Category: Life

Hee! Despite my ladylike appearance (::snort::), I do enjoy a good fart story. * * * Joley emailed me this morning and correctly pointed out that the entire family is mean to each other on Everybody Loves Raymond, so she was confused that we didn’t like King of Queens because they’re always so mean to each other, but still like to watch Raymond. I think what bothers me about King of Queens is that the meanness is a one-note “You’re fat!”, “Yeah, well, you’re a bitch!”, whereas on Raymond there’s the occasional sense that Ray and Deborah are in it together – especially when his mother gets involved. Okay, I think what it actually is, is that Ray’s mother is so evil that I love watching her, I can’t help it. And every time she does something evil (but well-meaning), I thank my stars she’s not MY mother-in-law. * * * Yesterday was a really good mail day. Not only did I get the latest copy of US Magazine (Justin tells his side of the story! Woo! Actually, I’m not holding my breath – I’m sure it’s going to be some half-assed “It just wasn’t working out because we were both travelling all the time blah-de-blah.”), but I also received some pretty cool stuff. Cristen sent me not only a cool smiley-face-themed keyring, but also a Les Mis postcard. Whee! From Wendy, a lovely handmade thank you card for sponsoring her. And from Krishanna, another cool handmade card! Pretty, isn’t it? I defy you to show me another journaller who has readers half as cool as mine! * * * I’ve recently gotten back into cross-stitching, and upon digging through my bag of cross-stitching stuff, I found a couple of ornaments I’d cross-stitched last year, and which only needed to be cut and put into their little plastic frames. They’re pretty cute, and I haven’t decided whether I’m going to hang them on our tree this year, or give them away. I’ll probably end up giving them away, because we have plenty of ornaments for our tree. Anyway, naturally I snapped a picture of each of them: I only bought them to have something to do with my hands while watching TV, and they worked pretty well for that. I’m currently working on a large picture I started about 5 years ago. I think I should have it done in another week or so, and then I’m going to take it to be framed. Fred thinks I should put it up for sale on eBay, but I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with it yet. Here’s what part of it looks like, anyway: Pretty, no? I love the colors in it, especially the shades of blue and pink. * * * I recently looked at one of my old entries, and found a picture of a tiny ivy plant I bought back in November 2000, here. This is what it looks like today: I just love ivy – it’s impossible to kill, almost, and it thrives no matter where I put it. And speaking of ivy, I took this picture of an ivy-covered hill when Fred and the spud and I took a roadtrip last Sunday. I think I like ivy-covered hills as much as I like kudzu-covered hills. They’re so gorgeously green, whether it’s been a dry season or not. And while I’m sharing plant pictures, here’s a shot of one of the rosebuds on one of the rose bushes I can see from my chair in front of the computer. Love that color.

* * * Previously 2001: I’m wise to your stalker ways, Margaret! 2000: No entry.]]>

Any idea who that is? Why, that would be one Justin Guarini from American Idol, back when he was trying to tame his hair. I still think he’s creepy, but the untamed look definitely does him better. * * * I was up late last night (I’ve been going to bed around 11:30 recently, so I was up later than that, is what I mean), and after I read some of the book I’m reading – Cherry, by Mary Karr, which has some laugh-out-loud moments in it, but I didn’t like as much as The Liars’ Club – and then did some cross-stitching, and was about to go to sleep when I decided to flip through the TV channels one last time. On HBO was Monica in Black and White, which I had heard about when it first came on back in March (I think), but I hadn’t seen any of it. I flipped over to the show when it had been on for about half an hour, and I watched for another half an hour. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: I feel sorry for her. I mean, I’m sure she never imagined that the relationship (if you can call it that) with Clinton would ever turn into the media circus that it did. And she’s well aware that the way she handled the aftermath wasn’t terribly brilliant – she’s kicked herself over and over for that, you can tell. I actually had to change the channel a few times, because she was having such a difficult time talking about it all. My heart goes out to her because no matter what she does for the rest of her life, she’s going to be Monica Lewinsky, the punchline to a joke, and that’s got to be a pretty heavy burden to bear. * * * Hell, let’s make this an all-TV entry, shall we? It’s been a while since I’ve done that. Fred and I have recently started watching the CBS Monday night lineup, which consists of King of Queens, Yes, Dear, and Everybody Loves Raymond (we don’t watch Becker, because we don’t really care for Ted Danson), and we really like Yes, Dear, and Everybody Loves Raymond. The funny thing is that Fred had to be convinced to watch Yes, Dear and Raymond, but now he likes them enough to actually look forward to watching them. The King of Queens is mildly amusing, but the main husband and wife characters – Doug and Carrie – are so hostile and mean to each other most of the time, that it’s annoying. On top of that, every single week there are jokes about how Doug – the husband – is fat. It’s gotten to the point where we’ve started counting up the fat jokes to keep ourselves amused. Last night, there were four in the first fifteen minutes, and then we lost count. 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?”

