Category: Life

anyone "babe", let alone a woman he hardly knows). When, in the real world, Fred came out of the bathroom to get dressed for work, I was laying there, sound asleep, with a huge grin on my face. He woke me up, and I woke up laughing so hard tears came to my eyes. Definitely a good start to the day. Earlier, while I was still sleeping, the tabby I mentioned last week wandered through our back yard. Our cats were still inside, since it was cold out, and so Fancypants had to content himself for checking her out through the window.

And then, perhaps worried that there was food at stake, Tubby had to come check out the situation for himself (pardon the blurriness of the picture).
Pictures courtesy of Himself. Later, when I was sitting in front of the computer (like I spend 65% of my time – the other 35% is divided amongst sleeping, eating, craving junk food, and shopping) reading email, I glanced into the front yard, and saw Fancypants wandering through the flower bed directly in front of the window. "That damn Fancypants!" I muttered. "Jumped the fence again, I guess." A second later, I remembered that the back door wasn’t open, and hadn’t been opened in the five minutes since I saw Fancypants snoozing on the couch. Apparently Fancypants’ evil twin (except that I’m sure Fancypants is actually the evil one) now lives in our neighborhood. Today was another good mail day – I received a card in the mail from Suzy (thanks, Suzy!), and from reader Terry in Texas, who is apparently of the opinion (like me) that you can never have too many calendars, I received: two of ’em! Not a great picture, but you get the idea of what they look like. Now I need to decide where I want to hang ’em. Thank you so much, Terry! I’m still taking requests for stuff of which you wish to see pictures – I’ll probably do and post the entry for that on Monday. 1. What are the first things that you do in the morning to start your day? I lay in bed for ten minutes or so, petting Miz Poo and arguing with myself whether I’m ready to get up, or if I need to just go back to sleep. When I finally roll out of bed, I pop my contacts in, take my Synthroid, clean out the litter box, get dressed, and go downstairs. Once downstairs, I check my email, drink water, and argue with myself whether I want to skip exercising completely (for the record, I almost never decide to skip exercising, but the devil on my shoulder gives it her best try every morning). Sometime between 8:30 and 9:00 (sometimes later on the weekend), I force myself to go lift weights or go for my walk, depending on what day it is. 2. What are the last things that you do at night before going to bed? To me, bedtime starts at 9:00. I brush my teeth, take my birth control pill, and change into my nightgown. Fred and I lay in bed, cuddle, and talk for half an hour to 45 minutes, and then he wanders off to bed. I get up and either watch TV if I’ve got something on tape to watch, or read until 11:30 or 12:00. Then I pop my contacts out, pee one last time (though I get up one to three times to pee during the night), and settle in with Miz Poo next to me. 3. What daily routine have you recently added to your day? Honestly, I don’t think anything at all has changed in recent memory. 4. What routine do you wish you get rid of? I’d be more than happy to turn over cleaning out the litter box to someone else, but I had to agree to clean it out myself every day before Fred would let me get Miz Poo, so I can’t really complain. I also wouldn’t mind having someone else do the laundry, but I’m the one who’s neither working nor going to school, plus I know which shirts can’t go into the dryer, so I’m not complaining about that, either. 5. What’s the one thing that makes you feel like something is missing if you don’t do it some point within your day? There are two things, really. If I don’t take a shower, I feel wrong all day long. Also, if I don’t exercise, I spend the rest of the day in a bit of a haze.

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baaaaack. So, in a blog I read, a blogger had a cool idea. She took suggestions for pictures of things that people wanted to see – her rats, cats, purse (that was my suggestion!), that sort of thing, and then took pictures of the requested items and posted them. Since I’m nothing but a big ol’ copycat, I think I’ll do the same. Like her, I won’t take a picture of my boobs (oh, wait – I already posted one of those, didn’t I? Well, I won’t take another one, though you can knock yourself out asking) or any kind of nekkidness, but other than that (within reason), anything’s fair game. What would you like to see? Last night, for the 143rd time since I’ve been living in the south, I attempted to make red beans and rice for dinner. The difference was that I was trying to make 2 batches of it, one for dinner and one to freeze to have dinner at some other point in time, since two batches is as easy to make as one. Each batch was in it’s own pot boiling merrily away, and I went into the kitchen to fry up the turkey kielbasa, when I smelled it. Burned fucking beans. I swear to god, EVERY fucking time I make them, I burn the damn beans. EVERY time. Fred makes red beans, and do they burn? NO. Bastard. From here on out, he’s making them, because I give up. I know what I’m doing wrong, but I’m powerless to stop my dumbass self. I’m not keeping enough water in the pot, but cooking is just SO BORING that I wander off to check email or read, and before I know it, the water’s boiled away and the damn beans are burned to the pot. Grrr! I was making two batches of the stuff because – as I mentioned – cooking is SO BORING, and I planned to freeze the other batch, so that I could just take it out of the freezer one morning, let it thaw, heat it, and serve it up like I’d been slaving over the stove all day. My plan was to start making double batches of every possible entree from here on out, but after the bean disaster I may have to think twice about that.

