Month: October 2000

Miz Poo has weird fur for a cat – it’s wiry and wavy, kinda, and I think I’ve mentioned it here before, but she has a problem with hairs growing inward through her eyelids and poking her in the eye. When I was in Maine in August, Fred took her to the vet, and they put her under, plucked the offending hairs, and cauterized the eyelid so that it wouldn’t happen again. Two days ago, she started making like Popeye with the eye that hadn’t been cauterized, so we figured that she was having the same problem again. Fred called and made an appointment for me to bring her in, which I did at 7 this morning. They sedated her and prepared to pluck the hairs from her eyelid, then discovered that that wasn’t the problem – she just had a corneal abrasion in that eye. So, basically I paid $113 for ointment to put in her eye three times a day, and she’s weaving around the house like a drunken sailor, and all the other cats are hissing at her because she smells like the animal hospital. Poor Poo. Oh hell, let’s make this an all-about-cats edition of Bitchypoo, shall we? The Tubbyman got into something outside the other night, and came in all streaked and dirty looking. We took a picture of him (of course), and then Fred wrestled him into the bathtub and used several rags to wipe him down.

Wednesday night, we were watching something – the debates, maybe? – on TV, and Spanky was rolling around on the floor looking for love. Fred reached down and scratched him on the head, and Spanky stretched his ears out to the side and half closed his eyes. He looked more than a little tetched, if you know what I mean, and we immediately renamed him Gomer. We couldn’t get him to do that particular look again, but here’s a picture we did. You’ll note he doesn’t quite look like he’s "all there."

Speaking of Spanky, I was walking across the dining room to get a set of sheets out of the wardrobe that is located therein, and he was sitting in the patch of sunlight in the middle of the floor. With one leg kicked over his head, he was licking himself loudly, and I glanced down at him. He was sporting a little kitty erection. As soon as he saw me looking, he put his leg down and appeared vaguely embarrassed. "I saw what you were doing!" I informed him, sounding like a disapproving mother. He glared at me and then closed his eyes as if hoping I’d just go away. Hmmm… Cat hairs, dirty cats, tetched cats, and kitty erections. I think that covers it!
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The Anatomy of Motive by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker (they’re FBI Profilers, and the Scott Glenn character in Silence of the Lambs was based on John Douglas), and talk about a book that breeds paranoia! I was walking down the street in broad, sunshiny daylight, and at one point, just ahead of me, there was an older man walking his little yappy dog. He stepped to the side of the road to let the dog do his/ her business in a little patch of woods, and as I came abreast of them, I cast a gimlet eye over the man. He smiled and nodded, saying "Good morning." "Good morning," I replied, then watched as he crossed the street and continued on his way. I turned left onto a cross-street and kept casting subtle little glances (not) over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t going to sneak up behind me and strangle me with the dog’s leash. As I walked (and glanced), I took stock of everything on my person, trying to figure out how I’d defend myself if he did turn out to be a psycho strangler type. I could bang him over the head with the walkman! I could gouge his eyes out with the garage door opener! I could moisten his lips with a stick of Blistex! Oh, the possibilities were endless. Needless to say, I didn’t see him again before the end of my walk. Anyway, speaking of the yard guys, it took them (there were two) FOUR HOURS to pull up the weeds in our three small flower beds, put down black felt, and cover it with red mulch. Four hours, man, can you believe that? Let me tell y’all, once I’m skinny and flexible enough to do things like gardening without gasping for breath and fainting on the lawn, I’ll be the main caretaker of our lawn. I will be the one who mows and whacks weeds and prettifies our flower beds and prunes our bushes and fertilizes the lawn! Okay I WOULD, if I weren’t so durn lazy… —–]]>

Gloves
Bulbs
Shrimp
Cold Medicine
Raisin Nut Bran
Hanging file folders
Salad
Microwave popcorn
Socks
SugarFree gum
Wintergreen TicTacs Pretty simple, right? Well, here’s what I walked out with: Microwave popcorn
Raisin Bran Crunch
Shrimp
Fibercon
Tylenol Flu
Italian Salad No pierogies. No gloves. No bulbs (for the garden). No hanging file folders (okay, there were hanging file folders, but they were 1/5 cut, and I wanted 1/3 cut. Anal much?). No Extra sugarfree gum. And every kind of TicTac you could ever hope for, but not Wintergreen. I was peeved. I was ticked. And I’m sure I’ll be going back in a few weeks, ’cause DAMN that was a good price for the salad. I’m really peeved about the lack of pierogies. I’ve been to four stores (besides Sam’s) looking for pierogies, and they’re nowhere to be found. What the hell is up with that? Actually, I’ve never had pierogies in my life, but I got a low-cal recipe for chicken smothered pierogies, and wanted to try it out. I guess I can try Kroger, but if they don’t have ’em, I’m shit out of luck. Deb suggested I try Schwan’s, but I’m a little scared of them, because you have to enter the witness protection program to get away from them once you buy something from them, and we can’t be buying the high-fat high-calorie REALLY YUMMY LOOKING food they sell. I flipped through the catalog they left on the porch this morning, and it was all I could do to not eat the page with the picture of the chocolate chip cookie dough on it. To add insult to injury at Sam’s, I decided that almost two years was long enough to be wandering around with my old before-I-married-Fred name on it, so I got a new one with the right name, and even had my picture taken. God almighty, all I could do when I saw the picture was laugh. They take those freakin’ pictures at the least flattering angle possible, and I look like I’ve gained 54 pounds instead of losing them, since it appears that I have 45 chins instead of the actual 6 (slight exaggeration). I also apparently have a pig nose, since you can’t see much of my face due to the huge nostrils taking up so much space. I’d scan the picture, but I don’t want y’all to lose all respect for me.

