* * *
When the spud got home from school Wednesday, she asked us whether she had gone to church last week. When we reminded her that she hadn’t, she sighed and said “Then I guess I’ll go this week…”
Fred and I thought that was odd – we were under the impression that she was going to church every week because she wanted to – so later, Fred went upstairs to talk to her.
It turns out that she’s been going to church every week because her SO CALLED FRIENDS have been pressuring her into going by telling her that if she DIDN’T go, she’d go to Hell. Fucking Jesus freaks.
One of the problems that comes along with growing up in the Bible Belt, I suppose.
Fred told her that she should tell her friends we wouldn’t let her go to church anymore, and if they had a problem with that, they could give us a call. The spud seemed almost giddy with relief – “I like the singing part,” she said. “But then we have to listen to Anthony talk for a long time.” – and was happy and cheerful for the rest of the night.
We really should have seen this coming, I suppose. Not only did the spud seem to have problems with Anthony’s anti-gay lecture, since she has a friend who is bi, but last week she came and asked if she would GO TO HELL if she watched Charmed. Apparently Anthony has a problem with it what with the witchcraft aspect of it and all.
I believe the attitude around the And3rson household at the moment is “Fuck Anthony, for he is the one who is the ball licker.”
We’re kind of hoping that the spud’s friends tell Anthony that the spud’s heathen folks won’t let her go to church anymore and that he shows up at the house. I think I’d have to break out the camera to record THAT little confrontation.
* * *
I meant to mention this yesterday when I was talking about Nairing the fuck out of my face. Years ago, I had a device that would yank the hair out by the roots – it wasn’t an Epilady, but something similar – and I’m only sorry that I don’t have it anymore. It hurt like hell to use it on my facial hair, but once I got it done, the hair would stay gone for a good, long time.
I think someone out there should get the hair lasered off their face and tell me whether it hurts or not.
* * *
POSSIBLE SURVIVOR SPOILERS. SKIP TO THE NEXT SECTION IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT YET.
My god in heaven, what is WRONG with those people in Drake? Why is Jon’s ANNOYING FUCKING ASS not gone with the wind? WHY? He acts like he’s perpetually high and he’s definitely a perpetual annoying asshole.
I think that Rupert made some serious brownie points with Drake when he went back to them without taking part in the reward challenge he helped Morgan win. God, I love Rupert. And how cool is he for working his ass off for Morgan instead of sitting around and pouting? Osten continues to annoy me.
I hate listening to Darrah; that is one horrible accent she’s got, and I can hardly understand a word that comes out of her mouth. Like Fred said to me last night, she’s really pretty until she starts TALKING.
* * *
Poor Stanley. All he wants to do it play, and none of the big cats will play with him. This morning, Miz Poo was snuggled up to me, and Stanley hopped up on the bed, saw her, and got so excited that he galloped across me on his way to her. He jumped at her and put his arms around her neck, hoping to play, and she freaked out and smacked at him.
She’s hissing and growling a whole lot less than she did when we first brought him home, though. I guess she’s decided that you can only hold on to that state of hysteria for so long before it gets too stressful.
Stanley’s developed a big, round belly in the last week. He’s so funny looking now, because he’s a skinny cat and you can feel his spine when you pet him, and then he has this big round gut. I suspect he likes the food we provide more than the food he was eating at the shelter. Also, he’ll eat anything even remotely food-like. Fred gave him a piece of popcorn earlier this week, and he hoovered it down.
That cat sure does crack me up.
* * *
1. Name five things in your refrigerator. Mini Babybels, cottage cheese, Diet Coke (for me), Diet Vanilla Pepsi (for the spud), a gallon container of tea (for Fred).
2. Name five things in your freezer. A stack of Lean Cuisine Pepperoni pizza, Lean Pockets, leftover seafood gumbo (for Fred’s lunches), Blue Bell vanilla ice cream, frozen blueberries.
3. Name five things under your kitchen sink. A spray bottle of ammonia and water, extra sponges, Oxi-Clean, a spray bottle of Clorox Clean-up, Electrasol dishwasher tabs.
4. Name five things around your computer. My Steakout cup, filled with water. A can of compressed air to scare away the kitties when necessary. My digital camera (Sony Cybershot DSC-P50). Our digital camcorder (JVC GR-D7OU). A pile of papers that need to be dealt with (but that won’t happen anytime soon, I’m sure).
5. Name five things in your medicine cabinet. It seems to be a weird thing that in the south there aren’t medicine cabinets in the bathrooms (or perhaps it’s just the houses in this area?) We use a cupboard in the kitchen as our medicine cabinet, and it contains: Tylenol. Aspirin. Advil. Pepto-Bismol. Metamucil. Nothing too exciting, obviously.
* * *
I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before, but recently I was in the spud’s bedroom, and saw a list on her bed entitled “Things I will need when I get my own apartment.”
Naturally I read it. Oh, shut up. You would have read it, too!
Number three on the list after bed and tv/vcr? Pepto-Bismol. At least she’s got her priorities straight.
* * *
I love the look on his face.
For some reason, during the day he prefers to stretch out next to the cat bed, instead of stretching out in it.
He likes to sit in this chair and watch the kids play outside. We’ve been talking about buying a halter and leash for him. It would crack me up to be able to take him for short walks down the street. That would also put me firmly into “That crazy-ass woman who has all the cats” territory.
Miz Poo could probably crush Stanley by dropping on him from this height.
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