Month: March 2004

A Day in the Life (for Monday, March 29, 2004) 1:08 am: Miz Poo wakes me by digging frantically at my back. She wants me to flip over on my left side so she can snuggle up against me and drape herself over my arm. I turn over and fall back asleep before she’s settled. 1:58 am: I wake up and have no feeling in my arm, most likely because a portly Poo is draped across it. I pull my arm out from under her, shake the feeling back into it, and turn over onto my right side. 2:02 am: I’m almost back to sleep when Miz Poo takes a running leap, springboards off of me, and lands on the pillow next to me. She digs frantically for a few minutes until I yell “Miz Pooty, STOP!”, and then curls up. I fall asleep before the grooming begins in earnest, thank god. 5:something am: The Bean jumps up on the bed and attacks my stomach. I wake up for an instant and then fall back asleep while he’s still attacking. 6:45 am: Fred wakes me up to say goodbye. I think about going back to sleep for another 45 minutes, but I have to get up and go feed-and-scoop at the petstore, so I roll my ass out of bed. 6:45 – 7:40 am: Get dressed, pop in my contacts, take my thyroid medication, clean out the litter box (don’t you wish I’d taken a picture of that?), check email, read blogs. Open blinds in living room, step outside to check the weather. The Bean and Miz Poo get excited by the open door and run outside. I step back inside and shut the door. (What? They can get in through the cat door!)

Cheapest gas in town! 7:40 – 7:55 am: Get in car. Drive toward petstore. Glance down at gas tank indicator THINGY and realize I’m driving on fumes. Ponder possible broken-ness of gank tank indicator THINGY. Yesterday I had 1/4 tank and today I’m on fumes. And I’ve gone nowhere at all since sometime last week. Is someone stealing my gas? (Doubtful) Gas tank indicator THINGY is possibly broken, and I should probably start gassing up when indicator (THINGY) indicates I have 1/2 tank of gas. Drive to gas station near petstore, fill up tank. 7:55 – 8:45 am: Arrive at petstore. Usually I have to hunt down a store manager to open the cat room door, but she sees me coming and opens the door before I get there. Same cats as last week, so I don’t take any pictures. 8:45 – 9:10ish am: Leave petstore and go to Target. Spend a good long time wandering around Target. I need to get a cushion for Fred’s writing chair (more about that later), and while I want to buy something really girly or country that will horrify him, the only cushion that will fit the chair is a sedate tan color. I toss it in the cart. I buy a bag of bird seed, since we’re running out, and a new trash can (actually, it’s a basket) for the master bathroom. I also buy a basket to set atop the toilet tank, in which I intend to put the 3,000 bathroom books sitting there. It’ll make it easier when I need to move everything to wipe the top of the tank. I peruse the book section, picking up Sophie Kinsella’s latest. I put it in my cart, then stop to reflect on the bookcase full of books I have yet to read, realize that surely by the time I get around to reading this book it will have come out in paperback and buying it right now just because I’ve seen it is stupid. I put it back. As I’m heading for the front of the store, there’s a woman halfway across the store who is pushing a stroller (carriage?) with a tiny, very unhappy baby inside. The baby’s wails are painful – I feel like someone’s pounding a stake through my eardrums – and I think judgementally about the fact that she not only is doing nothing to soothe the baby, but she appears to not hear the baby at all. Then I tell myself to shut up and stop being a bitch, and go to check out. I pass this road at least twice a week. I’ve been meaning to snap a picture of the sign for at least two years now! Nance, look! It’s a road named after you! 9:10 – 9:25 am: Drive home, listening to my cd of mp3s. Nothin’ But the Wheel and Here I am, by Patty Loveless. Politics, Religion and Her, by Sammy Kershaw. Love Sammy Kershaw. But unfortunately that ho Lorrie Morgan has her perfectly manicured claws in him. Hm. Or does she? (Holy crap, he’s her fifth husband!) A very long live version of Black by Pearl Jam comes on as I pull up in the driveway. When I walk through the door, the Bean is snoozing in his nest, and he glances up at me to make sure I’m not about to thunk him on the head or anything before he goes back to sleep. 