Category: Life

Self magazine is as full of shit as any piece of crap woman’s magazine has ever been. Ever how much calcium coupled with ever how much magnesium does NOT do away with PMS, not in the slightest. What it does is make your PMS sixty-three times worse than it’s ever been before. Today, I have: stomped my Walkman to pieces, swore loudly at each and every red light I came across, entertained thoughts of taking Fancypants out into the country and dropping him off in front of some anonymous farmhouse, snarled at a Staples cashier, and sighed in a loud and repeatedly annoyed manner at the two 70 year-old women who kept chattering through the trailers before Bridget Jones’s Diary started. Oh, and had a bitchy, hissyfit-like conversation with my shorts as I walked down the street, due to their insistence on riding up between my thighs. And thought about putting my motherfucking fist through my motherfucking monitor because my motherfucking internet access has been going down every 9.8 seconds. And been pissed because during the 6 seconds my motherfucking internet access has NOT been down, I haven’t been able to access Diarist.net’s list page, so I don’t dare to try to send out a notify via that list. Where will the Bitchypoo notify list move next? Oh, the excitement! And felt guilty because I’m about a week behind in my emailing/ journal reading. I swear I’ll get to it one of these days.

Needless to say, I’m in a horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad mood, and I’m going to take a few days off from the journal and away from the computer. I may be back before the end of the week, I may not. I’m sure I’ll be back next Monday, with bells on, ready to go, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and all that. See you sooner or later! —–

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Little Nicky came out today, god knows we can’t miss that…) I headed for Sam’s Club, which is about a half-hour drive through the most congested streets of Huntsville. Once there, before I got out of the Jeep, I looked through my wallet for my membership card so I wouldn’t have to search for it at the door like annoying people do. I looked in all the crooks and crannies of my wallet but it was nowhere to be seen. A lightbulb went on over my head as I recalled cleaning out my wallet last night and taking out what I thought was a used-up Wal-Mart gift card and tossing it in the trash. But the used-up Wal-Mart gift card was still in my wallet. What a dumbass. What’s worse is that I was about two-thirds of the way home before I realized I should have just gone in to customer service and told them that I’d lost my card. Dumbass, take two. Took another 6 packages to the post office, where the same guy waited on me. No doubt when he sees me walk through the door tomorrow, he’ll be sure to put up his "closed" sign immediately. So with 7 packages yesterday and 6 today, that’s (doing the math) halfway there. Or somethin’. The pile that’s been covering the couch in the computer room is slowly disappearing, thank god, since I like to snooze on that couch with Miz Poo from time to time, and having the pile there (whose bright idea was it to put that pile there anyway, huh?) is putting a crimp in my style. Did y’all watch Boston Public last night? When the paramedics were working on Christine, I pointed out "They never say ‘joules’ on ER." And then in every medical-type scene we sat and discussed the fakiness of what was going on, comparing it all to ER. The implication being, of course, that ER‘s a medical show, so they always do everything correctly. What’s up with Guber, running around firing everyone at the drop of a hat? And that kid from Freaks and Geeks is getting a tad creepy, isn’t he? Doesn’t he know that it’s not even funny to be talking about his "list"? Speaking of Anthony Heald (Guber, if you didn’t know), he reads the audiobook I listen to when I’m walking outside, Dean Koontz’s Dark Rivers of the Heart, and there’s a huge difference between listening to Stephen King read a book, and hearing an actor like Anthony Heald read a book. When exciting things are happening in the book I’m listening to, Anthony Heald’s voice reflects that, speeds up so much that you can almost hear his heart pounding. On the other hand, when he reads a scene with a lot of scientific detail, his voice goes all flat and dry, and you can practically hear him yawn. The only parts I don’t like is when he’s doing a woman’s voice, because he sounds exceedingly prissy. Overall, though, I highly recommend it. Speaking of Stephen King, I’m currently a little more than halfway through Dreamcatcher, and I need to warn anyone who’s not read it yet: do NOT read this book while eating! Stephen King is, at least during the first third or so of the book, absolutely fascinated by poop and farts in obsessive loving detail. Gah. Not the thing to be reading when you’re eating a ham sandwich and a pickle, believe you me. —–]]>