* * * Previously 2001: Gatlinburg pictures! 2000: No entry.]]>

Eliza, but I kind of like the Dixie Chicks version of “Landslide.” I never saw Lindsey and Stevie on the live reunion show, though, so I don’t have that memory to compare it to. Speaking of the Dixie Chicks, though, I wish Natalie Maines would pay someone to teach her how to dress. I mean, I know the way she dresses is part of her charm, but my eyes! My eyes! Anyway, shhhh, don’t tell Eliza I would ever download that song, okay? It’ll just be between us, because I don’t want her to hunt me down and kick my ass.), and I accidentally clicked on “My Grokster” instead of “Grokster.” I realized my mistake (eventually), and closed it. And then clicked on Winamp. And then clicked on mIRC. And then clicked on Snood. “Argh!” I finally said aloud. “What the fuck?” I added. I closed everything, took a deep breath, stared at the screen until I’d located Grokster, and then opened it. (And downloaded “Landslide”, “Beautiful Mess” (Diamond Rio), and “Something Worth Leaving Behind” (Leann Womack). I also downloaded the Tori Amos version of “Landslide.” Shhh.) * * * The spud recently came home from school and asked if I had ever heard the song “Ironic” by Alanis Morrissette. “Yes,” I said. “Why?” “We listened to it in English today, because we’re studying the word ironic,” she said. “Do you have it on cd?” “You listened to it in English? What was the purpose of that, to show you the incorrect usage of the word?” “Heh,” she said, which is her usual response when she doesn’t understand what I’ve said, and further doesn’t really care to understand it. When she says “heh”, we correctly take it to mean “Let’s move it along, shall we?” “Heh,” she said. “Do we have “Ironic” on cd?” “Yes, why?” I said. “I was wondering if you could copy it to another cd for me so I could listen to it in my room.” “Sure,” I said. “Why don’t you make a list of other songs you like, too, so I don’t waste the whole cd on one song?” “I’ll think about what other songs I like,” she said, and that was it for a few days. Saturday, Fred and I came downstairs. The spud was in front of my computer, so I wandered into the kitchen to get water, and then I heard Fred say, very loudly, “I don’t THINK so!” Naturally, I had to investigate. “Bessie,” Fred said, all perturbed. “Look at the lyrics of the song YOUR DAUGHTER wants you to download and burn to a cd!” He leaned forward and highlighted some text on the screen: I’d rather be a pussy whipped bitch, eat pussy, and have pussy lips glued to my face with a clit ring in my nose then quit bringin’ my flows From the other room, the spud – who had left the room at some point – yelled “I TOLD you it had some bad words!” Some bad words. Heh. Needless to say, that song won’t be going on the cd I make for her. So far, “Ironic”, some song by Mandy Moore, and “Living on a Prayer” are slated to go on the cd, and she wanted to add a little Eminem into the mix. A rebel in the making, no?]]>

Smiley-face stickers! And a VW Beetle model to put together. Woohoo! Also thanks to Stephanie, who sent me: A smiley-face headband! My readers are cooler than anyone else’s readers. You KNOW it’s true! Thanks, Erin and Stephanie! That second picture was cropped so you can’t see the huge zit on my cheek. I developed that huge zit because we’re going to a family reunion tomorrow, where there will be 35 people, if not more, from Fred’s father’s side of the family, none of whom I’ve ever met. I think that having a huge, bright, raging red zit says “Glad to be part of the family!”, don’t you? At least this family reunion will be taking place at a good restaurant (I’ve never been there, but Fred has), and is taking place around noon. Hopefully we’ll be home by 2. It’s not that I don’t want to meet his relatives specifically, it’s just that I’m a freak about meeting new people, and especially being overwhelmed by 35 new people. And eating in front of new people. Basically, I’m just a freak. But you knew that. * * * 1. What’s your favorite piece of clothing that you currently own? My nightgown. I would wear my nightgown 24 hours a day if I wasn’t afraid of getting looks in the grocery store. 