Month: August 2001

so be stealing that Six Flags t-shirt when I can fit into it), but that leaves NINETEEN new shirts. And most of them with matching shorts. And some dresses. And all this after I took the child to Wal-Mart (oh, shut UP. Wal-Mart clothes are PERFECTLY FINE SO SHUT THE HELL UP) and bought her an ass load of new shorts to go with her 2,349 t-shirts. And then Monday the spud started 7th grade, and we walked to the end of the street, and the ladies standing there with their little kiddies said "Oh! I think that was her bus that went by just a minute ago!" And I sighed and looked at the spud and said "Let’s just walk to the school, it’ll only take a few minutes." So we started walking, and as we walked, we saw a small crowd of middle school-aged kids standing around as if waiting for a bus, and I said "Oh, I bet that was the high school bus that went by, not the middle school bus. We’d better walk back to the end of our street so the bus driver will know to stop there each day." We walked back to the end of our street and were discussing with the mothers standing there the bus that had gone by, and had just determined that that had been the high school bus ("I don’t know, the older kids all look alike to me! I can’t tell if they’re in high school or middle school!" Thanks, Helpful McDumbass.) when I looked to my right and saw the spud’s bus (right number and all) come out of a nearby street and turn AWAY from us to pick up the crowd of kids down the road, and then continued on with nary a look in our direction. "Sheeit," I said. "Let’s get the Jeep and I’ll drive you." On the way to the middle school, I said "Just get on the right number bus this afternoon, and get off where he picked up all those kids and walk home." I repeated this several times, because the spud is generally pretty quiet and you’re not sure what’s sinking in and what isn’t. After I exercised and showered and chatted with my mother, we went off to the mall. I need a new comforter for my bed (YES I DO, Fred!) and wanted company while I looked. I didn’t find anything I liked (I’ll be checking out Bed, Bath and Beyond when it opens in a few weeks), but while we were in JC Penney, we found a cat canister set that I just loved, it was so funny-looking, and I dithered about buying it even though it was on sale. I had just about decided to buy it when my mother said "I could buy it for you for a Christmas present!" You’d better believe I jumped on that. "Yeah, you could!" So she bought me not only the canister set: (it’s in 3 sections, ain’t it cute?!), but also the matching salt and pepper set: I love them, they’re so cute and goofy-looking! And you know how much I love things that are cute and goofy-looking… She told me that I had to put them away until Christmas, and when I just said "Okay, I will!", she changed her tune and told me I didn’t have to wait. Hee! She also took me out to lunch. Have I ever mentioned that my affections can be bought? The spud’s school lets out at 3. Since it was raining, we took the Jeep and parked by where all the kids had been waiting, and around 3:15, here came the bus. It stopped and one child got off. That child was not the spud. But we could see the spud on the bus, and were frantically waving to her. "Where the hell’s she GOING?" I said, then pulled out behind the bus, deciding maybe she hadn’t recognized the street. We followed the bus around several streets and out of the subdivision onto a main road. We thought perhaps she was going to just ride back to the school, or maybe she’d forgotten we moved. Anything’s possible with the spud! But then the bus pulled back into the subdivision and stopped at the end of our road, where she got off. The bus driver asked her, when she got on the bus, where she needed to be dropped off, and she’d told him. Oh. And speaking of the spud, she had her hair cut the day before she flew home: It’s pretty cute, and also easier for her to take care of. Like her mother, she doesn’t usually fuss with her hair. Monday evening, the spud started getting all kinds of weepy, I’m sure because my mother was going to be leaving soon. Tuesday morning, she said her stomach hurt, and I first told her she could stay home, and then changed my mind and told her she was going to school. She boo-hooed all over the place, but there was just no way she was staying home on the second day of school when she obviously wasn’t really sick. Yeah I know, mean mommy. Oddly, the school didn’t call to have me come pick her up ’cause she was sick, either. We didn’t do much Tuesday, except run to the grocery store for a few things (we’ve been going through milk like it’s going out of style) and the drugstore, then my mother FORCED me to let her take me out to lunch. Of course I let her; after all, it’s only polite to let your guests do what they’d like when they’re visiting… I actually checked the spud out of school to go to the airport with us this morning. My mom’s flight was at 11, and they started boarding at 10:30. We were going to hang around to watch the plane take off, but what’s the point? It’s not like she knew whether we were watching or not, so we left. I dropped the spud off at school, ran a few errands, and came home to have the house to myself for the first time since Friday. And to do laundry. The excitement never stops around here, no sir…]]>

