Month: August 2000

Benny Mardones, "Into the Night"? Sure you do. She’s just sixteen years old, leave her alone, they sayyyyyy… Sound familiar? No? Well, go download it off of Napster and listen to it. Go on, I’ll wait. Okay, remember now? Here’s something embarrassing – I used to LOVE that song, just love it to death. Oh, in my little teeny-bopper heart I longed for someone to love me that much. Of course, I didn’t realize at the time that the song was about some perverted 40 year old (guessing) who fell in lust with a poor, innocent 16 year-old (all 16 year-olds were innocent in the ’80s, you know) and wanted to steal her away into the night so he could do nasty things to her. In fact, I didn’t realize until last week when I was driving to the movie store exactly what the song was about, since I hadn’t heard it in so long. I about drove off the road. The next thing you know, I’ll be figuring out that "She-Bop" isn’t about dancing… (That last part was a joke, by the way. Please don’t email me and tell me what it’s really about, ’cause I don’t think I know you that well.) (Addendum, 11/8/01 – someone doing a search on Benny Mardones who actually knows the singer in person emailed to tell me that the song, in his words, Was not about a 40 year old trying to pick up a 16 year old. 16 year old was a girl that used to walk his dogs, she was abused, and mistreated by her parents. The love was him wanting to be able to have a part in her life and show her that some people do care about others, not sex and kinky stat. rape kinda things 🙂. Just thought y’all would be interested to know that) So I’ve lost in the area of 40 pounds since the end of June (don’t be too impressed, it’s really just a drop in the bucket), and one of the side effects I’ve noticed (aside from having to crawl, gasping for air and dripping sweat and cursing the existence of one Leslie ohihateher Sansone, to the door of the gym after I exercise in the morning) is that 68 is too cold to keep the house during the day. We’ve kept the house at 68 ever since we moved in, ’cause we’re those annoying people who really like it cool (cold) in our house. However, we’ve recently taken to bumping it up to 72 during the day. In the old days, we would have considered this practically tropical. What’s going to happen when I lose another 40 pounds? Will we be running around in an 80 degree house? I wrote an email this morning that amused me, so I’m going to reproduce it here in part, and then call it a day. I’m still losing weight, slowly but surely, in fact I’m doing the "official" weigh-in tomorrow morning, so I’m trying to keep off the scale in the meantime, but I’ve lost in the area of 40 pounds since late June. Unfortunately, this is just a drop in the bucket. HOWEVER, Fred is losing at such a fast rate that it makes me want to punch him sometimes. I swear, he weighs himself in the morning AND the afternoon, and every time I see him get on the scale, I just want to go poke his eyes out with a pen. He hops up on the scale, all perky-like, and then chirps "Oh, another pound gone since this morning!" And I always snarl "Oh, SHUT UP!" We were laying in bed talking once, and he said, all serious, "I think the reason I’m losing faster than you is because I’m exercising more intensively than you are." It was all I could do to not jump on him and sit on his chest until he suffocated to death. I mean, you should see me in the mornings when I’m done exercising, I’m practically crawling for the door, sobbing "No more! No more!" with sweat dripping off every part of my body. And that’s just the warmup. Heh! Anyway, he said "I think it’s ’cause I’m exercising more INTENSIVELY than you are," and I screamed "NO, IT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE A MAN AND MEN ALWAYS LOSE WEIGHT FASTER THAN WOMEN BECAUSE GOD HATES ME!" And, oh my god, do you know what he said? Honestly, I don’t know how I didn’t kill the man. He said "Maybe you’re losing slower than me because you BELIEVE you’ll lose slower than me!" At least I’m lucky, in that he doesn’t say anything if I sit down with a big-ass bowl of pudding (like I did Saturday night)(hell, at least it was non-fat, no-sugar pudding!) and stuff it all in my face. Sometimes, y’know, a gal’s just gotta have a big-ass, chocolatey snack. I’m no choc-a-holic, but I need my chocolate sometimes.]]>

The Next Best Thing yesterday, among other movies, and watched it last night – which is a first for me, since I usually start watching my movies the day before they’re due back – and I liked it a lot. I have to say, though, that it appears Madonna tries to look as hideous as humanly possible 95% of the time. Which is a shame, ’cause she can be really pretty when she wants to, but her current look just isn’t working. She also looks about ten years older than she is. Rupert Everett is just about the best-looking man in film these days, in my opinion. Okay, what else? Hairballs, insects, cats, movie. I guess that about covers it! ]]>

I always forget what a pretty cat Spot is. Not only pretty, but a true gentleman, and he rules the house with a velvet-covered iron paw. He’ll kick kitty ass if he has to, but only if he truly must. Here we see Miz Poo at the tail end of a Fancypants swish-by. She looks none too pleased. I don’t know what I’m doing right with the Morning Glories, but they sure look happy, don’t they? They’d probably be even happier if they’d been planted in a bigger pot. "I wonder if I can fit under the fence…?" That’s it! Go on, go do something more exciting than sitting in front of your computer. I plan to spend the rest of the day cleaning up hairballs, reading, and possibly napping. Oh, my high-stress, high-pressure life.]]>

Squint "An E-scort. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of those. I wonder if they’re new." Yes, the light dawned rather quickly, and I was pretty embarrassed. Woop! Woop! Woop! Cute kitty pic!: Oh, how I love my Miz Poo. So, do any of my readers know anything about plants? I bought this little plant at the store today, and I’d like to look up info about it, but I have no idea what kind of plant it is. Anyone know? Fred’s mom and stepfather stopped by yesterday, and they called about half an hour before they got here to let us know they were on the way. Fred and I ran around, picking up the house so we wouldn’t look like the slobs we are. When we were done, the house looked pretty damn good. I told him we should pretend we were expecting visitors every day, and run around and spend a while cleaning up, and the house would look that good every day. I’m not holding my breath, though.]]>