2. What piece of clothing do you most want to acquire? You know, I’m not really much of a clothes horse. I would like to fit decently into a pair of jeans, and that’s about it. 3. What piece of clothing can you not bring yourself to get rid of? Why? I have a Dilbert t-shirt that’s really way too big for me, but I keep wearing it. Probably because when I bought it, it was too small for me (that was when I was at my highest weight), and now it’s way too big for me. It’s kind of a reminder, I guess. 4. What piece of clothing do you look your best in? I have no clue. I like the way this shirt makes me look smaller than I am. Does that count? 5. What has been your biggest fashion accident? Probably most anything I wore in the ’80s. My fluorescent pink shirt paired with fluorescent pink socks comes to mind. Also, I had a pair of gumby-colored rubber high-heels that I wore the hell out of. I think my picture is probably next to the phrase “Fashion victim” in the dictionary.]]>

Poo hair Slurp water through long straw. Chew furiously on tiny piece of Trident White gum until it loses its flavor. Pet Poo with left hand while working mouse with right. Get mouthful of Poo hair in mouth. Swear, try to spit it out, and gulp down some water. Feel Poo hairs clinging to the back of your throat. Try to ignore. Successfully ignore until Poo sneezes in your face. Wonder if it’s almost time for lunch. Lunch: Get out the fixin’s for your favorite lunch. Pita pocket? Check. Pizza Quick sauce? Check. Mushrooms? Check. Fat-free shredded mozzarella? Mozzarella? Where is the mozzarella? Pick up phone. Dial husband at work. When he picks up, ask “Upon penalty of death, where is the shredded mozzarella I needed for my pita pizza?” Long pause. Long, long pause. Hear husband say “Boy, it’s hot in here, isn’t it?” Discover that husband is a rat bastard who STOLE your last little serving of fat-free shredded mozzarella for his own rat-bastard purposes. Threaten death. Call him names. Threaten painful death. Whine about the lack of mozzarella. When he offers that you could use the cheddar, whine that it wouldn’t be the same, and he’s a bastard and you hate him. Hang up the phone and seethe with hatred. Put the backup lunch plan into motion. Homemade French Fries 1 potato Olive Oil Pam Slice potato into french-fry-sized pieces (if you are very anal and counting calories, recall that 5 1/4 oz. of potato = 100 calories, and weigh it on your handy-dandy food scale). If you prefer thin fries, cut ’em thin, if you prefer thick ones, cut ’em thick. Place on baking sheet. Spray with Olive Oil Pam. Put in 475� oven. Set timer for 20 minutes (you can check the color and consistency of the fries during those 20 minutes if you want, but 20 minutes seems to work out pretty well for medium-thickness fries). When fries are done cooking, place on plate. Cover with 45 cups of ketchup, and tell yourself that that looks like it’s about 2 Tablespoons (which equals 30 calories). Make rest of lunch. Ham and Cheese Sandwich 2 slices whole wheat bread 2 slices cooked ham 1 slice nonfat american cheese 1 leaf of romaine lettuce dab of reduced-fat mayo slightly larger dab of spicy Boar’s Head mustard Line one piece of bread with mayo, the other with mustard. On mayo’d bread layer one slice of ham, the piece of cheese, other slice of ham, and then romaine lettuce leaf. Top with mustard’d bread, mustard-side down. Place sandwich on plate next to french fries (steal a french fry to eat, to tide you over until lunch is ready). Place a paper towel on the plate next to the sandwich. Dig three slices of Claussen Bread and Butter pickle out of jar, and lay on the paper towel (this makes it so that no pickle juice soaks into the bread of your sandwich). Take cereal bowl out of cupboard. Take prepared bag of salad out of the refrigerator. Be struck anew at the horror of having your mozzarella stolen by that rat-bastard. Allow yourself a small sob before moving on. Fill cereal bowl with baby romaine leaves. Drizzle approximately 1 T. Kraft Light Done Right 3-Cheese Ranch dressing on top of salad. Set bowl to one side. Try to decide what the fruit for the meal will be. Eye bowl full of lovely, plump black grapes. Eye not-quite-ripe peach sitting on the counter. Grab 1/2-cup measuring cup and measure out 1/2 cup of grapes (57 calories). Put in small glass bowl. Carry all dishes