9:30 – 10:10: Ellipticize on the elliptical trainer while watching an episode of Once & Again. I love the elliptical trainer, and I love that it has built-in programs, but the 30-minute program sure does kick my ass. Do 10 minutes of standing stretch. I like stretching more than I would have thought possible. After 30 minutes of exercising and 10 minutes of stretching I’m done exercising for the day. I’m always wiped out easily on Mondays, probably because I spend almost an hour bending and stretching while I clean kitty cages out at the petstore, not to mention chasing around the kitties who have no desire to go back in their cage. 10:10 – 11:05 am: Eat breakfast (I prefer to eat breakfast pretty late in the morning): A A Blueberry muffin and two clementines. Check email, read blogs, email a few times with Nance. From the computer room, I can hear the Bean in the living room, smacking at the blinds with his paw. He does it long enough that it begins to annoy me, so I grab him and push him through the cat door into the back yard. Little pain in the ass Bean. 11:05 – 11:15 am: Empty dishwasher, put dirty dishes from sink into dishwasher, wipe down counters. Think about mopping the floor, but decide not to. 11:15 – 11:25 am: The bird feeders are empty. Grab container of bird seed, go outside. Spot’s sitting outside and gives me a guilty look. Miz Poo comes out to supervise while I fill the platform feeders and rinse out and refill the bird bath. 11:25 – 12:10ish: Go upstairs. Take shower. Sit in chair in the corner of the bedroom and read. Miz Poo jumps up on my lap and kneads and kneads and kneads before deciding she doesn’t want to sit in my lap, and jumps down to put the smack down on the Bean. 12:10: Go downstairs, check email, try to clear a few things off my desk before giving up. 12:10 – 1:00 pm: Vacuum entire downstairs. The only cat who’ll let the vacuum cleaner get within two feet of him is the Bean. The other cats are terrified. Once the downstairs is vacuumed, I vacuum the stairs, which I hate to do. Wish for the millionth time that our stairs were hardwooded. The Bean keeps an eye on the vacuum. Pancit. 1:00 – 1:25 pm: Make lunch – pancit (without the rice sticks, as rice sticks are calorie-intensive and I’m not a noodle/ pasta kinda gal for the most part). I have enough left over for two lunches (I made a smaller batch than the recipe). Basically pancit is a lean pork/ cabbage/ carrot/ onion/ teriyaki sauce stir-fry, and I’m absolutely addicted to it. Also, all those veggies are good for you! (I also had a banana and a white chocolate and raspberry yogurt, but forgot to snap a picture). 1:25 – 2:30 pm: Eat lunch, push the Bean out the cat door 45 times, think about beating the Bean, read journals (I’m almost all caught up!), respond to a couple of emails (it being my goal to be completely caught up before the month is over), talk to Fred on the phone a couple of times. 