creation of your order? Because if someone in line behind you (hi!) at the drive-up is intent on only ordering a salad and a (super-size!) Diet Coke, and you spend ten minutes screaming your huge fucking order into the drive-up speaker, and then remark loudly to your travelling companion how stupid those idiots at McDonald’s are, and then you spend another 5 minutes screaming at the drive-up lady who takes your money, and THEN you sit at the second drive-up window for yet another 5 minutes, going painstakingly THROUGH your order, unwrapping each sandwich to double-check, tasting fries to be sure they’re done correctly, shaking your BIG FUCKING BITCH HEAD the entire time, what will that accomplish? I’ll tell you what that will accomplish. That will cause the salad-and-Diet-Coke lady behind you (hi!) to, after paying for her order at window #1, and after watching you SHAKE YOUR BIG FUCKING BITCH HEAD for 10 minutes as you smugly tell your travelling companion that McDonald’s isn’t as good as Burger King, to put her vehicle in park – while still in line – lock her doors, walk past your STUPID YUPPIE BITCH SELF, walk into the McDonald’s, lean into the drive-up booth and say brightly, with a smile, “Hi! I see that you have a real pain in the ass in the drive-up. I’m behind her in line. Could I have my order? A salad and Diet Coke? I think that’s it, right there.” And not only will the drive-up folks be THRILLED to hand her order to her, but they will ALSO ask her if she’d kindly take the order to the people in line behind her, and she will be just as thrilled to comply. And yet, after all your pain in the ass-ness, when she walks by your big fucking SUV and mutters “GoddamnmotherfuckingpaininthefuckingassBITCH”, you will be somehow be surprised. And you will be further surprised and appalled when the TWO vehicles behind you pull out, having received their orders, despite all you’ve done to prevent that. Pet store kitties are here. So, we went to see The Matrix Reloaded on Saturday. I made Fred buy me a Diet Coke, because the movie time was messing with my usual lunch time, and there was no way I was going to sit through a 2+ hour movie without something to drink. (If I’d been thinking before we left the house, I would have stuck a can of Diet Coke in my purse and thus saved us $145. But I wasn’t thinking, which is all too common in my life these days, and thus we had to spend $8 for 2 large Diet Cokes. Damn.) We were walking away from the snack bar, when Fred gestured at the far wall, where posters for future movies were hanging. “There’s a movie about…” he squinted and then blushed. “Oh, never mind.” After much persuasion, he confessed that he’d seen the movie ratings poster on the wall and thought there was going to be a movie about the ratings system. We decided that would be a pretty boring movie, indeed. Hee! I just finished reading How to Be Invisible, by JJ Luna, and found it pretty interesting, although I did have a dream that I was being stalked, and had to put the principles of the book in motion. It was a good book although there were parts that made it clear it was originally published in 2000, specifically the parts dealing with flying without using your name. Post-9/11, I don’t see that happening. JJ Luna thinks like I do, at least in part. At one point in the book he says “If you don’t know the person ringing your doorbell, why bother to answer the door?” Amen to that! “Meh. MEH. Meh!”]]>

The Matrix Reloaded this afternoon. Not a bad movie. Any movie where you can catch the occasional glimpse of Keanu Reeve’s ass is pretty good in my book. We stopped on the way home at the Farmer’s Market for peaches and cantaloupes, grapes and jam. I love summer. Now if Fancypants would just get his ass home.]]>

kept it up even after I grabbed the camera. I’m still working on getting a Miz Poo movie together.