I was stomping around the kitchen after I’d discovered the burning beans, and I growled "It’s such a waste!", whereupon Fred reminded me "It’s a waste of about 40 cents, Bessie!" Oh yeah. Thank god beans are cheap. Of the 82 (at this moment) people who took my straightening iron poll yesterday, almost half wanted me to come eat fried chicken in the dark with them. Just goes to show that given a goofy choice, 49% of Bitchypoo readers will choose it. That line ("Come eat fried chicken in the dark with me, beautiful") or something similar came from The Stand, by the way. Fred suggested it. —–

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I was watching The Bachelor Monday night (y’all may just shut up this very moment – you KNOW that reality TV is like crack to me. Except for Fear Factor, which I loathe because of the nasty shit they always have to eat. Bleh.), and I was all horrified. "What KIND of man would do this?" I thought, aghast. "What KIND of man would go on a show where he had twenty five gorgeous women dying for him to fall in love with… Oh." What kind of man WOULDN’T do it is more the question, I guess. So, the show has caught and held my attention (big shock there, eh?), and I was happy to see the bachelorette (gag) I didn’t like go, and the one, two, three I did like stay. Apparently Alex and I have similar taste in women. Anyway, while I was watching the show, Shannon (a sweetheart, but maybe too nice) was using a straightening iron on her hair. It seemed to work really well for her, and I was awestruck at the smooth, shiny straightness of her hair. I have a hard time getting my hair as straight as I’d like, because it’s fairly wavy. So naturally, I made up a poll for those of you who’ve used a straightening iron to answer. Give it a go, would you?

Straightening Iron – good or bad?

Does a straightening iron work well? Yes, it works great. My hair’s never looked better! Not bad, but it’s so expensive that it’s not worth the cost. No, it doesn’t work worth a damn. Come eat fried chicken in the dark with me, beautiful. Current Results

Of course, it’s all really a moot point. The ones I’ve seen online are $70 or more, and I’ll only have the one-length hair until my 35th birthday, because then I’m CHOPPING IT OFF. That’s right, my 35th birthday present to myself is going to be having my hair cut like this. Ashley Judd’s ‘do, that is – not Hugh Jackman. In a perfect world, having my hair cut like her would make me LOOK like her, but I’m not holding my breath. Mother Nature is getting ON MY NERVES. It was almost 80 here yesterday. Today? 55. I guess I shouldn’t really complain, because 55’s better than 30, but still. Give me back my 80, you bitch! Ah well. At least it’s sunny. Fred bought and planted 4 rose bushes in our front flower bed yesterday. Now all that remains is to put down the black felt to prevent weeds, buy and plant some petunias, and put down mulch, and that bed will be all set. A guy came today to clean out the other flower bed (uh, we hired him to do it, it’s not like he was wandering by and decided to), and this weekend Fred’s going to plant more rose bushes there. I love the idea of planting rose bushes in our front flower beds, because they’re way more interesting to me than the boring green bushes that were there when we moved in. I still have to buy lily bulbs for the back yard, and I’ve ordered a couple of butterfly bushes with a coupon I had. One will go in the back yard somewhere and the other will go in front of the fence on the side of the house. I had thought of planting one in the front flower bed, but they really get too big to go there. Oh, and I want to grow tomatoes, too! Okay, enough of the gardening babble.]]>