2:30 – 3:30ish pm: Watch The Ellen Degeneres Show, which I DVR’d earlier. Work on cross-stitching a truly hideous Christmas ornament (I was almost completely caught up with all the Christmas ornament kits I had, and my sister gave me a thousand (well, practically) for Christmas, so I’ll probably be working on those for the rest of the year!). Roseanne Barr is on Ellen, and she’s funny as hell. When that’s over, watch part of Dr. Phil. 3:37 pm: Have following discussion with the spud: Spud: What would make someone throw up if they aren’t sick? Me: If they saw something gross, maybe? Spud: No, not that, either. Me: Well then, I don’t know. Why? Spud: Because I threw up today. Me: Where? In class? Spud: Yes, in class at my desk. Me: And they didn’t send you home? Spud: No. Me: They just cleaned it up and kept going with class? Spud: No, there was nothing to clean up. Me: There was nothing to clean up? Spud: No. Me: Well, then it doesn’t really sound like you threw up. Spud: Flouncing off, sighing. Me: Killing spud, burying her in the backyard. 3:45 pm: Fred arrives home. I wait at the door to greet him and throw my arms wide, yelling “Give me some sugar!” He always looks so stressed out that I want to make him smile. Why, yes. I CAN take a nothing day, and suddenly make it all seem worth-while. 3:50 – 4:10ish pm: Lay on the bed and discuss Fred’s day with him. He gets up and goes downstairs to get something to drink, then comes back up and settles in to do some writing. We moved a table into the bedroom and set it up so that he can sit in there and write without distraction. He was sitting in the recliner in the corner of the room on the other side of the bed: but sitting like that with the laptop on his lap was uncomfortable, so voila! We found a solution. 4:10 – 4:15 pm: Lay on bed while he writes. Distract him. Blow him a kiss and go back downstairs. 4:15 – 5:ish pm: Make dinner. Check email, read blogs. 5:ish – 5:20 pm: Eat dinner – a barbecued chicken breast, corn, and a salad. Discuss various and sundry things with Fred and the spud. (I forgot to take a picture of the food. This is the aftermath) 5:20 – 5:40 pm: Go upstairs with Fred. Discuss what he’s writing. Discuss possible revisions. Distract him while he starts to write. Blow him a kiss and go back downstairs. 5:40 pm – 7 pm: Read email, read blogs, think about clearing the mess off my desk. Snuggle with Miz Poo. Go into the living room and read for a while. 7:00 – 8:00 pm: Flip channels. Eat snack (yogurt and a string cheese). Fred wants to watch Fear Factor, so I read while he watches it. When the eating-gross-stuff part comes on, I tell him he either needs to change the channel, or I’ll go into the other room until that part is over. He flips channels, and we end up watching a Discovery Health show about a woman having weight loss surgery. We flip back and forth between Fear Factor, Discovery Health channel, and a VH-1 show about The Rock. 8:00 – 8:55 pm: There’s absolutely nothing on TV that we want to watch, so Fred puts in the Andrew Lloyd Webber Royal Albert Hall Celebration DVD with the idea that we’ll listen to it while we read. But I didn’t get enough sleep the night before and am easily distracted, so I put down my book and lay down on the couch to watch. I insist Fred forward to “Those cute New Zealand boys” (Boyzone, singing “No Matter What”), and then we watch a few more songs until my favorite – Michael Ball singing Gesthemane – comes on. Fred chatters through it until I give him a shut the fuck up, please look. 8:55 pm: We go upstairs and get ready for bed. Fred gives the cats their nightly treat (kitten chow). 9:00 – 9:40 pm: Lay in bed and talk about various and sundry things. Kiss for a few minutes, and then Fred wanders off to his room. 9:45 pm: Ordinarily, I’d turn the light back on and read, but I’m sleepy, so I leave the light off, snuggle with Miz Poo, and drift off to sleep. ]]>

Roseanne (yes, it got odd over the last couple of season, but I watched and enjoyed it anyway, and you better believe I cried when it ended. If that show came out on DVD, I’d SO be buying it). I discovered the other day that the spud is also a Roseanne fan – it’s on every night, and if she hasn’t seen the episode she’ll watch it. I can hear her in her room sometimes, laughing out loud. Clearly she has her mother’s good taste in sitcoms.