Jolene‘s notify list, and whenever I get a notify email from her, I sing – loudly, proudly, and badly – Dolly Parton’s "Jolene." Let the stampede to unsubscribe from my notify list begin. My period started early this month – as in, it usually starts Wednesday between 10 am and noon, it’s been like that for four years, except those few months last year when I went off the pill, and it started Tuesday night instead – and I am all a-twitter to find out what exactly this means. Will it still keep going until Saturday afternoon, as usual, or will it end a day early? The thrills and chills around here just never stop, folks. So, I was in the shower this morning – practically this afternoon, ’cause I didn’t get around to showering ’til after 11! I’ll discuss why later, but really, let’s get back to the topic, shall we? – happily lathering up my hair. Lather, lather, lather. Ah, smell the lovely coconut scent, such a happy, lovely scent it is indeed. But – what’s this? I feel a lump in my hair. I pull the somewhat furry lump from my hair and bring it to eye level so that I might see it clearer. It was a spider. A DEAD spider. A DEAD SPIDER IN MY HAIR, PEOPLE! I’m not too proud to admit that I jumped, squealed loudly (and not a happy squeal, either), and flung the dead spider away from me as hard as I could. It hit the shower wall about waist-high (my waist, that is. Well, if I HAD a waist) and then just kind of hung there. When I was done doing the "HOLY GOD IN HEAVEN THERE WAS A DEAD SPIDER IN MY HAIR, A DEAD SPIDER, A DEAD SPIDER! SCREAM!" dance, I grabbed the detachable shower head and sprayed it down the drain. What perturbs me the most is that I have NO idea where the damn thing came from. Did it die in my hair in the night and then hang there all morning long as I exercised? If so, it had one hell of a grip for a dead thing. Did it fall from somewhere as I was cleaning the kitchen and living room? Was it on the shower head? WHERE did the fucking thing come from??? Is this the kind of thanks I get for scooping up that little bitty spider that was crawling along the wall over my desk yesterday and tossing it outside instead of killing it? I just know I’m going to have nightmares. I think I’m going to go shave my hair off. ::Shudder::]]>

Jesus last night – it’s one of the movies I rented on Movie Rental Tuesday – and right after the part where Jesus heals a crippled boy (he’s a miracle-doin’ fool, that guy), I heard a sniffle from Fred’s direction. The Mommy in my head kicked in. "Oh, I hope he’s not getting sick. Does he need a tissue? Some cold medicine?" I turned my head to look at him, and tears were just a-pourin’ down his face. So I laughed at him. I know, I’m an awful wife, but it was funny to be sitting there, my eyes not in the least teary, and have him practically sobbing loudly. Apparently one of the big ways we differ is that he cries during happy parts of movies, and I cry during the sad parts. I know you women out there are jealous since I got me one o’ them SENSITIVE guys who can cry. But hands off, ladies, he’s taken. (And by the way, I DID get his permission to write about his tears, so don’t email me and tell me how mean I am for blowing his cover) Earlier today, I was reading this month’s Glamour magazine (I really need to cancel that subscription), and I came across a something entitled "Karma Calculator". Basically, it’s a list of sins, and they ask a Rabbi, a Monsignor, and a Buddhist guy how to clear your karma – and conscience – when you "commit a moral faux pas." So far so good, right? The sins begin: Stealing someone’s parking space, cheating on your SO, gossiping about a friend. But I have to take exception to Sin number 5, which is: "Taking a sick day at work when you’re not really sick." This is a sin? I don’t THINK so. Is god really up there making little black marks next to my name when I call in sick to work when I’m really just needing a day in bed with crappy magazines? Even better are the religious guys’ advice. The rabbi says you should come in on a weekend day or forgo one of your vacation days. The Monsignor says you should work overtime without putting it on your timecard. The Buddhist guy says "Try to work as if it’s your true vocation instead of just killing time." Sh’YEAH. Fuck THAT. I know, I’m going straight to Hell. Also in the Glamour magazine was an article by Elizabeth Wurtzel, she of Prozac Nation fame, about her addiction to ritalin, which led to a cocaine addiction. Aren’t her 15 minutes up yet? Man, I can’t believe tonight’s the last Survivor. Surely they’ll show it again in reruns? Please, oh please? They had a segment on the noon news here showing the final four as they look now, and Rich has dropped even more weight, and shaved the facial hair. He’s almost cute. Almost, I say.]]>

The Cider House Rules Saturday night, and I can’t praise it enough. But y’all know that’s ’cause it’s got that cute little Tobey Maguire in it. I just love that boy. Charlize Theron was just not right for him, though. Too "come-hither", if you know what I mean. Hands off, Charlize! Ellen DeGeneres and Anne Heche broke up, did y’all hear? And Meg Ryan and Dennis Quaid are back together! Yay! While I’m doing the entertainment section of Bitchypoo, I have to say that the casting for the Harry Potter movie is pretty darn good, especially the kid playing Ron. The girl who’ll be playing Hermione isn’t quite what I was expecting, though. The pool is back to normal, with sparkling clear water and no nasty algae floating or laying around. I bought an underwater camera at Wal-Mart last week, so one day soon I’ll be getting pictures of Fred blowing water bubbles from the bottom of the pool. So, I was burning a candle on my desk last night (sunflower flavor), and Miz Poo got all interested and went running across my desktop to check it out, sticking her little face as close to the flame as possible. I grabbed her and pulled her back before she burst into flames, butt his morning I note that several of the whiskers directly above her eyes are about half their previous length. It gives her a rakish air.]]>