1-22-09

Yesterday was a fairly productive day for me. In the morning I spent a few minutes with the baby kittens, then headed out early. I went to Madison to have blood drawn so that the week after next when I go for my three-year followup visit with the surgeon who performed my weight loss surgery, he’ll have the results.

The guy who took my blood was hands-down the BEST phlebotomist I’ve ever had blood drawn by. He looked at my arm, grabbed the needle, and inserted it before I knew what was going on, and I did NOT feel it go in at all. I’ve had blood drawn by skilled technicians before, but this guy was exceptionally good.

I left there and went to the grocery store in Madison where you can renew your driver’s license (and get tags and, I think, pay taxes). I realized yesterday that my license expired on the 13th, so it was time to get my ass in gear. I got there a few minutes after 8:30 (they open at 8:30), only to find several people in line already. I was all annoyed, because I’d apparently decided that I’d go in and be done in five minutes, but now I had to stand in line OH WOE IS ME.

I ended up standing in line for MAYBE fifteen minutes, and it wasn’t so bad. When it was my turn, I handed over my license and told her that I had a new address. I dictated it to her (I swear to god, every time we move, we end up on a street name more convoluted than the one before) and then I was writing out my check when she said “And is your height and weight about the same?”

“Yeah,” I said. There was a prolonged moment of silence and I glanced up to see her staring at me with a funny look on her face. “Oh,” I said, and glanced down at my old license, which she was holding. The weight on my license? 250 pounds.

(And I KNOW I was lying when I gave that as my weight at the time!)

“It’s changed,” I said, and gave her the new number.

First time in my life the weight on my driver’s license has been anything but a flat-out lie, believe you me.

When I left there, I ran over to Kohl’s to return some jeans I bought in December and ended up wandering around the store for a few minutes. It turns out that Kohl’s is now selling fold-up reusable shopping bags, and they’re pretty cute, so I grabbed three of them.

(At $1.99, they’re more expensive than my beloved Hannaford Fold-A-Tote bags, but like I said, they’re pretty cute, so I had to have some! I got one of each design (there were three). Folded up, they’re a bit bigger than the Hannford bags; unfolded, they’re virtually the same size, but have longer handles. The Hannaford bags are still my favorite, though!)

I also grabbed two Fiestaware Gusto bowls – one in Sunflower, one in Scarlet – because I think we need bigger bowls than the cereal bowls we have, and I want to see if we’ll use the Gusto bowls or not before I get more to add to my collection.

Then I headed over to visit with a friend – remember Katherine, who adopted River and Inara, who became Nate and Dora? Well, she invited me over (or perhaps I said “I’m going to be in your area and I’m inviting myself over!” WHATEVER.) so I went and we talked and we watched the cats, and I completely forgot to snap pictures of the cats, but let me tell you – those two are growing up PURTY.

It’s funny – Kara’s kind of a short, stubby, muscular girl, but her babies have grown to be long and lanky and sleek. They are so gorgeous and they were not interested in me, ’cause they had THINGS to do and PLACES to go, the brats. (Next time, I’ll get pictures!)

When I left Katherine’s, I headed to Target. I bought Fred this Bubba Keg Travel Mug several months back to drink his coffee out of, and during the week he takes it to work to use so all is well at Crooked Acres. But on the weekend he brings it home to drink his coffee out of, and JESUS CHRIST I HATE THAT GODDAMN THING. He leaves it by the sink, and if you so much as look at the damn thing sideways, it topples over. I have, in annoyance, picked that goddamn cup and tossed it across the room to get it the fuck out of my way more times than I can count.

(Side note: Bubba Kegs are durable!)

Finally, I decided I was going to see if they had any Bubba Kegs that would NOT fall over if I sighed in its general direction, thus the reason for my trip to Target. They did have a Bubba Keg that isn’t smaller at the bottom than at the top, so I got it. He seems pleased with it, so the fact that it’s even bigger than his old Bubba Keg is apparently not a bad thing as far as he’s concerned.