* * * Michael Bergin may or may not have had an affair with Carolyn Bessette Kennedy. I am absolutely stunned that… I frankly couldn’t give less of a shit. She’s dead. Whatever she did while she was alive is over. Let she and her husband rest in peace, for the love of god. That Michael Bergin, what a class act. In what Bergin said was an effort to set the record straight, he reveals many personal details about Bessette and their relationship in his book. An effort to set the record straight, my Aunt Fanny. An effort to make some money off this country’s unfortunate fascination with the Kennedy clan and anyone attached to them, more like. Jackass. * * * Ever feel like some people are just put on this earth to work your nerves? I’m so damn glad we stopped selling what’s left of Fred’s book from our home, that’s all I’ll say. * * * The spud knocked on my bedroom door after dinner yesterday. “The school pictures are back,” she said. Her school has a photographer come to the school in the Fall and again in the Spring to take pictures. I didn’t like the pictures that were taken in the Fall, so didn’t buy any, hoping that the Spring pictures would come out better. “Okay, put the envelope on my desk,” I said. “I don’t think you’re going to want to buy any,” she said. “Oh, not a good picture?” I said. “I didn’t know it was picture day, so I didn’t dress up or anything. I’m just wearing a sweatshirt.” “Well, just put the envelope on my desk and I’ll look at it later,” I said. I did look at it later, and I actually think she looks pretty cute. (Pardon the bad scan) * * * (Picture taken by the Frank formerly known as Fred) This picture cracks me the hell up, mostly because of the look on the Bean’s face. To get the full effect, check out the full-sized version. Hee! ]]>

* * * Stolen from Janet. Janet, is it okay to link you? Do I Remember 1. When John F. Kennedy was shot (Nov. 22, 1963) Nope, I was 4 1/2 years away from being born. 2. When Mt. St. Helens blew (May 18, 1980) Only vaguely – I remember being surprised that it could happen. 3. When the space shuttle Challenger exploded (January 28, 1986) Definitely. I was sitting in my english class (it was my senior year) before class started, and my teacher came in and said “Did anyone hear something about the space shuttle exploding?” We hadn’t, and he ended up going to the library and signing out a TV so we could watch the news. The drama queen sitting in front of me had once upon a time gone to the school where Christa McAuliffe taught – she didn’t know her, had never met her, but had gone to the school where she taught – and was in hysterics. 4. When the 7.1 earthquake hit San Francisco (October 17, 1989) I remember a guy who was on the bridge when it started falling being interviewed by Dan Rather. Dan kept pressing the guy – who was pretty freaked out still – for details. The guy said something like “There were dead people everywhere…” Dan kept pushing and pushing, and finally the guy snapped “I saw someone’s brain pulsating out the top of their head.” Dan stopped pushing. (And suddenly I’m wondering whether I’m remembering the right earthquake…) 5. When the Berlin Wall fell (November 9, 1989) I was amazed – I never thought it would happen in my lifetime. I held the spud – who was only about 9 months old – up to the TV and said “This is history.” 6. When the Gulf War began (January 16, 1991) I was supposed to go to class (I was taking classes at New Hampshire College on the navy base in Brunswick), but I stayed at home and watched the news. The spud was 2 1/2 years old and playing in front of TV, and I said to her “We’re at war.” I was worried to death that my then-husband would have to go to the Gulf (he was in the Navy). He never did, but his ship headed that way a few times. 7. When OJ Simpson was chased in his White Bronco (June 17, 1994) Debbie and I were at her friend’s house out in the country. We were all shit-faced, when her friend’s husband came out and told us about it. We all went inside and watched it on the TV, but I was so drunk I had no clue what the hell was going on. Luckily, they replayed it 100,000 more times over the course of the next two days, so I don’t feel like I missed anything. 8. When the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City was bombed (April 19, 1995) Definitely. I remember sitting on my couch watching the footage thinking “What the hell happened?” 9. When Princess Di was killed (August 31, 1997) Oh, how I loved Princess Di. It was a Sunday morning, I walked out into the dining room (we lived in an apartment at the time) and looked to see what was on the front of the Sunday paper. I said “Oh, no!”, and Fred came to see what was going on. We turned on the TV and flipped around the news channels. You better believe I cried during her funeral. 10. When Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold opened fire on their classmates at Columbine High School (April 20, 1999) I was home from work reading, when Fred told me to turn the TV on and tell him what was going on. It was horrifying, to say the least. 11. When Bush was first announced President (November 7, 2000) Noooooot really. 12. When the 6.8 earthquake hit Nisqually, WA (February 28, 2001) God, this is awful. I don’t remember at all! 13. When terrorists destroyed the World Trade Center (September 11, 2001) Of course. I was sitting in front of the computer putting off exercising when Fred called and told me to turn on CNN. “What are they showing?” he asked. We talked for a few minutes and he said at one point “This is going to get some air traffic controller in the deepest shit possible”, and while he was on the phone, the second plane hit. “I think another plane hit,” I said. “Are we at war?”