That is if you had any respect for me to begin with.

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Miz Poo, dropped 54 pounds, watched Fred start his own webpage, and started a second page of my own. Oh, and started a page for the spud (I’d link to it, but it’s not anything you haven’t seen in these pages). And on top of that, I’ve gotten so many emails from you guys that I couldn’t even begin to count them. I save them all, though, and I appreciate them more than I could ever tell you. I don’t say it often, but I mean it from the heart: thanks so much for reading; I appreciate it and the emails y’all send so very, very much. Okay, enough of that mushy crap. So, how am I going to celebrate my one-year journal-versary? Well, I’m moving. No, not me personally, not physically (thank god), but virtually. I decided I’d use the money I made putting out fires at DI and buy a new domain, and very slowly over the next few months I’ll be moving over there. Why will it take so long, you ask? Because I want to do a little bit of rearranging and such, and of course first I’ll need to remind myself every day for a month that I need to get crackin’ on it, and then one day I’ll get my ass in gear and work on it for several days, and then I’ll get burnt out and not want to set foot near my computer for a weekend, and finally I’ll upload it all to the new domain. I’m exhausted just thinking about it! Everything’s gonna move, and eventually bitchypoo.com will be gone. I know I mentioned it a few months ago, but quite frankly it’s a tad embarrassing here in the deep south, to tell someone that your webpage is "bitchypoo dot com." And I’m going to be moving the spud’s page over there, so I’d rather not tell her grandparents to check it out on bitchypoo. I know y’all understand. The journal name will remain the same, though, and so will the content (though if you’re lucky I’ll start swearing even fuckin’ more!). The journal won’t be accessible from the main page, so once the moving is done, y’all make sure you bookmark the right page. Or join the notify list. One or the other. —–]]>

jade plant, a begonia, dieffenbachia, and something she referred to as a "travelling iris." The travelling iris is a tall, spiky plant, and while there was room to put everything else up high out of the reaches of the kitties, the travelling iris ended up on the table in our bedroom, next to the TV. I figured I’d wake up this morning and find it completely eaten, but apparently the kitties left it alone last night. Maybe they’re waiting ’til we’re all out of the house… We watched Final Destination last night, which is just a great movie. I feel like I’ve seen it 14 times, though, because Fred repeatedly puts the DVD in and then forwards through to all the gross and gory scenes. In spite of that, I enjoyed seeing it all the way through a second time. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized we missed not only Sex and the City (which I can catch Tuesday night), but also the season premiere of The Practice. Grrrr. So speaking of money and such (which I was doing up there at the top), Fred and I sat down and made up a budget Saturday night. We’ve been threatening to do so for a few years now, but just never did. As we talked Saturday evening, though, we both wondered where the hell all our money was going. Once we started writing everything down, it was fairly obvious. So we made a pact to stop using the Amex card (we were using it for things like groceries and gas as well as spontaneous purchases, so we could earn "points" towards airline tickets, but it was getting confusing trying to remember to subtract everything out of the checking account so we’d have enough to pay the amex bill), stop buying books (I’m the worst when it comes to that), and start investing $200 a month, which will go up some. We also each will get a monthly allowance of $150, to spend on whatever we wish. However, our movie rentals have to come out of that money, which will be fun when we both want to watch a certain rental. ("You can watch it with me, but you have to pay for half of it…") I’m sure we’ll end up having to fiddle with the budget before it’s set in stone, but hopefully this will help cut down on the unnecessary money we spend. And before you ask – because I know you’re dying to know – we’ll continue to go out to eat once a month, and order pizza or some other fast food the other 3 or 4 Fridays of the month. We like our fast food, we do. The spud informed me over the weekend that she wants to be an animal hunter like Steve Irwin, only she doesn’t want to hunt crocodiles. I didn’t ask what she does want to hunt – perhaps cats? She’s certainly got the experience for that. It sounds like Journalcon was certainly something. I informed Fred that come what may, I’m attending the next one, no matter where they decide to hold it. It’s interesting checking out the pictures in the meantime, though, and trying to figure out who everyone is.