over to the table. Grab can of Diet Coke out of the refrigerator, pour into cup. Add 2 ice cubes. Carry over to table. Look for book. Find book. Set book on table. Look for hair clip. Find hair clip. Clip hair back. Sit down and eat while reading in this order: Salad, grapes, put salad and grape dishes in the sink, rinse grape goo off hands (one of the grapes was overripe). Eat sandwich, pickles, and french fries together (bite of sandwich, chew, swallow, bite of pickle, chew, swallow, french fry, chew, swallow, slurp of Diet Coke, etc.). When done eating, put dishes in dishwasher. Pour second Diet Coke. Record list of food eaten, along with calorie counts. Start dishwasher, grab Fudgesicle (60 calories) out of freezer, and head for the computer. Eat Fudgesicle and drink Diet Coke. Dinner Mini Meat Loaves 2/3 c. ketchup, divided 1/3 c. chopped scallions 1/4 c. egg beaters or 1 whole egg 1/2 t. salt 1/2 t. minced garlic 1 1/4 lb. ground round 1/2 c. quick cooking oats Line a pan with foil. Mix all ingredients; put 1/3 c. ketchup to the side. Mix well. Shape 4 equal loaves in pan. Brush loaves with remaining ketchup. Bake 25 – 30 minutes at 400. (454 calories per loaf) Except, instead of cooking two of those loaves, freeze them before they’re cooked. The spud doesn’t like meat loaf, so she’ll be eating a hamburger. While meat loaves are cooking, wash 2 large potatoes; cut into several large pieces (yes, leave the peel on. Those peels are a good source of fiber). Place in pot; fill with water. Put on stove, turn eye on high until water comes to a boil. Turn to medium. Peel 9 large carrots. Cut into 1″ pieces. Place in pot, fill with water. Cut medium-sized onion into small pieces; add to pot with carrots. Put pot on stove, turn eye on high and leave there. Five minutes before the mini meat loaves are done, put small pan on stove; add spud’s hamburger. Fry, occasionally flipping, until done. When mini meat loaves are done, take out of the oven to cool. Burn hand on cookie sheet. Swear loudly. Call husband (that damn mozzarella eater. Damn him!) names, because he deserves it. Bastard. Drain potatoes. Add to large mixing bowl, start mixer. Drain carrots and leave in drainer. Note that mixer stopped moving because the beaters are clogged up with potatoes. Add skim milk, salt, and pepper until the potatoes are whipped to a mashed-potato-like consistency. Call family to dinner. Listen to husband fart. Watch daughter laugh. Roll eyes and feel certain that YOUR mozzarella is what’s making him fart like that. Snack 1 box of Publix Bran Flakes 1 large container of raisins 1 carton of skim milk 3 packets of splenda 1 cereal bowl Measure out 2 cups of Bran Flakes; place in bowl. Measure out 1/8 cup of raisins; place atop Bran Flakes. Measure out 1 cup skim milk, pour atop Bran Flakes and raisins. Tear open packets of splenda and sprinkle over Bran Flakes, raisins, and milk. Grab large spoon out of drawer, and eat snack in front of the television. Yum. Finish bowl of cereal, and sit back, certain that you can feel those bran flakes moving through your digestive tract like little plows, pushing all previously-eaten food ahead of it. Gotta love the fiber. Even though none of the food it’s pushing along is mozzarella. Damn him.]]>

In Search of a Grownup. My favorite line in the entire article is the ultra-prissy Damon made out with one of his wife�s friends until Brenda told him that it was rude to do so because they had guests downstairs, a rule of etiquette with which I was not familiar. You know, I don’t believe that once you become a parent, every bit of you has to be absorbed into that role. Because if you define yourself for the rest of your life as PARENT, what happens when the kids have moved on and created a life of their own? What are you when you’re no longer PARENT? Is there anything left? If you feel the need to put a lock on the garage to keep your kids from walking in while you smoke marijuana, it may be nature’s way of telling you the time to drop the bong is when you put up the crib. Actually, I think that if you’re putting a lock on the garage to keep your kids from walking in while you smoke marijuana, that would be an example of keeping your kids out while you’re smoking marijuana, because you don’t want