While I was at Target, I went over to look at the space heaters. The foster kitten room, because we’re keeping the door closed, can get pretty cold at night. Katherine had a couple of tower space heaters at her house, and she told me she got ’em at Sam’s Club, but I thought if Target had them, I wouldn’t have to go alllllll the way to Sam’s.

(Sam’s is like a three minute drive from Target. I am a lazy-ass.)

The space heaters were all on clearance – and though they didn’t have the exact heater I was looking for, they did have a comparable Holmes heater that had been marked down from $60 to $14.99, so I snatched it up and was all proud of myself for saving all that money.

Which I promptly blew on ShamWOW! ShamWOWs? A box of ShamWOW? Whatever, I bought the box of cloths that will make me say “Wow!” every time I use one.

AND THEY BETTER BE AMAZING, OR BELIEVE YOU ME I WILL RETURN THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS.

Then I headed for home, stopped at the grocery store on the way home to pick up groceries, and by the time I got home, it was lunch time.

BUT.

I had to go out and visit George and Gracie and check for eggs, first. Those dogs are such good puppies. They come right over to me when I come through the gate, and they sit and look hopefully at me, and if I have treats for them, they are polite about waiting to be given their treats. And if there are no treats, they are polite about waiting for me to pet them and rub their ears.

(I really like rubbing their big soft ears.)

Then I checked for eggs and petted George and Gracie some more, and came back inside where I ate lunch.

And spent the rest of the afternoon reading on the floor of the kitten room.

Productive day? Yes, very much so. I still need like hell to vacuum the house today, though. And clean out the fireplace (it’s going to get up into the mid-50s today!). And maybe clean the bathrooms.

But most importantly – I have an episode of Real Housewives and an episode of Lost to watch!

Priorities, y’know.

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So, I spent a couple of hours hanging out in the foster kitten room yesterday. At first, Samba and Rumba hid behind the door in the closet. Then they got curious, and they peeked out. And ran back and hid. Then when it became clear that, hey, I was just minding my own business, man, just laying here on the floor reading and not interested in no little bitty kitties, they came out. They sniffed around the room, sniffed at the space heater I’d brought in with me, sniffed at my water bottle, sniffed at my feet.

Then they settled on the cat tree and snoozed, then kept an eye on me and snoozed. Rumba occasionally jumped down to see what I was doing that sounded so interesting (I rolled some toys across the floor). Neither of them actually approached me for petting, but when Fred got home and walked into the room and approached them, they allowed him to pet them briefly before they skedaddled back into the closet.

Last night, Rumba let me pet her quite a bit (it’s not that she wanted me to pet her, really, just that she was chasing a toy and I happened to be there, so I’d pet her as she went by, and she’d tolerate it) and even purred. I suspect after I spend some time in there today, they might even approach me on purpose and want to be petted.

We shall see!

Pretty Rumba.

Samba in the sun.

More pics over at Love & Hisses.

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Maxi does her best Tony Soprano impression. Seriously, check out those serial killer eyes! (The funny thing is that she’s such a lover that when Fred pets her, she gets so happy she drools all over the place.)

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Previously
2008: If you can’t wander around in your nightgown and parka in the country, where can you?
2007: more than once I got frustrated and called Fred at work and wove an impressive tapestry of profanity that impressed him
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: You don’t actually have to say the words “You’re a dumbass” to get the idea across, and thus when your wife is mad at you later and you so very innocently say “Are you mad about something?” and she says “YOU CALLED ME A DUMBASS!” and you say “I did NOT call you a dumbass!”, you are wrong and she is right and you’d best commence to begging for forgiveness, you fucker.
2003: Little bastard.
2002: I can’t believe I’m FUCKING FALLING DOWN.
2001: No entry.
2000: I apologize for the lameness of this entry.