Okay, I’m off to enjoy the rest of my afternoon. I suggest y’all do the same!
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Tubby sitting there with something hanging out of his mouth. When Fred went closer to see what it was, Tubby growled and ran away. Fred chased him all over the house and finally got him to drop it, and discovered to his unhappiness that it was a tiny little bird – maybe a chickadee? The poor little thing (the bird, not Tubby or Fred)! Did y’all watch "Titans" the other night, the new Aaron Spelling show? Of course I had to watch it, because it looked like it was going to be delightfully cheesy – which it was – but Yasmine Bleeth scared the hell out of me. "What’s wrong with her NOSE?" I kept saying. Fred, who was pretending to sit on the couch and read (but he was really watching the show as much as I was) said "She was so pretty in BASEketball, but she’s just scary now!" Once the show was over, he got out BASEketball, which we unfortunately own, and forwarded to the first Yasmine appearance, and paused it. There was no doubt whatsoever – she’s definitely had a nose job, and not a very good one, at that! So, I know I’ve mentioned that my sister is engaged, but I haven’t said much else. The current tentative plans are that they want to get married in Montana, and the spud and I will meet them and Brian there, spend a few days, and then I’ll bring Brian back to Alabama with us. A few days after that, Debbie and Shaun will drive to Alabama, spend a couple of days here, and then drive home to Maine – or New Hampshire. They’re not sure where they’re going to be living after they get married. I’m all kinds of excited, because not only have I never been to Montana, but I’ve also not been to most of the states between Alabama and Montana (and what’s sad is that I had to go look at a map to see what states are between here and there). It’ll be interesting, that’s for sure – and I hope it happens, so keep your fingers crossed! I’ll leave y’all with this little story. Tuesday afternoon I was downstairs in front of my computer, and Fred was upstairs taking a bath. I was in the middle of reading or writing something, when Fred called down to me in his special "Come give me sex, wench" voice, "Bessieeeee? Come here for a second!" I sighed and shut down whatever I was reading and went upstairs and gave the man his booty. Later, at dinner, the spud said to Fred "How come you called Momma upstairs and then shut and locked the bedroom door? What happened?" I jumped in and said "What do you think happened?" She said "I thought maybe Fred had killed a cat!" (because she mistook his tone as being one of horror at something that had happened). Fredtheperv grinned at me and said "That’s pretty close!"
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The big thing going on around here now, is that Fred and I talked about the house and the walls and the carpet, and both of us think that the carpet is starting to look pretty crappy, and the walls are looking crappy, and various other things need to be done, so we’re looking into taking out a home equity loan to pay off the remaining two credit cards and have the walls painted and new carpet put in upstairs. The walls are all white, except in the kitchen where it’s wallpapered, and while I do like the clean, bright look of white walls, what we failed to take into account is that the white walls in high-traffic areas like downstairs where you come into the house through the garage and up the stairs and in the living room get very dirty very quickly, because someone’s always running their grimy hands along the walls, or a stupid cat is running wildly at the wall, smacking at some unseen something on the wall, and then running wildly away. And our rug, which is SUPPOSEDLY a light gray color, is actually much more of a light blue, though Fred won’t admit it. We’re thinking of doing the walls a light cranberry and the carpets a medium green. I don’t know, though. I’m not any good at the decorating thing, since the most adventuresome thing I’ve done decorating-wise lately is to put up some 5×7 pictures I bought in Maine in my bathroom downstairs: But anyway, we’ve been talking over the last few days, and we’ve agreed that our house just isn’t very homey, and we need to paint the walls and get some decent furniture in the living room, but we’re just clueless. I told Fred to call his parents, because their house is just gorgeously decorated, and ask their opinion, but apparently his stepmother didn’t really know what to advise, so we’re mostly on our own. Fred kept suggesting different color combinations to me, and I’d say "Yeah, maybe" and shrug, then finally reminded him that he was talking to the woman who picked out the puke-green paint for the extra office last year when they were renovating the company’s office space: So obviously I don’t know nothing’ ’bout picking out no paint. Now that I think about it, I guess Fred’s on a real home improvement kick, because the yard guy stopped by yesterday to mow the lawn, and Fred went out to discuss with him what could be done with our front flower beds. They had agreed, at some previous time, that the yard guy (whose name I simply can’t retain for more than ten seconds at a time) would yank up the dead flowers and plant mums. THEN he told Fred that the mums are something ridiculous like $10 a plant, and he could easily fit 20 plants in the front flowerbed. Fred rapidly changed his mind, dithered back and forth, and finally told the guy to just yank up the dead flowers, and we’d maybe buy some bulbs they could plant out there. When he came inside, we had a ten minute discussion about "Those yellow tulips you had planted out back last year," as Fred put it. Now, I know I didn’t plant any yellow tulips anywhere, because I just hate tulips more than about any other kind of flower, don’t ask me why ’cause I don’t know. "You mean the lilies?" I asked. "NO, the yellow tulips!" he insisted for several minutes. "They were YELLOW and they were TULIPS, and they were planted in that little bit of ground near the patio…" "Oh," I said finally with a gosh you’re kind of a dumbass smile, "Those are called DAFFODILS." I mean, for crying out loud, when they were growing, I gushed hourly about how pretty they were, and how much I love daffodils, and yadda yadda yadda. You’d’ve thought something would have sunk in. Apparently, you would have thought wrong!
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::Taking a deep breath: I’m back! Did you miss me? I know you did, because I got scads of sweet "I miss you!" emails, and if you emailed me and I never replied, it’s because I was running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off and bouncing off the walls. I know y’all understand, and I’ll be getting to that "To respond" folder in my email program just as soon as I can. I’ve worked the last (let me look at the calendar, here…) 17 days straight. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I worked 8 hours every day or anything, but there were several days where I worked more than 9 hours more than one day in a row. Yesterday and today, I only worked about three hours each day, and would have updated, but I needed some "me" time. I know y’all understand. The new office manager – what the hell did I name her? I don’t remember – seems to be working out pretty damn well. I was fairly freaked that she knew nothing at all about Quickbooks, but she’s picking it up fast, and she’ll be attending a Quickbooks training class later this month, and between the accountant and I, I think she’ll be fine. She’s very nice and peppy (for lack of a better word) and doesn’t really take shit from anyone. I know, I know, I liked the previous new office manager too, but I think I like this one even more. She’s not under the impression that she knows everything already, so she’s actually taking notes when I show her how to do something, unlike Rachel, who knew everything and thought I should go away and leave her to it. So I spent 14 days straight getting the books back in order, and if I never had to look at Quickbooks again, it would be far too soon. I did learn a few things by watching the accountant at work, which was neat, and the new office manager is a whiz in Excel, so I’ve picked up a thing or two from her. Anyway.