them to know what you’re doing, any more than you’d leave your bedroom door wide open with the lights blaring while you’re in there with your husband having sex. See, having sex is another thing that you don’t particularly want your kids to see you doing (no child should be subjected to seeing the sex face), so you lock the bedroom door. Having locked doors can be a good and necessary thing sometimes. Maybe Anna Quindlen would never dream of shutting a door between herself and her children, but I sure would, and the worst example you could give your child (when they get older, I mean – I’m not talking about you mothers of infants and toddlers, because you really do have to be attached at the hip an awful lot of the time, and I understand that) is to show them that there’s nothing else to who you are, that you live and die to be PARENT, and you have no other desire than to let your life revolve around them. I guess what really gets me is the implication that if you’re not living life Anna Quindlen’s way, it’s just flat-out wrong and you’re an awful, evil parent. I don’t have a problem with disagreeing how someone lives their life* – one of the downfalls of existing is that someone out there is going to think you’re a complete lunatic and the worst parent on Earth – but I do have a problem with the fact that Anna Quindlen saw that a facet of the van Dams’ life was one she disliked, and she jumped off that to insinuate that they were bad, lazy, evil, awful parents and really that’s the entire reason their 7 year-old daughter was murdered. Did she say that? Of course not. She lamely said Counsel never succeeded in making this relevant, as if she wished that they HAD made it relevant. She never once intimated that such a line of thought is idiocy. Which it is. Thus, the ladder fund. Want to contribute? *of course, just for the record, I DO have a problem with someone who disagrees with how I live my life emailing to tell me so, as if I should give a shit. In case there was any question.]]>

here.) * * * I’m looking for a picture of Renee Zellweger as Bridget Jones, in the bunny suit, to use as a temporary graphic for the Zany Chick page. If anyone could point me to that particular picture so that I don’t have to put the movie in and snap a picture of the screen, I’d appreciate it. (Got it! Thanks, you guys. You rock, you know that?) * * * We watched the crapfest known as The Sweetest Thing on Saturday night, and while there were a few laughs, overall it was crap. I don’t dislike Cameron Diaz, but I’m not sure I understand why she has an acting career. And I’ve seen far too much of her in her underwear. Time to stop that particular gimmick, thanks. Fred and I both noticed that Christina Applegate looks a lot like Jennifer Aniston sometimes. Also, there’s something I don’t quite understand. Why would you go home with a guy only to give him a blowjob and get nothin’ for yourself? I’m just curious, because honestly I don’t get it, not at all. Maybe it’s because I’m all old and repressed, you think? * * * This is from the giveaway page, and I thought I’d cut and paste in case some of you – horrors! – aren’t interested in the crap I find in the closets and under beds and offer up for free: This candle – from White Candle Barn – is frosted rose leaf scented. And it really does smell like roses. But I’m apparently quite odd, and sometimes something that smells like one thing to me also smells like another thing. This candle smells JUST like beer to me. I have no idea why. I’m a freak. And I can’t stand to have a beer-scented candle burning in the house, because if I wanted my house to smell like beer, I’d go on a week-long bender, wherein I spilled beer all over the house until the floors were so sticky they were like flypaper and the cats would get trapped halfway across the kitchen floor, meowing pitifully. And for the record, beer sometimes smells like apple wine to me. Yeah, I don’t know folks. I don’t make this stuff up, I just report it. And it’s not just candles, y’all. Wendy’s has a grilled chicken sandwich that I used to just adore. A year or so ago I used to eat it twice a week every week, sometimes more, and then I had to stop eating it because one day I went and picked up my usual lunch, and the sandwich smelled