this url, which claimed Osama Bin Laden had been captured at a railway station in New Delhi, and I got about two paragraphs in, exclaimed "Oh my god, that’s awesome!", and then said "I wonder why CNN isn’t reporting… DAMNIT!" I also got this email: I had found your little journal looking around, and who the hell do you think you are. Excuse me, but us poor people have some depth that you just couldn’t understand. We are hard working people, but have you ever thought of how many children one might have? Or maybe a wife’s support walked out on her, or maybe she is a single working mother that works her ass off. People like you really disgust me, like totally. You say don’t make me come after you, well don’t make the poor folk come after you. Some people cannot be born into money, some people have so little hope that they give up, and maybe can’t attend the best job, have the best clothes, but at least there is a roof over our heads and a place we can call home. It is people like you who make this world filthy, not us poor people, so you can just take your Walmart eating ass where ever the hell you came from, you really make me sick ("Walmart eating ass" will be the name of my seventh novel, in case you were curious.) I read it and thought "What the fuh?", then realized that it had to be about this entry. And then I came to the conclusion that it had to be a joke. No one’s that much of a dumbass, are they? So I replied: Despite the fact that the timestamp on your email is 10 minutes before midnight on March 31st, I’m going to assume that this is an attempt at an April Fool’s joke, because I refuse to believe that anyone could possibly be that dumb. Nice try, though – you almost had me!

* * * * * I watched Life as a House Saturday night, by myself, because Fred watched the preview with me (god, I love dvds), grunted "That’s a CHICK movie", hitched up his pants and ran away before the chick-movie rays could start shrinking his penis. What an awesome, incredible movie. Not a false step anywhere – I loved it from beginning to end, and immediately declared it my favorite movie. In fact, I went directly to Amazon and added it to my wish list, and I’m thinking about renting it to watch again this week. I love Kevin Kline; how can you not? * * * * * I feel like I spend my entire life walking around the house closing doors and drawers, and pushing chairs in. Apparently I’m the only one who understands that there aren’t little elves who do that sort of thing. * * * * * Man. I just got back from the post office. What a GREATmail day it was! From the wonderful Nance, as thanks for sending her a set of grumpy mugs, I received a thank you card and: a cat pin, from the folks responsible for Boyd’s Bears. Adorable, isn’t it? I don’t know where, but Nance got the idea that I like cats. Where could she have gotten a silly idea like that?
I also got (it was addressed to both of us, but it’s really more for Fred): from reader Debra. Thanks Debra, though I’m sure I’ll be cursing you when Fred’s playing the cd for the 53rd time in a row! From, as the return address said, a fan of my web site, I received The Quarterly Purge: which looks really good, especially Is Fat a Feminist Issue? – I can’t wait to read it. Thanks, fan in Vegas! (I’m assuming it came from the editor, Marinn, because the signature in the letter from the editor looked a lot like the writing on the return address, but perhaps I’m assuming too much. 🙂 Next, reader Angie in WI (who works in IL), sent me a sheet of smiley-face stickers, a highlighter, and a pen: What cracked me up is that it came in an envelope from her work, addressed to "Robyn Anderson, OFB LTD", and I figured I’d sent away for a free something-or-other, and I’d claimed I was the owner of OFB LTD so that I could get it. Hee! That’s totally something I’d do, too. Thanks, Angie! Lastly, but certainly not least(ly?), I received from reader Lorraine (in CA) a daffodil poster: I love it! In fact, I was recently thinking that not much of the stuff we have hung on the walls around here really reflects my taste (of course, we only have three or four pictures hung up in the entire house, so that’s not saying much), so I’m going to have the poster framed and try to figure out where I want to hang it. Thank you, Lorraine! Have I mentioned that I love getting real mail? It’s funny that all those things arrived in the mailbox at once, because the last few times I’ve looked, there’s been nothing in it at all – this was definitely a nice surprise, considering I had to get up an hour (okay, an hour and a HALF) earlier than usual, to go have my blood drawn for another thyroid test. Thanks y’all for making my day!]]>

Those motherfuckers at Yahoo have, well, go read this, and if you’ve got a Yahoo id, follow the instructions. I went and looked at my information and was THRILLED, let me tell you, to find my home address listed (though I guess you can’t really see the information in another person’s Yahoo profile). I also switched my email address to my hotmail email address. If you don’t have a crap email address, you ought to go sign up for one with hotmail or yahoo or any of those free email services that you can use if you place online orders or register for anything, to reduce the spam that comes in to your primary email.