from Miz Kelli Jelly Bean, who saw that I was coveting the paperclip earrings she herself had, and sent me a pair, not once, but twice, because the post office lost the first pair! Well, SUPPOSEDLY they lost the first pair, but to tell the truth, the ex-Marine/ Drew Carrey clone who works there certainly looks like the kind of guy who would steal paperclip earrings to wear his own self, the bastard. By the way, I spent a large part of Sunday afternoon drawing names for the free stuff and sending off emails to let the people who had won know what they’d won. If you haven’t gotten said email from me by now, you didn’t win, sorry. But take heart – there’ll be more free stuff someday, I’m sure of it. Now I’ll be spending the week packing up all that free stuff and taking it to the post office. I sent the first 7 packages today, and have figured – using a calculator, since I’m not math smarty-pants – that if I take 7 packages every day, I’ll be able to get them all out by the end of the week. At least I’m hoping that’s the way it’ll work. I plan to go see Bridget Jones’s Diary this week sometime. I was going to go today, but realized that dinner was going to be chicken soup, and the half chicken in the freezer needed to simmer for a few hours, and I wouldn’t be home in time to get it started. Then I planned to go tomorrow, but I have a hair appointment in the morning and need to hit the movie store and Sam’s Club, so I’m thinking I may run out of time to go to the matinee. Maybe Wednesday, if I can clear time in my busy schedule. I ask you, how the hell did I ever get everything done when I was working full-time? ]]>

virtual tour – and a lot of cat hair and dust tends to gather there, like such (am I picture happy this week, or what?): "I told you after I vacuumed the entire upstairs on Monday that I was going to do the stairs and downstairs on Tuesday, but then my ankle started hurting!" I pointed out. Notice that I said I vacuumed the ENTIRE UPSTAIRS, as though it’s an all-day event, rather than taking up 7 minutes of my valuable ass-sitting time. He had no recollection of that whatsoever, of course. Sometimes when I babble on about housework and such, I can actually watch the words go in one ear and out the other. But that’s okay, ’cause I do it to him too. Probably one of the reasons we’re so happily married. Did y’all watch Boot Camp last night? It was pretty good, especially the reactions of the DIs when they found out Yaney had been made squad leader; one of the DIs (I don’t know which one it was; except for the female, I can’t tell any of them apart) asked if the recruits had had crack for breakfast. My favorite part, though, was when another of the DIs (or perhaps the same one, I dunno) was talking softly to Yaney about the missing equipment, and realized that Wolf was nearby, and without missing a beat turned around and bellowed "Get out! Get out of my face!" and Wolf turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Wolf has a face that’s begging to be smacked, in my opinion. My friend Liz once told me I’d make a good drill instructor. I might have had the bellowing down pat, but the physical stuff would have killed me. Recruit Yaney, by the way, is a friend of Melissa‘s. And from what I saw on Boot Camp last week, he’s pretty handy with the balloon art. SIR! RECRUIT BITCHYPOO IS DONE WITH HER ENTRY AND READY TO POST IT, SIR!]]>

McCall’s, but has been revamped. It’s not bad, not bad at all. In fact, I think I almost prefer it over O. Almost, I say. Between reading the US article about single motherhood and checking out Heather’s cuties, I’m wanting me a baby something fierce. The deal is that as soon as Fred gets to his goal weight I can go off the pill, but I don’t know about that. Maybe when I get to my goal weight, we’ll see. According to US, Camryn Manheim chose her baby’s name by standing at the bottom of the stairs and yelling her two choices at the top of her lungs to see how they sounded. That cracks me up. The spud’s name is a good one to scream at the top of your lungs; it’s two syllables, and according to Fred I tend to add an "a" sound at the end when I’m exasperated, which he loves to mock me for. Seth, which is what we decided we’d name a boy, would have to be lengthened, I think. "SEEEEEEEEEETH!" for instance. Or perhaps "SETH. FORREST. ANDERSON!!!" would do. Anyway. Today’s babblings are now concluded. —–]]>