little shop in Gatlinburg, and he placed a recent order. Which got him wanting to visit Gatlinburg again. We’re going for Labor Day weekend, woohoo! He keeps saying he wants to retire to Gatlinburg; I don’t know if he’s serious. The blinds guy came to put up brand-spankin’-new blinds in our computer room, library, and the study upstairs. Oh, and the back door. I’ve hated being on the computer when it’s dark, ’cause it feels like the entire neighborhood is starting at me. Hopefully they have better things to do, but you know I think the world revolves around me. I think I’m going to cut this short, ’cause I have laundry left to do, and dirty mop water to dump out. You know, the exciting stuff. I don’t know what updating’s going to be like while my mother’s here. I feel that it would be rude to sit in front of the computer for hours as usual, so updating may be sporadic. And of course, if you’re on the notify list you’ll know when I’ve updated, anyway.]]>

I was a kid, I’d never have dared to slump into the room where my mother was and whine "I’m so boooooored", because she’d sure as shit find something for me to do, and believe you me, it would have been something like cleaning the bathroom or vacuuming. Speaking of kids, our neighbors have 3 young boys, and the youngest is, well, very young (I’m not very good at telling the approximate age of young children). Young enough to still be on the occasional bottle, in any case, and he’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. I saw him a few days after we moved in as I was getting the mail, and he gave me the cutest, flirty little smile. Right now, the boys next door have friends over, and they’re riding their bikes around the cul-de-sac (except for the littlest boy), and he’s trying to be helpful by picking up the cones they were riding their bikes around. Heh, it just started raining, and the kiddies are milling about in panic, screaming at the top of their lungs. Thankyajeezus that it didn’t start raining while I was walking 15 miles this morn. So I was in the bathroom this morning after my shower, and I caught sight of an old People magazine sitting on the toilet tank. (Yeah riiiight, like you don’t read in the bathroom… My current bathroom read is a Danielle Steel novel, which is about where it belongs, I think. Okay, that was rude. I actually like the book, god help me, even though I gave up reading Danielle Steel novels years ago because her editors seem to be scared to, y’know, EDIT her. But I digress) This particular issue was the one where it says at the top something like "Harrison Ford reunites with wife!", and I got a little happy feeling and thought "Good, I’m glad he did." I’m odd in that when someone gets married, whether they’re famous or not, I’m sincerely happy for them and hope they stay married forever and ever. When I hear that a couple is splitting up, I’m disappointed and wish they could work it out. Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman? Damn, I thought they’d be together forever. Meg Ryan and Dennis Quaid? I thought for sure they would have worked it out! Pamela And3rson and Tommy Lee? I was looking forward to seeing them still together in their sixties. Seriously! And don’t even get me started on Julia and Ben. And yet, when a couple breaks up, I’m absolutely consumed with curiosity to know why. Why did Tom and Nicole break up? Just tell us, Tom! Was it because you had the hots for Penelope Cruz, because you’re gay, because Nicole cheated on you, some other reason? Personally, I think the "Nicole knows why I filed for divorce", coupled with the almost instant Penelope Cruz fling is a cover for something else. That, or Nicole had an affair and the Penelope Cruz thing is an "in your face" thing to hurt her back. Why oh why am I so desperate to know the truth? Why would I KILL to have Julia Roberts call me up and say "Look, we broke up because I caught him wearing my underwear, and not the sexy, slinky underwear, but the big ol’ saggy-ass stained granny underwear, and every time I looked at him after that, all I could see was the saggy-ass underwear hanging down to his knees and that he was, y’know, all HANGING out of it, and it was too much, alright? Is THAT what you wanted to know, you nosy bitch?!" It’s not that I’m taking pleasure in the pain of others, GOD no, it’s just that I want to know WHY they broke up, and I’m not sure why. Of course, probably part of the reason why I read so many journals is because I have an insatiable need to know the details of the lives of others, and I hate it, OH how I hate it when they hint at something that’s going on in their lives and never say what it is. Drives me nuts! I think it should be the law that everyone has to share the private details of their life with me, and when I’m queen of the world, I shall make it so. "What? You bought a comforter and didn’t tell me that you were considering doing so?! OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!" I will also seize possession of Vince, oh yes…]]>

It was the funniest thing; Miz Poo was standing there, slowly shifting her weight from one back leg to the other, almost like a little dance. Come to find out, there was a gray neighborhood cat sitting outside the window hissing at she and Tubby. I went out to see if he’d come to me, but he wouldn’t, and after Spanky and Fancypants caught sight of him and set to howling, I had to go out and run him off for the sake of my sanity. From that same window this afternoon, I saw a huge flock of birds gathered around the bird feeders. I don’t think we EVER had so many birds at the old house.