like bologna to me. And I’m not a bologna fan, so I swore off for almost a year, and now they don’t smell like bologna to me. Just so you know, I had to sing the “My bologna has a first name, O-S-C-A-R, my bologna has a second name, M-A-Y-E-R. Oh, I love to eat it every day, and if you ask me why, I’ll sayyyyyyyyy, Oscar Mayer has a WAY with B-O-L-O-G-N-A!” song to remember how to spell “bologna” in the above paragraph. * * * Mouse number three made it into our house last night after Fred went to bed, but unfortunately, this one didn’t make it out alive. I was sitting in my chair reading when I heard the elephantine sounds of the cats on the loose. I glanced up at the doorway and saw Spanky run by, and since he’s the house whipping boy for the other cats, I was sure they’d taken it into their heads to kick his ass for no particular reason. Half an hour later, Spot ran into the door, and I glanced up. He had a mouse hanging out of his mouth. “Spot!” I yelled. I was out of the chair in an instant and headed toward him. Spot did an end run around me and ran for his favorite place in the whole wide world – under the bed. “SPOT!” I bellowed. He made it under the bed, and I went for reinforcements. When Fred had been advised of the situation, I went back into the bedroom and slammed my hand on the bed. “Drop it!” I said loudly, sounding like a Drill Instructor. I was assuming Spot was torturing the poor little mouse, and I hoped that being ordered to drop it would startle him. I got down on the floor to see what was going on, hoping that the mouse wasn’t going to run at my face, because I would surely scream myself hoarse if that were to happen. The mouse was laying under one corner of the bed, unmoving. Spot was laying in the opposite corner, purring quietly. I stood up. “Is it under there?” Fred asked. “It’s dead,” I said. “Can you reach it?” Fred asked. “Yeah, but I’m not GONNA,” I told him. “You are. This is your job.” I got him a wad of paper towels, and he grabbed the mouse and looked closely to make sure that it really was dead. It was. Poor thing. Damnit. (That story would have been a lot funnier if the mouse came back to life and leapt at Fred when he had his face a few inches away, checking it for breathing. Alas, it didn’t happen. Poor mousie.)]]>

This picture is for Theme Thursday (yes, I know it’s Friday. Shaddup). The topic is Dog Days of Summer. See? I used a picture of a cat. Hee! Oh, I slay me… I would have used a picture of a cat flopped in the grass, but they weren’t interested in going outside yesterday. Speaking of Miz Poo, right now she’s laying under the desk and licking the top of my foot and purring to beat the band. * * * This morning, the spud came and knocked on my bedroom door to let me know that she was leaving to go wait for the bus. Fred stood in the middle of the room as I said goodbye to her, and then I remembered something and called her back to the doorway. “Please be careful to shut the door hard when you go out,” I said. “The past two mornings, it wasn’t shut all the way, and it blew open.” Luckily, I was right there when it blew open. It would surely have sucked to get up and go downstairs to see the door standing wide open and cats scattered all over the front yard. Fred smiled. “Okay,” the spud said, and we said our goodbyes again. When Fred was sure she was out of the house, he turned to me. “Actually, I’m the last one to go out the front door in the morning,” he confessed. “But you let her take the fall for you!” I said. He smiled. “I know.” Evil. * * * Someone recently asked me why I don’t have a page of links for the online journals that I read. My answer is that I am too lazy to keep up a list of links. This was proven by the fact that I had a list of links up when I first started the journal, and for the next year and a half I never once updated it. So I took it down, and I’m much happier without having that hanging over my head. I’ve thought about making a list of the journals I read as an entry, but the problem with that is that I’d forget someone – there are people who update very infrequently, and the only reason I know that they’ve updated is because I receive their notify email – and probably hurt their feelings, and they would say rude, snide (but probably