Month: July 2002

someone blows in my ear. Rwowr. And then one day I took a film-ridden cup out of the cupboard and poured a Diet Coke in it and added three ice cubes, and settled down in front of the computer. I slurped my Diet Coke joyfully, because I am a joyful sort of person, and I enjoyed my Diet Coke, because I always do. And when the Diet Coke was mostly gone and I was reading a journal entry – or perhaps an email, I don’t actually remember which – I noticed that my tongue felt odd. Really odd. As if it were going a little numb, but also as if it were growing a thick coat of fur. Not a happy, joyful feeling, as you can imagine. I decided to avoid the filmy cups from there on out, and I hoped that the damn Jet Dry dispenser would soon be empty, and I vowed to never – NEVER! – use the damn stuff again, and I tossed the half bottle that was left over, and I promised myself that I would write an entry detailing the horrors of Jet Dry, the devil’s tool. I mean, really. Just how shiny and spot-free do my freakin’ dishes need to be, anyway?! Who sees the fucking things besides us? It’s not like we’re going to have the president and Laura over to dine, and Laura will gaze down at the spotty plates and shoot me a look full of disapproval. I wouldn’t know what to feed them, anyway. And would I be responsible for feeding the secret service guys, or do they take care of themselves? But most importantly, could I talk one of the secret service into shooting Fancypants? All accidental-like? It would certainly be worth a try, because it’s not like those Bushes are cat people. They’re not, are they? I seem to recall a lot of dogs, but no cats. But I could be wrong. I also digress. So I decided to avoid the filmy cups and just drink directly out of the cans, and for a few days all was well. “Bessie,” Fred said one evening while he was finishing his dinner and I was loading the dishwasher – when he cooks, I clean up, when I cook, he does. I get the better end of the bargain, though, because I use WAY more dishes when I cook than he does. Heh. – “Bessie, what’s up with this nasty, squeaky film we’ve got going on?” “I think it’s that FUCKING Jet Dry,” I said, continuing to load the dishwasher. “I think it’s double-coating the dishes or something, and I don’t think there’s anything we can do until the dispenser is empty.” “What do we do when the dispenser is empty?” “We don’t add more Jet Dry.” Honestly. Do I have to spell everything out? “I wonder if the rinse agent is reacting badly with the powder I use?” Fred said, finishing his dinner. “You use the powder?” I said. We use Electrasol tabs in the dishwasher, but I also keep a box of Cascade under the counter for emergencies, on the rare occasion when we run out of the Electrasol. “Yeah,” he said. I picked up the container the Electrasol tabs were contained in, and I looked at the back. “Hey, look,” I said. “Those little white balls imbedded in the Electrasol tabs are actually JetDry balls. It’s my fault! I’ve been double-rinse-agenting the dishes!” So I flicked the white ball out of the Electrasol tab so there’d be no double-rinse-agenting, and started the dishwasher. The next day, no film. Oh, you can only IMAGINE the joy in BitchyVille, the jubilation, the ecstasy, the thrills and chills. I did a little dance through the kitchen, freaking out the cats, who danced away from me with big, dark eyes and fluffed-out tails. And yet. The next day, film. You can IMAGINE the abject horror. I stared at the filmy dishes with dismay, and I thought about it. The night before, I had cooked, so it was Fred’s turn to do the dishes. And for some reason, he’d decided to use up the powder, he’d told me, and therefore the problem had to lie in some sort of reaction between the JetDry and the Cascade. I looked under the sink for the box of Cascade so I could read the back and see if, perhaps, there was a warning along the lines of “Danger! Do not use with JetDry Rinse Agent!” But, odd. No Cascade. Had he used up the box? I looked in the trash. No Cascade. I looked under the sink again to see if, perhaps, it was hiding behind something else. It was nowhere to be seen. I called him at work. “Where’s the powder you’ve been using in the dishwasher?” I asked. “It’s on top of the container of the tabs,” he said. I looked under the sink once again, wondering how I could possibly have missed seeing a big-ass bright green box of Cascade perched on the container of Electrasol tabs. I saw this: “YOU USED THE POWDER ON TOP OF THE CONTAINER OF ELECTRASOL TABS IN THE DISHWASHER?!” I shrieked. “Yeah,” he said, obviously paying attention to something else. “Is that why we’re having the film on the dishes?” “Yes,” I said. “Possibly the big dose of poison you’re washing the dishes with every time you do them is causing a FUCKING FILM on the dishes.” Of course, this ends up being my fault, because the Oxi-Clean container is very similar to the Electrasol container, thus the small container is obviously the powdered version of what’s in the larger container. Silly me. I thought he could READ. Possibly we’re lucky to still be alive. Also possibly, we’re dying (no, not seriously – it’s been a few weeks, and we feel fine. Apparently the Oxi-Clean (AVOID CONTACT WITH EYES AND MUCUS MEMBRANES OR PROLONGED CONTACT WITH SKIN. DO NOT, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, INGEST!) was diluted enough to not kill us. Because I’m thinking that if the spud went to Maine for the summer and Fred or I died in a freak poisoning accident, she’d probably never want to go to Maine ever again in her life.]]>