So, the point I completely forgot to make yesterday when I was talking about watching Out of Order with Fred: At one point, Eric Stoltz and Felicity Huffman – whose characters are married – are having a party. An Ecstasy party to be exact, because they’re screenwriters and doing research. So almost everyone at the party (there are 4 or 5 couples) gets hopped-up on the E and the women head out to the hot tub, naked. Naturally, the men follow, and after sitting in the hot tub for a while, they all head for the pool. It was then that I turned to Fred and said “You know, I have to confess that I’m glad I don’t know anyone who would be willing to come over and do drugs and skinny dip with us.” His response: “No kidding!” Repressed? Us? You know what pisses me off? Books like Rebecca’s Tale and The Little Friend, which are about a murder. You read the entire book, breathless with anticipation to know who the fuck dunit, and the author CRAPS OUT, and you never get to know. I HATE THAT SHIT. Before you say it, I KNOW that you don’t always get to know who the fuck dunit in real life, but I’m not paying $10, $15, $20 to wander around in real life. If I wanted to be in the real world, I’d put the fucking book down, wouldn’t I? I want some escapism, I want some entertainment, and I WANT TO KNOW WHO THE FUCK DUNIT. Argh. Last night while we were laying in bed talking, Spanky decided he was in the mood for some Mama love. Miz Poo was already snuggled under the sheets by my ankles, so he carefully walked around the lump that was she, and climbed onto me. I was laying on my side, and after doing some looking around, Spanky decided that he would be most comfortable with his ass as close to my face as possible, and the rest of him stretched out along my side and hip. He finally settled in, and Fred and I kept talking. For the record, the half hour we spend in bed talking every night before he toddles off to his own room is probably my favorite part of the day. It was almost bedtime, and then suddenly Spanky shifted and started wheezing. “Wha – ?” I began, and then I realized that he wasn’t wheezing. He was barfing. “Did he just BARF ON ME?!” I bellowed, and he jumped off of me and ran out the bedroom door. Fred turned the light on and we saw that, indeed, Spanky had barfed up a big ball of cat food and cat hair for a good 4 inches along the comforter covering my legs. He’s just lucky he didn’t barf on my bare skin, that’s all I have to say. Fred and Miz Poo have this funny game they play. Fred will wave his arms out to his sides and making a hissing kind of sound. Miz Poo, if she’s feeling playful, immediately runs into the library and lays down on the big platic Target bag we keep in there most of the time. She keeps a wary eye on the library door, waiting for Fred to appear. When he does, he waves his arms around and makes the noise again… ..and she goes as flat as a Portly Poo can. If Fred makes the noise again, she gets riled up. Sometimes… …she goes to the other side of the bag and goes flat again, as if we can’t see her big butt sticking up. If Fred makes the noise again, she might… …dig at the bag, trying to get under it and away from Fred. Eventually, Fred goes over to her and pats her, then encourages her to get inside the bag – which she loves to do – and then swings her around. You’d think a cat would hate being swung through the air in a plastic Target bag, but you’d be wrong. She loves it. (Unfortunately, I didn’t get any pictures of that part of the game) It’s much cuter in action, so I’ll try to get a little movie of it next time. 1. What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do, but never have? I’d love to sky-dive or bungee jump. Maybe someday. 2. When someone asks your opinion about a new haircut/outfit/etc, are you always honest? It depends on whether it can be changed. If it’s a new haircut that nothing can be done about, I’d lie my ass off. If it’s a new outfit they’re planning to wear somewhere important, I’d probably give my honest opinion – pointing out that it’s just my opinion, and I’ve never been the most stylish gal in existence. 3. Have you ever found out something about a friend and then wished you hadn’t? What happened? Nothing comes to mind. 4. If you could live in any fictional world (from a book/movie/game/etc.) which would it be and why? Probably the world James Bond inhabits, wherein you can do all kinds of crazy shit and be okay at the end. 5. What’s one talent/skill you don’t have but always wanted? The ability to sing well. I mean, I can sing, but the paint peels off the walls when I do, so I try to avoid it in public. Is he a good boy? Why, yes. Yes he is.]]>

Pet store kitty pictures are here.