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We were watching the end of Survivor last night (MAN, I can’t believe they voted that person off. Damn it!) and during the commercial break after the vote and before the scenes from next week’s show, Fred got the camera and went out to take a picture of the full moon

OH! I guess maybe that’s why the cats are acting like total freaks these past few days – not only is it heavily hormonal around here right now (ie, THAT time o’ the month), but it’s also a full moon. That always makes ’em act twice as crazy.

                                                        and as he opened the door, something went running away from the patio. He turned and told me he’d startled a skunk, who ran across the yard and hid under the shed. I came out to check it out, and as I was peering across the yard toward the shed, Fred pointed toward the fence and said "There’s something on the fence!" It was a cat, and we deduced that it was unlikely there’d have been both a cat and a skunk in the back yard at the same time, so probably what he’d thought was a skunk was more likely a second cat. We went back in (to find that we’d missed the damn previews) and Fred wandered off to take more pictures of the moon. We settled in to watch The Shield, which I taped Tuesday night, and about halfway through the show, I thought I heard the sound of a cat meowing. I paused the tape, and we listened. It appeared to be coming from outside, so we went to check it out.

It was the same two cats, and they ran halfway across the yard, then turned to watch us. There was a gray one, which we’ve seen in our yard before, and a long-haired tortoiseshell. The tortoiseshell was making those growling, hissing, I’m-in-heat-do-me sounds (I’ve never actually had a cat who was in heat, but I know the sounds of "do me, you bastard" in cat language, for some reason). We called and called to them – I don’t know why we thought they would come over to be petted, they obviously had more important things to do – and finally Fred walked toward them, and they jumped the fence into the neighboring yard to howl and hiss and have hot kitty sex.

I think they were attracted to our back yard because I keep a bowl of dog food on the patio. Last Fall, when we were briefly dog owners, I noticed that the birds liked to eat the dog food we left out there for the dog, so even after there was no dog to eat the food, I kept the dish filled for the birds.

Don’t look at me like that.

Well, apparently not only do the birds like it, but the neighborhood cats do, because I just filled up the bowl (I’ve switched to the cheapie dog food) Tuesday, and this morning it was mostly gone. Doing my part to nourish the neighborhood kitties, yes indeedy.

I was teasing Fred last night for not being the particularly complimentary type, and thus when I went to sleep, I dreamed that he said "Bessie, you’re almost as pretty as -" and then he compared me to someone famous, but I can’t remember who. When he woke me up to help give Spanky his medication, I told him about it, and then gave him a mock-dirty look.

"Well, it COULD have been a compliment!" he said teasingly. "For instance, if I said you were almost as pretty as Phyllis Diller, that would be one thing. But if I said you were almost as pretty as Cindy Crawford or Sean Young, that would be another!" And he smirked at me, the joke being that he LOATHES Cindy Crawford and Sean Young and thinks they’re the most hideous creatures to walk the face of the earth.

Bastard.

Friday Five:

1. If you could eat dinner with and “get to know” one famous person (living or dead), who would you choose? Okay, this is going to sound cheesy as hell, but y’all know I’m just about the nosiest person alive, right? With the caveat that he’d have to answer every question I asked truthfully and completely (it sounds like I’m implying he’d lie, doesn’t it? I swear, I’m not!), I’d want to dine with Jesus, so I could pump him for information about how everything truly happened and how he felt every step of the way. See, the thing is that the bible was written by men – it’s not like the hand of god came down and scribbled the whole thing personally, so how likely is it that the whole life, death, and resurrection of christ is correct in every detail? Not likely, I think.

(Close your email clients, because I don’t want to hear that I’m going to hell.)

Failing that, I’m not sure who I’d choose to have dinner with. I’d say Stephen King, but I think I’d just sit there and go "Heh. Heh. Where do you get your ideas? Heh. Heh. You write good books. Heh."

2. Has the death of a famous person ever had an effect on you? Who was it and how did you feel? Another cheesy answer coming up. I was really freaked out by Kurt Cobain’s death. Not because I thought he was a particular genius – I wasn’t much of a Nirvana fan, really – but because he was so young and had such a young child and wife, and to me (though it shouldn’t have been) it was a real surprise.

The thing is that I’ve been really lucky and never suffered from any type of depression more serious than a day or two of the blues. At my lowest, I’ve always known that things would eventually get better. When someone feels that life is too full of pain to go on, it confuses me, because I can’t really understand it. Which is to say, I understand THAT people feel that way, but I’ve never felt it myself, so I can’t relate.