Absolutely awesome-smelling candles from Aly, who is currently training for the Atlanta 3-Day, which takes place in October. Anyway, the yellow candles are chamomile-scented, and there’s a layer of coral passion-flower-scented candles underneath. They smell SO good, and I keep going back to sniff them until I’m lightheaded. Mmmmm. From Egg, smiley-face glasses. They are SO awesome – when you look at any point of light, you see 3-D smiley faces. I am SO taking these to Florida with us to wear while we’re watching the fireworks! And from reader Donna in Canada, magnets! They go perfectly with my smiley magnet collection, and the evil smiley up there on the right just cracks me up. Man. Do I have the best damn readers in the whole wide world, or what?! I have been amusing myself all day long by singing the lines What a cruel trick of nature/ Landed me with such a louse in the manner of one Ethel Merman, complete with big, goofy arm movements. It really takes very little to amuse me. The GiveAway page has been changed – this week I’m giving away perfumes. I was looking at descriptions of the various perfumes online, and was amused to see that each was recommended for “romantic wear”, “casual wear”, or “evening wear.” I had no idea perfumes were supposed to match how you were dressed. I guess I’d better check and see whether the Vera Wang I’m wearing all the time now is recommended for cotton pants and t-shirts, because I’d hate to be screwing that up. With its modern floral bouquet, the Vera Wang fragrance is a sensual and intimate fragrance of desire. Whew! Luckily, it doesn’t say what I should be wearing, so I guess as long as I’m looking all desirable and sensual (and you can see that picture of me in the smiley sunglasses as proof), I’ll be okay. Speaking of the GiveAway page, I am officially no longer looking at the body of every email I get, because it takes too long – 103 people wanted the Evanovich book last week – so if you have a comment or question, you’ll have to email it separately from the entry, because unless you’ve won, I won’t see what you had to say. Know what chaps my ass (speaking of sensual and desirable….)? When I get fucking SPAM, and the return address is mine. Like I spammed myself. That just pisses me off, because when I go to bounce the spam through MailWasher, all it does is bounce back to me, like I’m the one who sent it. Fuckers. Some Eminem lookalike just drove by and put a flyer on my mailbox. I’m sure he’s starting up a lawn-mowing service. It almost makes me want to hire him just so I can take his picture and put the caption Eminem mows my lawn during his down time underneath. Fred and I have spent the last couple of days on the verge of deciding not to go to Florida. It’s a 5-hour (if not more) drive, and while we want to BE there, we don’t want to do the drive. It’s really too late to cancel without losing money anyway, and there’s NO way I’m spending the next several days sitting around the house. So it looks like we’re going! At least, as of this very moment we are. Hey, look! More hijinks in the box! Fancypants laying in the box playing dead, while Miz Poo sniffs around to determine whether she needs to put a smackdown on his fancy ass. Miz Poo’s turn in the box. She’s wondering who the hell put that volleyball in there, and how the hell is she supposed to fit her portly ass around it? And now, Spot’s turn. Spot is not comfortable in the box for periods of time any longer than 3 – 4 seconds at a time. Miz Poo, snoozing on the love seat in a weird position. Miz Poo giving looks of annoyed hatred to me because I couldn’t resist petting her, which woke her up.]]>

I used to dream That I would meet a prince But God Almighty, Have you seen what’s happened since? “Master of the house”? Isn’t worth me spit “Comforter, philosopher” And lifelong shit Cunning little brain Regular Voltaire Thinks he’s quite a lover But there’s not much there What a cruel trick of nature Landed me with such a louse God knows how I’ve lasted Living with this bastard in the house! I’ve probably watched the Les Mis tape with Fred 5 or more times, and every time we watch it, I reiterate that I really REALLY want to see it on the stage, but that hasn’t happened yet. I swear to god, if I could sing worth a shit, Fred and I would be the best Thénardiers ever. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hold a tune with a bucket, so I’ll have to continue being Mme Thénardier only in my dreams. When I wasn’t dreaming about that, I was dreaming that I was attending Jessamyn‘s bachelorette party, and I was freaked out that I hadn’t remembered to bring the Krispy Kremes with me. Apparently bachelorette party = Krispy Kremes in my mind. Of course, ANY occasion is a Krispy Kreme occasion, innit? Here’s another sign that Fred and I are perfect for each other. We are in complete agreement that we should spend as little as possible in Florida, so that when we get home, we can spend whatever’s left of our vacation fund on our wish lists. Heh. We’re such dorks. We went to see Minority Report on Saturday, and though I really liked it, I did NOT enjoy sitting next to Billy Bob ShutTheFuckUp, who was compelled, when not clearing his throat loudly and phlegmily, to remark upon each and every plot point. “HAWHAWHAW, it’s all over NOW!” he would say to his wife in a loud and carrying voice. And every time he made a comment, I could feel my blood pressure rising. I’m amazed, given the length of the movie, that I didn’t have a stroke before it was over. I’m even more amazed that I didn’t dump my super-huge-ass Diet Coke over his big stupid head. Grrr. The big excitement for Friday – aside from the chocolate-pecan brownies Fred made – was that we received something in the mail that was contained in a big box. So the box was opened, the item was removed, and the hijinks, they did begin. Fancypants hops in the box, not ten seconds after it’s been emptied, and settles in for a long nap. Miz Poo says snide things about Fancypants to herself, while waiting for her turn in the box. Spanky patiently waits his turn in the box, and in the meantime wonders how he’d look in that blue bra I hung on the end of the banister. Miz Poo finally takes her turn in the box, and gives me a smug look, because she’s not moving her ass out of the box anytime soon, damnit. Fancypants, all excited about his time in the box, runs into the living room and up onto the back of the couch behind Fred, where he kicks up both of his back legs and indulges in a little self-love licking. Not cat related, but see these purty flowers Fred bought me for no reason? He’s mine, ladies. Hands off! ]]>