So Tuesday, as I was having my hair done, I chatted with the hairdresser. We were talking about the spud, and how she was out in California, but leaving on Sunday for Rhode Island and then a week later, Maine. “Does it ever get warm in Maine?” Ev asked. “Because you don’t think of it being warm up there, ever.” “Yeah,” I said. “It gets very hot and humid and sticky up there during the summer, and no one ever has air conditioning.” She nodded, and a few minutes later asked “Is there anything to do up there? Won’t she get bored? You never hear about people going to Maine on vacation.” My eyes bulged out of my head. “Well, yeah, there’s lots to do,” I said. “It is, after all, Vacationland.” She gave me a blank look. “That’s what it says on the license plate. Vacationland.” “Oh, really? Do they get many tourists up there?” “Uh, yeah. You could say that.” Especially considering how many times the words “Fucking tourists!” came out of my mouth when I was living up there. I guess it’s funny – she’s from this area, and can’t imagine why anyone would want to go to Maine on vacation. I’m from Maine and can’t imagine why on earth ANYONE would come to this part of the country on vacation. Tell me again how it is that I ended up living a zillion miles from the ocean? Oh yeah. About five minutes after I put up yesterday’s entry, I glanced out the front window, and saw an ugly, dark, scary-ass bank of clouds in the sky. The clouds were moving faster than I’d ever seen them, and it was extremely windy. I half expected to see a funnel cloud drop down at any second, but when I turned the TV on, none of the local channels had anything but a thunderstorm warning, and the tornado sirens weren’t going. Since I decided I wasn’t in immediate danger of dying, I did the natural thing. I took a picture. This is at 3 in the afternoon, by the way. A few weeks ago, I taped the premiere of the new Showtime series (or is it a mini-series?) Out of Order. I’ve loved Eric Stoltz since Some Kind of Wonderful (although he was a TAD creepy in Once and Again), and I’ve loved Felicity Huffman since Sports Night. Anyway, we were watching it, and after Eric Stoltz has been propositioned by Justine Bateman (don’t act like you don’t remember her from Family Ties. And if your response is “Family what?”, then shut up you little whippersnapper.), he picks up the phone. “All riiiight,” Fred said approvingly. “He’s going to call the one who wanted to sleep with him!” (Fred likes to pretend he’s a DAWG to get on my nerves. It works well, especially when I have PMS.) Only, Eric Stoltz didn’t call the one who wanted to sleep with him. He called the other one, the one he wanted to sleep with. “Why?” Fred said in disgust. “Why would he call HER when he’s got a sure thing with the other one!” “Because!” I snapped (PMS? Hi.). “He doesn’t WANT TO SLEEP WITH MALLORY, HE WANTS TO SLEEP WITH THE OTHER ONE!” Five minutes later, Justine Bateman’s boobs gave Eric Stoltz the eye. Fred squinted. “Is that Justine Bateman?!” As I smacked him soundly about the face and neck I yelled “WHY DO YOU THINK I CALLED HER MALLORY?!” Luckily for him, two days into my period the PMS is almost gone. For the first time in, like, forever, I cleaned the upstairs – INCLUDING DUSTING – and the downstairs – ALSO DUSTED – in the same week. Frankly, that never happens, and I’m starting to suspect they’ve replaced my Diet Coke with liquid speed or something. Not only did I clean upstairs and down, I also cleaned out the closet in the kitchen (damn did it get nasty), went to Wal-Mart for new litter boxes, and – are you ready for this? – cleaned out my car. Which, if I can go by the receipt for March of 2002, hasn’t been cleaned in a long, long time. It’s clean now, by god, and if I get a bug up my butt one of these days, I very well might actually take it to the car wash and even vacuum it out. Hell, I’ll probably even end up cleaning Fred’s Jeep before we go on vacation for the 4th of July weekend! Somebody stop me! Such a fancy thang.]]>

Playboy (last month’s or the month before, I don’t recall which), I have come to like Lisa Marie Presley. This surprises me, frankly, because I expected to think she was a whiny little brat. She’s not, though – she seems to have a sense of humor and doesn’t take herself too seriously. And DAMN she looks like her father. Who’d’ve thunk Elvis would be so good-looking as a girl? I’d even like to see her in concert, but she’s going to be in Maine when I’m in Alabama, and Alabama when I’m in Maine. Bah. It should probably be noted that I was certain, as a child, that Lisa Marie was my separated-at-birth twin sister, because in a picture of my father as a young man, he strongly resembled (at least to my eyes) Elvis, and Lisa Marie’s birthday is only about a month after mine. Too bad it’s not true – I could definitely have used some of those Presley genes. (Insert joke about how she got the “Young, good-looking Elvis” genes and I got the “Old, fat Elvis” genes. Heh.)