Also, I was stunned by the death of Princess Diana, because it was so unexpected and I loved her so much when I was growing up. Hell, I actually HAD a Diana ‘do when I was a kid, and I spent the entire day watching the wedding on TV when she married Charles. It seemed like maybe her life was starting to come together for real when she died. I had no idea she’d even been in an accident until I came out to the dining room table and glanced at the cover of the Sunday paper. I gasped "Oh my god!", and Fred came running to see what was going on.

3. If you could BE a famous person for 24 hours, who would you choose? Someone with an awesome body and a great singing voice. Sara Evans. Sarah McLaughlan. Martina McBride. I’d say Madonna, but honestly? She scares the bejeezus out of me.

4. Do people ever tell you that you look like someone famous? Who? I’ve been told I resemble Rosie O’Donnell, thank you. Could be worse, could be Phyllis Diller, right? Really, though I’d much prefer to be told I strongly resemble some sex goddess like Michelle Pfeiffer, I’ve always thought Rosie was pretty cute, so I’m not complaining.

5. Have you ever met anyone famous? I met Stephen King when I was 14 or so – he was signing books at a theater in Lewiston where one of his movies (I want to say Cujo, but I don’t think that was it) was premiering, and I was absolutely tongue-tied. My mother had to step forward and tell him how to spell my name. I also saw him many years later after t he Rock Bottom Remainders played in Portland (and Dave Barry as well.

Other brushes with celebrity – I saw Tim Burton and Lisa Marie at the baggage claim in the LA airport the second time I flew out there to visit the (ex) in-laws. I recognized him and knew who he was (this was after Batman, but before Edward Scissorhands), but when I pointed him out to the in-laws, they hadn’t a clue.

I also saw Jean Smart with her kid at Disneyland during the same visit.

Hey, check out this cool picture of the moon Fred took yesterday morning:

Have a great weekend, and happy Easter (if you celebrate it), y’all!

 

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Jennifer Weiner, the author of Good in Bed (which I really liked) has a blog that I’m enjoying. Check it out.

This morning, I was about to eat breakfast, and since it was still rather cool outside I didn’t want the back door open while I was sitting at the table eating. So I shooed the cats inside and started to make my breakfast. They sat about looking sadly at me and then gazing out the window, then back at me. Since I’m not a heartless bitch (shaddup), I came up with a solution – I opened one of the windows in the library, took off the screen, and voila! Instant access to the back yard for the kitties. They milled about confusedly, sniffing out the window, looking at me, and then stepping out onto the window sill. Eventually, they figured it out and went out through the window and resumed their wanderings about the yard.

Five minutes later, I was eating breakfast, when I glanced up at the door, where Spanky was sitting and howling mournfully. "Momma!" he cried "Momma, I’ll be good! Let me in Momma, let me in!"

Obviously in the few minutes he’d been outside, it slipped his little pea brain how he’d gotten there. I had to go into the library, stick my head out the window and call to him. He turned and looked at me for a long moment and then immediately did a double-take – I swear to god, if he was a cartoon, his double-take would sound like "doink!" – and then ran over to the window as if he’d never seen it before, sniffing wildly. I went back to eating breakfast, and eventually figured out how to get back inside, because he’s sitting in the computer room doorway giving the vacuum cleaner dirty looks at the moment.

Have I mentioned that instead of chasing flies with a flyswatter, I use the vacuum cleaner attachment to suck them into the innards of the vacuum cleaner, where they probably die horrible, dusty, cat-hair-filled deaths? I’d try Shelley‘s cool hairspray-and-lighter method to fry them in mid-air, but I’m too afraid that I’d do something like burn the house down. And you KNOW that’s something I’d do, don’t you?

Hell, at least it’d give me a good journal entry.

Here’s a special something just for you, Nance::

This is why I buy the cheap comforters – because at least two cats spend all day long snoozing on the bed. And it gets so hair-matted after a few months despite regular vacuumings (that’s right, I vacuum my bed, you wanna make something of it?) that it’s easier to just buy a new one instead of having the old one dry-cleaned.

Oh, speaking of cats, last night as we were watching Greg the Bunny on TV, Fancypants swished into the living room and after getting some petting from Fred, settled in the middle of the floor, directly in front of me. He proceeded to groom and groom and groom. For many minutes he groomed, and then I noticed that he was spending a GREAT deal of time grooming his mid-section – IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN – with his legs kicked up in the air. He finally stopped and looked up at me with big, dark eyes and gave me a come-hither look.