There were a ton more on the other side of the yard, but one camera can only do so much. If I’d thought of it (and were a tad more talented with the Paintshop Pro), I could have made a panoramic picture. The majority of these birds, according to Fred’s father, are cowbirds, and are very common. I bet the cats are counting the minutes (if cats could count) until we have the yard fenced in and they can go out there. I feel for their lives when such an event occurs, ’cause they’ll be easily outnumbered, and no doubt we’ll glance out the window to see Tubby flying by, carried by 98 birds. And since I’m sharing pictures, check out Fred’s current footwear: He’s wearing my yellow slippers (this picture doesn’t really do justice to how fluorescent they are) because the tiled and hardwood floors have been hurting his knees. They’re just on loan until his slippers come from Land’s End later this week, though. Which is good, ’cause I need them back. I keep a pair of slippers upstairs and a pair downstairs (because yes, I am that lazy), and he’s hijacked my upstairs slippers, the bastard.

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With five cats in the house, it’s no surprise that no matter where you go, there are piles of kitties everywhere. Here, Tubby and Spanky are enjoying the morning sun. Spanky was rolling back and forth in ecstasy until I had the nerve to get the camera out. More piles of kitties. Here, Fancypants looks up from his perusal of Shape magazine to see why Fred is snapping his fingers and trying to get him to look at me. Fred termed this picture "Little Lord Tubbleroy". Hee! Spanky and Miz Poo are on bird watch. Tubby is cooling his stomach on the nice cool hardwood floor. Speaking of birds, these birds seem to be adult-sized, but they were begging for food from another bird, who was feeding them. Maybe it’s a mating thing? I dunno, but it was kind of cool to watch. Spanky’s new favorite place to sleep is under my desk. Which means there’s nowhere for my feet to go, and upon occasion I accidentally kick him, but he’s the forgiving sort, and simply stands up, turns around in a circle and settles down in the exact same position. Miz Poo’s favorite place to sleep continues to be on her pillow on the top of my desk, amongst the piles of crap. I hope for her sake that the phone doesn’t suddenly ring. Another Poo pic. I don’t know why I adore taking pictures of her from above so, but it just cracks me up. From my desk in the computer room, I can look through the library window and see the sunset every night. This picture doesn’t really do it justice. This picture came out a tad better, but I had to go outside to take it. And the cool clouds that show up as the sun is going down. I love me some cool pink and blue sky, yessir. Don’t I look like I could use a nap? I had just finished Tae Bo-ing (the instructional tape). Damn, my hair gets light between colorings. And I need a professional to help me out with those eyebrows, I think. Here, I was trying to get a picture of Miz Poo and I together. Miz Poo was NOT cooperating, and this was the best of the bunch. Okay, I think those pictures will hold y’all for a while. I didn’t manage to get any pictures of Spot, but only because he’s still hiding under the bed most of the time. The rest of the cats have pretty much adjusted, even Fancypants. Thank god. ]]>

A Day in the Life of a Bitchypoo 4:29 am: Wake to hear Fancypants let out a long, mournful meow. Tense in anticipation that this is the first in a string of meows. Growl "You’d better not, you fucker" under your breath. Relax and fall asleep before you find out whether he plans to meow again. 5:49 am: Wake to find a blinding shaft of light glaring in your sleepy eyeballs. Said shaft of light is coming from the walk-in closet, where Fred is choosing his clothing for the workday. Today’s workwear: black cotton shorts and a green "Make 7" – "Up Yours" t-shirt. 