Fancypants, it appears, is missing. The last time I can definitely say that I saw him was Sunday night, when I got up to go to the bathroom and saw him laying in the chair in the corner of the room, which is an unusual place for him to lay. I may have seen him sometime Monday, but if I did I’m not remembering it. I didn’t notice that anything was amiss until last night around 6 when Fred said “Have you seen Fancypants lately?”, and I realized that I had not. It’s not unusual to go for most of the day without seeing him, because he spends part of his day sleeping in the guest bedroom, and part of his day outside wandering around the yard or jumping the fence to do god knows what. I usually catch sight of him when I go upstairs to take my shower after working out, and he almost always comes in and visits while we’re watching TV in the evening. We went out driving around last night, hoping to see him running fancily across a yard, or jumping over someone’s fence, but didn’t see a thing. As I told Fred, though, we don’t really know where he goes once he’s over the fence. He might stay in the back yards in our neighborhood, or he might cross the busy street our back yard faces to go into that neighborhood. We just don’t know. He’s wearing a collar (hot pink!) with his name, and our address and phone number on it, but it’s a breakaway collar, designed to come apart if he gets hung on something. Fred called Animal Control and made a report. They hadn’t seen any fancy black cats, but they’ll keep an eye out for him, and they’ll check with the guy who goes around cleaning up roadkill. Yeah, roadkill. I know it’s only been a few days, and I also know that cats tend to roam and it’s entirely possible he’ll come sauntering home in a day or so, but it’s hard thinking that he’s out there, possibly hurt, possibly dead, and just not knowing. I’ll say that I do rue the day that damn neighborhood cat jumped over our fence, and Fancypants was sitting there watching. I could see the light go on over his head at the realization that – “Hey! I don’t have to try to go UNDER the fence! I could jump OVER it!”, and there was no holding him back from there on out. There have, you’ll recall, been times when I’d have liked to toss Fancypants out the door, lock it, and never set sight on his fancy little ass again. But as much as I’ve hated the little bastard from time to time, I love him too. He’s the bad-ass kitty of the family, out tomcatting all night long, then coming in and making Tubby groom him all the live-long day, then swishing across the floor, meowing pitifully for attention. Mamas always secretly have a little extra love for their bad kids, and as much of a pain in the ass as he can be, I love to pick him, flip him over on his back like a baby, and rub his belly. And as much of a badass as he pretends to be, he likes to have his belly rubbed. Fred and I were talking last night, and I suggested that maybe Fancypants has become close to another family in the neighborhood and decided to throw us over for them. “Yeah!” Fred said with a grin. “They saw that his name is Mr. Fancypants, and said ‘Oh, we’ve GOTTA keep this cat! Poor thing! Who would name their cat Mr. Fancypants?'” Oh, I know it’s unlikely, but I’d rather believe he’s living like a king somewhere else than think of the alternative. I will, of course, keep y’all informed if we learn anything. ]]>

‘Twas a busy, busy day here in BitchyLand. I had a hair appointment at 9:30, then had to run to the post office (more about that in a minute), then get groceries, and run to Sam’s. At the post office, I mailed out the stuff people won in this week’s giveaway (don’t bother to go look, I haven’t put anything new up yet), and then checked my mailbox to find three – three! – packages for me. Well, the slips for the packages, anyway. In those three – three! – packages, in no particular order, were: Book marks and marble magnets made just for me by awesome reader Jolie! With smiley faces and everything! A big-ass box of candles, from Say’s store. And they smell absolutely amazing, especially the Almond Joy ones. Oh, and the Mulberry ones. Oh, they all smell amazing! I’d be burning one right now, but it would be overpowered by the smell of the red beans cooking, so I shall wait. She also stuck a fish-shaped Banana Kiwi soap and a pack of gum in with the candles. Clearly she’s been looking in my pantry and knows that I just opened my last pack of gum last night! Last, but certainly not least, from reader Suzette, along with one of the Bullshit! tapes (I believe that makes 4 lists who’ve finished with their tapes), a memo pad with an adorable kitten at the top. Love it! So, thanks Suzette, Say, and Jolie, you definitely made my day!

While at the post office, I was standing in line, filling out a couple of delivery confirmation forms. As I finished the second form, I heard one of the postal workers say “Next?” I grabbed my boxes and looked up, and as I stepped forward, this little old lady came out of NOWHERE, swerved around me, and stepped up to the counter. I stared, my mouth hanging open. “Did she just cut in line?” the guy standing behind me asked. “I’m not sure,” I said. “I just looked up, and she was there!” “She was over there looking at stamps a minute ago. She did – she cut in line!” he said, and then tsked in disapproval. Bitch. This morning, a moving truck pulled up to the house of the realtor who lives two doors down from us. The movers spent all morning moving furniture and boxes into the truck. As I sat in front of my computer, the truck pulled out, drove two houses further up the street, backed into the driveway, and now they’re moving everything into that house. I am oddly amused by that. “Oh me, I’m so bored. I think I’ll go sit on my plastic bag… Wait! What is that The Daddy holds?” “I don’t understand. Why would The Daddy put a paper bag on the floor and then walk away? Does he not understand the magic of sitting on a bag?” “I’m sitting, but the birds are chirping and distracting me. I don’t feel the magic. Where is the magic?” “Hmph. I’ve got better things to do. I’m outta here.”]]>