true) things about me, and it would just be a big, bad fuckarow, and I just don’t need that. Also, if I stopped reading a journal – it happens, you know, and not because I particularly stop liking the person, but rather because I find that I’m skimming all of their entries or not looking forward to their entries – I would feel REALLY bad about taking it off the list, because that seems malicious. One of the reasons I have my notify lists set up so that I can only see who’s joining and not who’s leaving is because I don’t want to know if someone leaves and/or stops reading me. I mean, why would I? “Oh shit, so-and-so took themselves off my notify list, I guess they didn’t like my entry about blah-blah-blah!” Speaking of notify lists, if you have a journal and don’t have a notify list, get your ass in gear and start up a notify list. Y’see, I have so damn many things in my “Favorites” folder in IE that I hate adding things to it. I hate going to a journal and trying to figure out which was the last entry I read. I hate going to a journal and finding out that there’s been no update. That’s why I like notify lists, preferably notify lists that include a direct link to the entry for which the notify is being sent. Because all I have to do is click, and I’m there. No clicking from the front page to the most recent entry, reading the first paragraph, and realizing that I’ve already read the entry. So, to reiterate: go start up a notify list now, damnit! Yes, it’s a pain in the ass to send out a notify email when you’ve updated, but I’m worth it, aren’t I? * * * 1. What is your current occupation? Is this what you chose to be doing at this point in your life? Why or why not? Uh. I’m a domestic engineer, I guess. I did, in fact, choose to be doing this, and I’m lucky that Fred supports my lazy ass. 2. If time/talent/money were no object, what would your dream occupation be? I’d be a writer. No wait, I’d be a singer! Oh, or a veterinarian who specialized in cats. One of those. 3. What did/do your parents do for a living? Has this had any influence on your career choices? My father’s a quality assurance specialist at a ship-building plant. While I was growing up, he was an outside machinist (I have no idea what that is). My mother’s always worked at medical offices – when I was growing up, she worked the front desk (I think), and now she does billing. She hates working in the medical field, I think, but it’s what she’s most qualified to do, and her attempts to go into other fields were never very successful. This had no influence whatsoever on my career choices, mostly because my career choices have consisted of “Who will hire me?” 4. Have you ever had to choose between having a career and having a family? Nope. Heh. My illustrious career. 5. In your opinion, what is the easiest job in the world? What is the hardest? Why? Oh, this is an easy one. The easiest job in the world is the one you love, and the hardest is the one you hate. The easiest job for me is taking pictures of the cats and writing journal entries. The hardest is cleaning. Some domestic engineer, huh?]]>

Also, our rose bushes are responding well to the incredibly stifling heat and putting out blooms like nobody’s business. A gorgeous yellow butterfly has been flitting around in the front flowerbed for the past several days. He’s always out there, and if I want to see him, all I have to do is look out the window, and sooner or later he flits by. It’s kind of like a sign, isn’t it? I mean, I don’t know what that particular sign would mean, but it seems very sign-like. * * * The recipe for the poppy seed cake (hee! I originally typed “poopy seed cake”!) the spud made in Maine that was so scrump-dilly-icious is here. Also, the recipe for the blueberry muffins my mother made while I was in Maine is here. * * * Currently reading: Speaking with the Angel. A bunch of popular writers – Melissa Banks, Dave Eggers, Helen Fielding, Colin Firth (the actor, yes), Nick Hornby – each wrote a short story and contributed it to this book. It’s good so far – I’m on the story by Colin Firth at the moment, and enjoying it. * * * Something on the floor? I think you know what to do… Miz Poo would like you to know that her Momma is being very annoying with that friggity-ass camera.]]>