5:53 am: Wake again to find Fred shaking you awake to say goodbye. Make sleepy conversation. Be reminded for the 15th time that Fred needs what he calls house shoes and the rest of the world calls slippers, because the tile floor is wreaking havoc on his knees. Assure Fred for the 15th time that you will look for slippers at Wal-Mart, assuming that the guys delivering the washer and dryer have come and gone at a reasonable (ie, before lunch) hour. 6:01 am: Roll out of bed and put contacts in eyes, get dressed in usual exercise outfit. Walk downstairs. Notice that Fred has left the kitchen light on for the second day in a row. Note that, much like a child, he never throws anything away or turns anything off. Make mental note to give him a hard time about it. 6:02 – 6:19 am: Sit in front of computer. Read emails, check usual web pages, check stats. Debate with self whether to skip exercising for the day. Decide to exercise, but only walk 2 miles instead of the usual 4. Pet Miz Poo. Glance repeatedly out window, which is not covered by mini blinds, for some odd reason, feeling exposed to the neighborhood. Send Fred an email, the subject of which is Three things: the content of which is 1. Don’t call to wake me up at 7; I’m already up. 2. Did you know that the kitchen light turns off as well as on? There’s a switch… 3. It is Spanky’s dearest wish to get into your bedroom. He has taken to sitting directly outside the door to your room, hoping that it will magically open all by itself and let him in. 6:20 – 8:00ish: Walk 4.2 miles, listening to Ace and TJ on the radio. Guffaw like an idiot when they suggest that Ace and the Tiger Man are related. Stop along the way to check out the yard sale a neighbor is having, and chat with neighbor. This neighbor used to work with Fred at his old company, and she has the cutest little dog (Maggie) who loses her mind when you stop to pet her. 8:00ish: Walk in the door to find that the phone is ringing. It’s Fred, informing you that the guys delivering the washer and dryer are on their way. So much for the "between 9 and 1" delivery time they promised last night. 8:00ish – 9:30ish: Surf and read/ return email while waiting for the delivery guys to show up. Notice that you desperately need a shower, but if you wander off to shower, no doubt that will be the very moment the delivery guys show up. 9:30ish: Delivery guys show up. Show where the washer and dryer will go and then go back to computer to stay out of the way. Read a Mimi Smartypants entry, and download WillowTalk at her suggestion. Use it to listen to her entry. Guffaw like an idiot when the program reads the line And I type really freaking fast, so step off, sucka. 9:45ish: Sign for delivery of washer and dryer. Answer phone when Fred calls. Wander upstairs, still talking to Fred, and admire washer and dryer. Decide that the new washer and dryer seem smaller than the old. Admire some more. Hang up the phone and go to shower. 9:45ish to 11:45: Shower. Get dressed. Wait for the empty wash cycle the delivery guy started (to clear out the pipes, he said) to finish. Start large load of laundry. Wander downstairs. Check email. Write scattered-sounding diet journal entry. Get up periodically whilst writing entry to do things around the house, throw trash away, look out back to see if any birds have discovered the new bird feeders, talk to Miz Poo, get bottle of water, look for gum, look for purse, answer phone and talk to Fred numerous times. 11:45: Drive to Wal-Mart, stopping at the post office on the way. Got a postcard from Athena. Admire postcard. Admire Athena’s handwriting. Seethe with jealousy that Athena is in such a beautiful place. Scheme to get her to take you along next time. Put postcard in purse and proceed to Wal-Mart. 11:55 – 12:45: Wander through Wal-Mart. Call Fred and tell him they have no slippers in his size. Reassure him that Land’s End will have some nice, comfy slippers for a decent price. Look for shoe rack. Look for phones. Debate on which phones to buy. Put phones back. Pick up other phones. Put other phones back and pick up the first phones you had. Dither. Decide and put cheapest phones in shopping cart. Check out book section. Pick up The Wind Done Gone. Put it back. Pick it up and read first page. Look at author photograph. Put it back. Take three steps away. Pick it back up. Read second page. Put in cart. Put back on shelf. Cart. Shelf. Cart. Shelf. Cart. Pick up and read random page. Put back on shelf. Back in cart. Shelf. Cart. Shelf. Cart. Be annoyed by self and leave book in cart. Standing