Which is when I saw his little kitty penis pointing directly at me.

(Little Kitty Penis will be the name of my second novel)

"Agh! Get out of here!" I yelled, tossing a pillow at him. Rolling and flailing, he got to his feet and flounced out of the room.

Apparently Spring fever has hit him hard, the little perv.

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First off, if you messaged me last night on Yahoo Messenger and I didn’t respond, it’s because I’m an idiot and wasn’t sure how to – I clicked on "accept" and waited for a window to pop up, and none ever did – does that mean I was only being added to the buddy list (or whatever Yahoo calls it), or was there supposed to be a message window popping up? It’s a mystery. Also, I was talking to several people on AIM when I got kicked off and couldn’t get back on. God, it’s frustrating when that happens. Damn AOL. Damn them!

I was chatting with Miz Baldie last night before Fred hauled me off to bed (in a non-sexual "It’s getting late, Bessie!" way), and it occurred to me that I haven’t told y’all the story about how my parents found out about Fred.

Y’see, when I told my parents I was moving to Alabama, I told them I was moving because I’d gotten a job in Huntsville, which was a big, bad lie, and that with the help of my new supervisor at my fictional job, I’d found an apartment, conveniently leaving out the fact that someone else would be living there with us.

We moved down here at the beginning of August, settled in, and spoke to my parents each Sunday night (which we still do). I didn’t mention Fred to my parents, and neither did the spud. We went along this way until one Sunday in October. The spud was talking to my mother, and said "Fred made pancakes this morning."

"…."

"Fred."

"…."

"Our roommate."

Well, the jig was up, although my parents didn’t know for sure (though they suspected) that Fred and I were a couple, but since my mother never asked me point-blank "Are you and Fred a COUPLE?", I never offered up the information.

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Today, we went to the grocery store (how is it that in the three days since Fred got groceries, we’ve got a long enough list to fill an entire sheet of paper?), Staples (the spud needed construction paper), Blockbuster to return movies, Movie Gallery to rent movies (Blockbuster only lets you keep the new movies for 2 days; Movie Gallery lets you keep ’em for 5 – therefore, I rent the new stuff at Movie Gallery on Tuesday to watch over the weekend, and Fred rents older movies for he and the spud to watch, because Blockbuster lets you keep the old movies for 5 days), home to put the groceries away and pee (I swear to god, I have to pee every 5 minutes it seems like), and then to the post office to mail some things for Fred and check the PO Box.

My day got definitely brighter (hey, YOU try walking for an hour in spitting rain that turns to pounding rain and see how cheery YOU feel, buster) when I checked the PO Box and saw the yellow card that meant there was a package waiting for me.

I love the real mail, you know.

Anyway, this package was from my TMS Secret Pal – we’ve got a monthly swap going on, and this month’s assignment was to send your secret pal something that shows how you celebrate Spring or Easter. I sent a miniature rose plant and ladybugs to Suzy (read about it here, and admire Suzy’s kickin’ new redesign while you’re at it), since really the only way we celebrate Spring ’round here is to watch the flowers bloom and the trees bud.

And the awesome Joley sent me this (click on the picture to see the full-sized version):

along with a card telling me what each thing was for. The green bottle’s got river water to rinse jewelry or stones in, the long plastic bag has Nag Champa incense in it, a crystal candle holder (the white candle’s standing in it), a white candle (for purification), sage (a useful tool in cleansing energy and clearing space), stones (rose quartz (for love), tigereye (for mental grounding and protection), quartz crystal (for physical grounding) and gypsum (for the release of negative energy)), and a lemonade candle and daffodil potpourri tarts, because she’s under the impression that I like the color yellow and candles. I wonder where she got that idea? There was also a bite-sized Hershey’s Mr. Goodbar in and amongst the plastic bags that were used for padding in the box, and LET ME TELL YOU, that little piece o’ chocolate sure did hit the spot and make the PMS monster happy for a little while.

Unfortunately, the PMS monster never stays happy for long and started screaming for Honey Nut Cheerios and blueberry bagels, the bastard. (Processed carbs make the PMS monster happy, I’ve noticed)

The other day when I went and checked the PO Box, speaking of nice surprises, I found a small package that reader Jennifer had sent. Inside were pens from doctor’s offices!