Maury was on, which until a few days ago I hadn’t even realized was still on the air. As a side note, I have to ask – how much of a loser do you have to be, really, to need to be in front of a big audience to tell your mother that you’ve been diagnosed with brain tumors or to tell your mother (different mother and daughter, by the way) that you’ve been prostituting yourself, or to tell your boyfriend that you’ve been boinking his best friend? I mean, you drag me on to Maury to tell me that you’ve been screwing my best friend, I’m thinking there’s less of a chance I’ll forgive you than if you’d told me quietly in the living room. Anyway. So I sat in the waiting room for 45 minutes and the examining room for another 10, and finally the doc showed up, and guess what? That’s right, I have conjunctivitis. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. Got the prescription, went to the grocery store, waited around for another 10 minutes to have it filled, wandered around to get the groceries we’d run out of in the three days since Fred got groceries – and had to go back and forth to locate the parmesan, since they’ve remodeled the store since last I was there I couldn’t find the damn stuff – and then went home, dealing with the FUCKING road construction on the way. Once home – it was noon by this point – I dragged the groceries upstairs, put them away and went into the bathroom. This is where the day got especially good. On the bathmat next to the shower, someone – I have my suspicions – had left a nasty little poo-shaped present. I gathered up the bathmat to take down to the washer and heard the very distinctive sound of a retching cat – I passed Spot on the stairs doing his thing. At least it wasn’t on the carpet, that’s all I can say. I kept going past Spot to the washer, next to which is the litter box. NEXT to the litter box was another pile of poo. "GODDAMN IT, WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU FUCKING CATS?" I shrieked in a ladylike manner. I put the bathmat in the washer, tossed the pile of poo next to the litter box INTO the litter box, and grabbed a handful of paper towels to clean up the results of Spot’s retchings – a moth and a piece of grass, surrounded by a puddle of bile. Yummy. That’s when I realized what someone had been trying to tell me all morning long, with the goopy eye, the disconnected feeling because I had to wear glasses most of the day, the road construction, the wind that kept blowing off my baseball cap, the long wait in the waiting room, the Maury on TV, the long wait in the grocery store, the confused wanderings around the grocery store, the road construction again, and all the nasty cat-related nastiness. I should have stayed in bed this morning. ]]>

know I made him show me so that I could get pictures with which to entertain my readers. We located Jesus moving slowly down the road across the street from a tiny mall consisting of a travel agency, candle shop, and chiropractor’s office. At the earliest opportunity, we did a u-turn and parked in the parking lot of the credit union Jesus was slowly approaching. That cross must have been heavy, because Jesus was not doing any power walking, believe you me. As he approached, I snapped a closeup. Since I wasn’t struck down by lightning or anything, I took a chance and snapped another. Um, what’s up with the wheel on the end of your cross, Jesus? They didn’t let you get away with that the first time around, did they? And the baseball cap keeping wind, sun and rain out of your face, what’s up with that? And the shorts, t-shirt, hiking boots and backpack? Were the Romans okay with that fashion statement? Are you sure you’re Jesus? At least he’s a happy Jesus instead of the Suffering Jesus you usually see when he’s portrayed carrying the cross, as you can see by the grin on his face. In fact, for the several minutes we watched him (being good little heathens) he grinned continually. Of course, first time around he didn’t get wheels on the end of his cross, so perhaps he’s not suffering as much this go-round. We didn’t beep at him, though, unlike other Madison-ians, who are surely going straight to hell. And here’s Jesus hauling his cross across the intersection, still grinning like a happy fool. I guess he kept on toward Golgotha, but I had to get my butt home and check out my pictures. ]]>