in checkout line, eyeball chocolate covered gummy bears. Resist. Put in cart. Put back on shelf. Cart. Shelf. Cart. Shelf. Leave on shelf and check out. 12:45 – 1:05: Get lunch from Wendy’s (grilled chicken sandwich, side salad, biggie diet coke. Yum). Go home to eat it. Eat while reading The Blue Nowhere. Wonder if Jeffery Deaver is married. Wonder how much research he had to do to write book. Look at author photograph. Decide he looks very much like the grown-up Ernie from My Three Sons. Remember how you were going to marry Ernie when you grew up, but your crush ended when you discovered Donny Osmond. Wonder if Barry Livingston (Ernie) is married. 1:05 – 3:30: Surf, respond to email, fold and put away laundry and put more laundry in the wash. Talk to Miz Poo, pet Fancypants, point out birds to Miz Poo, who commences chattering and whipping her tail back and forth. 3:30ish: Receive email from reporter at Newsweek who wants to interview you about your experience with Pirate’s Booty, and asks that you email her your home number or call her at work. Wonder if it’s a joke. Decide it’s not (the email address IS a newsweek.com address, after all) and call her. 3:30ish – 3:40ish: Talk to reporter at Newsweek and manage to sound halfway (though barely) intelligent. Be distracted by the fact that the caller id is beeping incessantly, and there’s only one person who would be calling, and you’re married to him. Hang up with reporter and use caller id to call the phone Fred called from. It’s the paint store, and so you ask for Fred. Fred gets on the phone, you discuss paint issues, you tell him that you were ON THE PHONE WITH NEWSWEEK, and then you hang up the phone. 3:40ish – 4:22: Sit and be excited that maybe Newsweek will quote you. Wonder if they will. Decide they probably won’t. Email Moira to tell her the exciting news. Call Debbie and tell her the exciting news. 4:22 – 5:00ish: Surf, respond to email, wait for Fred to get home. 5:00ish: Help Fred cart in new purchases that he bought at Lowe’s. Wait for him to ask about details of Newsweek interview. He does not. 5:05: Discuss what you want for dinner. Order pizza. 5:05 – 5:40: Wait for pizza. Wait for Fred to ask about Newsweek interview. Give him a hard time when he doesn’t. Refuse to talk about it until he has asked 45 times. Give a brief overview. Listen to Fred be mock-annoyed that you didn’t spend the entire interview discussing the wonder that is Fred. 5:40 – 6:10: Pizza arrives. Eat, while reading The Blue Nowhere. 6:10 – 7:30: Go into library to finish unpacking boxes and put books and cds away. Finish library and feel a sense of accomplishment. Check email, do some surfing. 7:30 – 7:45: Accompany Fred to dumpster to get rid of trash you’ve accumulated in the past day of unpacking. Discuss that the house is really coming together, which you’ve said every day since Tuesday. 7:45 – 8:29: Come home. Sit in front of computer. Check email, surf, and write entry. 8:31: FTP entry up and send out notify.]]>

DO NOT DO NOT WANT AN EXTENDED WARRANTY, NOR DO I WANT A SERVICE PLAN, NOT AT ALL, DON’T WANT THAT. DO. NOT. WANT. THAT. THERE IS NOTHING IN THIS WORLD I WANT LESS THAN AN EXTENDED WARRANTY. EXCEPT FOR A SERVICE PLAN. AND A SEARS CARD." "It’s a service plan," Bertha muttered. "Not an extended warranty." Of course, Fred was driven to the point of breaking not because he’s an unreasonable man, but because as we were looking at the washers and dryers, Bertha tried to steer us toward the $1200 versions. $1200 for one single washer. What the fuck’s up with that? For $1200, I hope to hell the washer’s going to come get the laundry from the laundry baskets, load itself, and pass the clothes onto the dryer when the washin’ is done. And do the freakin’ dusting while it’s at it. I was off in the clearance section checking out the $250 washers, and Bertha announced that I was on the wrong side of the street. That’s a good way to sell a washer, you see. Tell the folks they’re in the slums when they don’t want to spend AN ENTIRE HOUSE PAYMENT on one single washer. There are things I’m willing to blow $1200 on – a vacation, a computer, a television, furniture. A washer just is not now nor ever will be one of those things. "I bought the cheapest