Two Xenical pens (You know Xenical – the diet drug that has "anal leakage" as a side effect!), one Viagra pen, and there was one other that the spud stole right out from underneath me. Thank you so much, Jennifer – I love ’em, and I love the way they write!

What else did I mean to mention in here today? My mind is blank…

Oh yeah! I finally got off my butt and downloaded AOL Instant Messenger (did I spell that right? It doesn’t look right), and after much struggling, came up with SnarkyBeotch as a user name. I’ll try to remember to turn it off when I’m not online, but I’m a tad flighty, so I can’t promise anything. I also downloaded Yahoo Messenger while I was at it, and my user name for that is RobynAnderson33. Message me and we’ll be chatting fools together.

 

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So, I’m doing March’s collab, which is to type anything that comes into your mind for 7 minutes.

I thought about just leaving this entire entry blank, with "Time’s up" at the bottom. Hee – I slay me!

I took the spud to Sam’s today, and I’m telling you, old people are going to be the death of me. Specifically, old people who BLOCK THE FUCKING AISLES with their carts. I sighed and rolled my eyes so often that I almost blacked out with the effort of it. What the hell is up with people BLOCKING THE FUCKING AISLES with their carts? Personally, I make a point of moving my cart to the side so that people can GET THE FUCK AROUND ME. But then, I’m not a rude idiot.

Oh wait – yes I am.

Which reminds me, speaking of rude idiots, I was at the grocery store last week after picking up an emergency 12-pack of Diet Coke, and as I was headed for my Jeep, I saw a woman come out, a bagger pushing her cart full of bags. She opened her trunk and got into the driver’s seat, waited for the bagger to put her groceries in the trunk, and then drove off.

In MY world, we always help the bagger with the bags, it just seems polite. Is it just me? (That’s a rhetorical question)

Nance got a new car over the weekend, the lucky bitch, a sweet little Dodge Intrepid. *I* want a car. Think she’ll trade her car for my SUV? 🙂

Damn. Two minutes left to go, and my mind is blank.

Fred cleared out one of the front flower beds this weekend, hurting his shoulder in the process, but it was worth (to me) the pain, since the bed is now cleaned out and can be filled with petunias and whatever else strikes my fancy. We want to fill the other front flowerbed with rose bushes, but Fred’s father and stepmother are of the opinion that it’d look funny. I don’t care if it looks funny to other people, personally, because nothing is as boring to me as plain green bushes in front of your house. Snore. Besides, I really like rose bushes.

Um. Blank mind, blank mind.

Time’s up.

This was an entry for March’s WordGoddess Collaboration. The topic: Seven minutes.

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Upon looking at my stats this morning, I discovered that someone found my page by searching on "Ass Epil Stop Citrus". You’ve gotta wonder what exactly they were looking for.

Another someone (or perhaps even the same someone) found my page by searching on "Inserting tampons, pictures of." Okay. Um, I don’t think anyone would want to see that lest they be blinded by the horror.

Man. I think I’m going to smack Fancypants. He keeps letting out his whiny, high-pitched meow and goes prancing back and forth giving me mournful looks until I open the back door. Of course, it’s 25 FUCKING degrees out, which is too cold for his fancy ass, so he sits on the couch across the room from the back door and stares out the door. And when I get cold and shut the door, he starts again with the damn meowing and prancing. Bastard.

So, speaking of cats, I walked into the bathroom yesterday morning and saw Spanky squatting on the rug that sits in front of the shower as if he were trying to pee. This came as a surprise to me, because he’s usually such a Good Boy.

"What the fuck!" I bellowed, and swatted at him with a towel. He went running, and I gathered up that rug and the one that sat in front of the tub, put them in the washer, and thought no more about it.

Last night as we were watching The Shield (which I’d taped Tuesday night), we heard the sounds of one of the cats messing around with the plastic Target bag we left on the library floor. Fred glanced over and said that it was Spanky. A light went on in my head.

"Could you check and see if he peed on the bag?" I asked. Fred went and looked and said that there were a couple of drops of cat pee on the bag.

Cat pee, by the way, is the vilest-smelling stuff on this planet.

"I think he’s got a urinary tract infection," I said. I pointed out the evidence – the peeing on the bathroom rug, the peeing on the bag, and the remembrance that someone had peed on yet another plastic bag (shaddup, we like to leave the bags on the floor for the cats to play on) Monday or Tuesday, when we’d assumed Tubby was the rat-bastard who’d done it.