Miz Poo wandered in and vomited on the rug. I cleaned it up, but within about ten minutes, she did it three more times. I was a little concerned, thinking that she was dealing with a particularly troublesome hairball – though I don’t think I’ve ever once seen her hock up a hairball – and kept exercising. When I was done and went out to the computer room to suit up for my outside walk, I saw that she’d vomited twice more. I got my shoes and outside clothes on (trust me, the world’s not ready for my inside exercise clothes) and decided to run upstairs to check on her, hoping she felt a little better. She was laying by the couch, Tubby and Spanky laying on either side of her, watching her with interest, and she was panting very roughly and loudly. After a quick phone consultation with Fred, I called the Vet’s office and they told me to bring her right in. In the car, she made her usual unearthly sounds, which gave me hope that whatever was ailing her hadn’t hurt her too badly. The vet arrived a few minutes after we got there, looked her over thoroughly (and in homage to her father, she shot a hard little turd at him when he lifted her tail) and declared that she was having an allergic reaction to something. Since she’d been outside earlier, we determined that she probably got ahold of a bee or wasp, which made her sick. He shot her up with benadryl, cortisone, and an anti-emetic, then kept her for a few hours for observation. I picked her up sometime after eleven, and she’s okay, if a tad needy and whiny. For the first few hours, she wouldn’t let me out of her sight for one second, but as of this moment she’s upstairs supervising the spud’s dishwashing methods. I really do love all my kitties, but it’s no secret that she’s my favorite. I think I’ll need to be hospitalized when it’s her turn to go. And since we’re talking about feces (see the shooting turd a few paragraphs up), Fred and I decided that last week must have been Feces Week on the reality shows. First of all, one of the girls on Boot Camp spent a few minutes talking about how the DIs gave them 45 seconds to go to the bathroom, but she didn’t care if she got in trouble, ’cause at least her butt would be clean. Then, on Eco-Challenge, one of the guys (I don’t recall which) discussed how his bowel movements were the best they’d ever been. Lastly, on Survivor, it was a total shit-o-rama, between the shots of everyone going up over the hill to use the latrine, and Nick’s comment that if he didn’t clean his butt, the whole tent would "smell like ass" that night. Speaking of Eco-Challenge, who the hell won, anyone know? Like the dumbass I am, I didn’t realize that the last night was two hours long, and so I only taped the first hours. Damnit. And I was really getting into it, too! So if you caught the end of it, let me know who won, wouldya, along with whether or not the team that was trying to make it into the top 10 (2 women, 2 men, but damned if I can remember the team name) did it or not. Thanks. ]]>

Fancypants with muddy feet decides to jump up on the wall at the top of the stairs and leaves big red muddy footprints on the wall, it stops being so beautifully glowingly clean and white. And white walls in high traffic areas, where everyone runs their hands along the walls as they go down the stairs? Not so white and clean. Grimy, in fact. And those painted white cabinets in the kitchen and bathrooms? Peeling, of course, because they’re no longer under warranty. It took me fifteen minutes to scrape the grease and dust, which had bonded together like an ugly superglue, off the top of the cabinets over the stove. And the DOORS, god help me people, the doors attract dirt like, well, like something that attracts something else in a big way. The big window over the front door? It’s still dirty, ’cause I can’t reach it to clean it, not to mention the fact that it needs a shade or curtain, because I’m being kept from wandering around the house nekkid by the knowledge that the neighbors could see me, and none of us want that. On the upside, I did get rid of an assload of stuff (and with MY ass, that’s a lot of stuff! Oh, I slay me…). From the master bedroom closet alone, I got rid of SIX garbage bags full of clothes. There was part of a sweater box in there from when Miz Poo was a kitten, and it was our bright idea to cut a little kitten hole in the side of the sweater box and put it over her food so that Tubby‘s fat ass couldn’t get in there to eat all her food when my back was turned. There was a bag of kitten chow, from the same period of time. There was a small calendar I’d put up on the shelf that I’d intended to put in the spud’s christmas stocking and forgot about. From Christmas 1999. In one of my dresser drawers, I found a receipt from Christmas 1998. So what I’m saying is that it had been a while since I’d last done any serious cleaning. I ended up with three loads of stuff to take to the dumpster that benefits a battered women and children’s shelter. I ended up with a pile of stuff to give away to you, my beloved readers. I still need to sort through that pile and take pictures, though, so it’ll be a few days before that entry gets put up. As I told Fred more than once, I’m done with my spring cleaning for another three years. I know I owe a lot of emails to y’all. I plan (hope) to get to them later today and finish up tomorrow. A girl can always dream, anyway… ]]>