washer and dryer y’all had when I got mine," Fred informed Bertha. "And it’s been ten years, and they’ve held up fine all along until now." Whereupon Bertha gave some song-and-dance crap about how the cheapest washers and dryers that they make now are made more cheaply than they were ten years ago because there’s more competition, and yadda yadda bullshit. Anyway, we bought a washer and dryer that are one step up from the cheapest (non-clearance) ones they had, and they’ll be delivering them tomorrow. I didn’t dare to take a nap when we got home, because I was afraid I’d never get up and thus wouldn’t be able to sleep that night. So we spent the rest of the day unpacking – I got the kitchen done, and Fred hooked up the TV and sound system – then had sandwiches for dinner, and went to bed fairly early. I fell asleep right away and woke a few times, only briefly, to turn over and fall back asleep. Each time, I heard Fancypants going at it, the little bastard. At 4:15, he started again right in my face, and I got up, went downstairs and read for an hour until I could hardly keep my eyes open, whereupon I went back to bed until almost 8. Fred called the vet’s office yesterday and got a nice supply of kitty de-spazzifiers. He shoved one down Fancypants’ throat last night, and all was quiet for the night. Thank god for modern medicine. And now you’re caught up!]]>

elephant-ear plant. We were at the lawyer’s office ten minutes early. We had to present our driver’s licenses, which they scanned and stored on their computer. We settled in to wait, and about five minutes later the female of the couple who was buying our house showed up. We didn’t realize who she was until she asked Fred who we were there to see, and then introduced herself (her first name is Marcia, which she pronounced as "Mar-see-ya". I bet people fuck that up all the time). She thanked us profusely for leaving all that stuff for them and we chatted for a few moments before the lawyer called us back. The lawyer, by the way, was the bastard child of Jay McInerney and Andrew McCarthy. Anyway, Mar-see-ya told us that her husband was in a meeting and would be half an hour or more late. Excuse me, he’s known about this closing for well over a month and still can’t manage to be on time? How self-important can you be? So we signed and signed and signed some more, signing our lives away (though we didn’t have to do nearly so much signing as the buyers did), and when Chuck (Mr. buyer) hadn’t shown up by the time we were done signing, we sat around and chatted. Chuck showed up around 10:45 (everyone we’ve told about this has had the same comment about Chuckie – "asshole!") and signed and signed and signed, and asked questions about the house, and signed some more. The lawyer went away to do some lawyering, came back, went away, and came back again. There was some kerfuffle about how the contract had specified that we were to pay for an updated survey, but no one had ordered one, and yadda yadda give-us-a-check-for-$250cakes. The lawyer wandered away again and then finally showed up with checks for the realtors and for us. "We could live for two years in Mexico on that check," I pointed out to Fred, which made JeffTheRealtor laugh nervously. The people we bought our house from came in with their realtor and their six month old baby (SO cute), and we sat around waiting for numbers from our mortgage company. You see, we’d had to fax a something-or-other statement to the mortgage company so they could come up with numbers for something (see how clear I am on the details?), and we waited and waited for them to get their thumbs out of their asses. Our old mortgage was through AmSouth, and we decided to go through the bank that handles Fred’s business accounts – The Bank, is the name. I don’t know, I guess the founders tried really hard to come up with that name, don’t you think? Sounds kinda fly-by-night, doesn’t it? Anyway, thumbs were removed from asses and we commenced to signing. We were out of there by 12:30, and Jeff thanked us for buying the house from him and allowing him to sell the house, and off we went. I made Fred take me out to lunch at Bennigan’s, where I’d never been before, and then we went shopping for a washer and dryer.]]>