We discussed calling the vet’s office first thing this morning, I pointed out that there was no way I was ever going to get Spanky in the cat carrier, and then I started thinking about what it feels like to have a urinary tract infection, and the fact that he’d no doubt been suffering from it for at least a few days, and felt pretty bad for him. Which is when I made the suggestion that we cart his ass to the Animal Emergency Room in Huntsville.

That’s right – one of the really cool things about Huntsville is that there’s an animal ER which is open every night from 6 pm to 8 am.

Fred hemmed and hawed and called to see if they’d prescribe medicine for Spanky without seeing him (they wouldn’t), and how busy they were (not very), and with a little pushing from me, he reluctantly agreed.

That’s twice in one week we actually went OUT of the house after dark. I believe that’s a sign of the Apocalypse. You have been warned.

At 7:40 or so, we left the house with Spanky trying to figure out what was going on (I was licking Daddy’s cereal bowl, and he GRABBED me and put me in this box. I don’t like this box. Hate the box….. I’ve always been in this box. My entire life, this box. I’ve never been anywhere else. It’s a nice box.). Unlike Miz Poo’s incessant howling whenever she’s in the carrier, Spanky only put forth a few tentative meows during the trip.

We got to the ER at almost exactly 8. There were only a few people ahead of us, so we sat in the waiting room. I filled out the paperwork (and forged Fred’s signature, as I am prone to do), and we waited. After a few minutes, someone came to the door and rang the buzzer (you have to be buzzed inside, because the ER is in a pretty bad neighborhood). Someone who worked there let him in, and he stepped inside with an empty carrier.

"I’m here for the duck," he pronounced.

I looked at Fred, who had a shit-eating smirk on his face, and I got a sudden image of a duck wearing sneakers (like the one that was born with no feet – or was it a goose?) plodding around quacking "AFLAC. AFLAC.", like in those annoying commercials.

As the duck man was talking to another woman who worked there (I’m a tad fuzzy on what exactly the job titles were), a man holding a dog wrapped in a towel banged on the door. We later found out (Fred asked the vet) that the dog had been attacked by a pack of dogs and, as the guy put it, "Ripped open." By the time we left, the dog still hadn’t stabilized, and they didn’t know if he was going to make it. Poor dog.

Anyway, they eventually brought us back to an exam room, where they took Spanky’s vitals (he weighs 10 pounds), and we sat and waited for the vet, listening for details as the duck guy talked to one of the vets (we couldn’t really hear anything). Around 9, the vet came in and checked Spanky over, then recommended an x-ray to make sure he didn’t have any kidney stones (Fred was too afraid he’d look like a cheap bastard to say no. Hee!). They took him away, did the x-rays, and (no surprise) he had no stones. We got to see the x-rays, though, and it was cool to see all his internal organs, his cat food-filled stomach, and his intestines, packed full (as the vet said) of gas and stool.

That’s our boy.

They gave him a shot, and gave us medicine to give him twice a day which Fred had a hell of a time getting down his throat this morning, and we were on our way home by 9:30.

At 7:37 this morning, someone from his vet’s office called to see how he was doing. What’s up with calling someone that early? Didn’t anyone’s mother teach them not to call before 9 at the earliest (and preferably 10)? Hmph.

Friday Five:

1. What is your favorite time of year? It used to be spring, but as I’ve lost weight, I’m feeling cold more than I used to, and I’m very eager for summer to get its hot self here.

2. What is it about your favorite season that, well, makes it your favorite season? The heat. And the flowers. And being able to leave the back door open all the time so the cats can go out back and won’t bug me to open the door for them. I’m hoping to talk Fred into installing a cat door with a flap in one of the windows so I don’t have to deal with flies coming in by the droves.

3. What is your least favorite time of year? Winter. Brrr. Yeah, I know you people who get assloads of snow are rolling your eyes at me, but since I moved to Alabama, I’ve become a big wimp about the cold.

4. Do you do anything to celebrate or recognize the changing of seasons? Not a damn thing.

5. What’s your favorite thing to do outside? I’m not much of an outdoors person, but I like doing the occasional puttering around outside, planting stuff, and sitting in the sun and watching the cats chase bugs and each other across the lawn. This weekend, we’re going to go to Monte Sano state park, eat lunch, and do a little hiking. At my suggestion! Will wonders never cease?

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