The weather here turned cold and then hot again, and I just heard that it’ll be down in the 50s this weekend during the days, and in the 30s at night. I would say that Fall’s definitely here. My morning glories, for the most part, are dead. They let out a few last gasps in the form of huge, gorgeous blooms, and now they’re just waiting for me to go out and rip them down. On the other hand, the morning glory "volunteers", which are growing in the gravel at the end of our pool, are still going strong. The leaves are huge and brilliantly green, and the blooms are small but bright. I’ll guess that by growing through the gravel, those morning glories aren’t depending on me for water the way the ones in the planter are. Oh, let me think, what else has been going on?… Last Sunday, Fred and I were eating lunch in the kitchen. I had a small pile of sweet pickles, and when I bit one of them, the vinegar-type juice stuff (technical term) went down the back of my throat, and I made a small choking noise. Fred’s eyes went big as saucers, and he moved as if he were going to leap across the table at me and heimlich me to within an inch of my life. "I’m okay!" I choked out, then started coughing. "I’m fine." He relaxed a little, but I could tell his heart was still pounding, poor guy. Last night, Fred had the debates (snooooore) on TV, and I was reading a magazine. I happened to put down my magazine at one point and listen to something they were saying (obviously it was so important I don’t even remember), and Fred said something like "It’s really none of our (the US’s) business!" I turned to him and said brightly "I’ve always said that if I were the president, I’d be an Insulationist!" Er. I meant Isolationist, of course. There are times when Miz Poo is doing something naughty (yes, I know it’s difficult to believe!) like walk around on the dinner table while we’re eating, and I have to pick her up and put her down on the floor, usually making a comment along the lines of "You don’t belong up here, silly girl!" When the spud’s around, she has recently taken on the job of speaking as though she were Miz Poo, saying for example "But Mom! I want to be on the table!" (apparently Miz Poo is a master of the obvious). Anyway, it’s been bothering me a little, because the spud sounds like someone when she does her Miz Poo voice, but I couldn’t think of who. Last night, it came to me – she sounds just like Cartman, right down to the pronouncing "Mom" as "Mem". It’s pretty funny. Okay, I can’t think of what else has happened in the last couple of weeks, but I’m sure it’ll come back to me eventually. Unless something horrid happens, I’ll be posting Monday through Friday from now on out. It’s good to be back! —–]]>