* * * The spud called and talked to my parents last night (we talk to them every Sunday), and when she was done, she handed the phone to me. “I asked her why she didn’t call last week,” my mother reported. “And she said ‘You could have called me!’ And I thought, she certainly DOES sound like her MOTHER and her AUNT!” Now, I ask you. My mother COULD have picked up the phone and called, couldn’t she? I mean, it’s TRUE. The spud is in a fine state of anxiety, because my mother told her to find her bathing suits from last year and find out what size they are, because my mother’s ready to buy her some new suits for this year. The spud, after handing the phone to me, went and looked for her bathing suits, which she could not find. She came back and stood in the doorway and stared intently at me until I said to my mother, “Hold on. What?” “Do you know where my bathing suits are?” the spud said. “Because grammy wants to know what size they are.” “I imagine they’d be in your bureau THINGY,” I said. “They’re not,” the spud said. “I’M ON THE PHONE,” I said, and she flounced off in a snit. Now, how the fuck would I know where her bathing suits are? I don’t go in her room (except during the summer while she’s gone, when I toss out a buttload of crap she never misses), and I haven’t been in charge of her clothes since she started doing her own laundry two or three years ago. I haven’t got a clue what she’s GOT for clothes, and I’m happy that way. If she needs socks or underwear, she says “I need socks. I need underwear.”, and we go to the store and buy what she needs. If something that requires her dressing up comes along, we discuss what she might wear. Otherwise, her clothes are her problem. After she flounced around for the rest of the evening, looking in her bureau, in her closet, in the boxes of crap she boxed up and shoved in the guest bedroom, I finally said “Tell Grammy WE will take care of getting you some bathing suits.” I mean, I’ll measure her, I’ll check the size chart at Land’s End, and I’ll let her pick the kind of bathing suit she likes. Voila. What, you thought I was going to take her shopping for bathing suits? Silly, silly readers. * * * A few weeks ago, Fred bought a bunch of yellow smiley-face balloons filled with helium at the Dollar Store. Naturally, the Bean had to show the balloon just who the boss was. (No, we didn’t let him swallow any ribbon, and when the balloons started sinking toward the floor, we tossed them.) Such a pretty boy. Looks like such a good boy, doesn’t he? Let me tell you, EVERY time we touched him this weekend, he popped a little throbbing kitty erection and we had to scream and run away. Gah.]]>

* * * Pray tell, darling readers, does there exist a site where I can go and download video or mp3s of the American Idols singing their songs? I know there was last year, because I downloaded (you just shut up) Joshua Gracin singing… something. Something country, I’m sure. I don’t care, bite me, I liked the kid. Aaaaaaaaanyway, surely these sorts of sites must exist. But where? Won’t you help a bitchypoo? Also, speaking of TV, if you are a viewer of The Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica, go over to the Tater, read this post and help me out, because I MUST know who that adorable curly-haired girl is.

* * * 1. Where are you right now? In front of the computer, in the computer room, in the downstairs of our house, in Madison, in Alabama, in the US. 2. What time is it? 9:45 am. The spud’s already up and about. Eeek! 3. What are you wearing? A purple pullover shirt, an off-white bra from Lane Bryant, gray cotton pants and my favorite blue pan-tays. Oh, and my green Land’s End slippers. 4. Any people or animals around you? Describe them. Not a one. All the cats are hanging out upstairs with the spud, who’s either watching TV or sitting in front of HER computer. 5. What are your plans for the weekend? I have none, aside from vacuuming the upstairs and downstairs, and maybe dusting the upstairs. Other than that, nothin’. * * * Fred had to go to the Doc in a Box (walk-in clinic) this morning because he pulled his back when he was lifting weights. He tried to get an appointment with his usual doctor, but they were booked, and there’s a Doc in a Box near his office, so he just went there. After he got back to his office, I called to make sure he was going to live (he is), and asked which doctor he’d seen. “I think she might be from South Africa,” he said. “She had the cool accent, but I had a hard time understanding her a couple of times. She was really nice, we talked for ten or fifteen minutes.” “Last time I went to that clinic, I got a doctor who looked at my eye from across the room and diagnosed me with pinkeye,” I said. “In and out in 30 seconds.” (Requisite sex joke here) “She was pretty,” Fred said. “Her skin was the color of Cafe Au Latte.” I groaned. “Har har.” “What?” Fred said, completely serious. “Is that not how you pronounce it?” “Cafe au LAIT!” I said, and then laughed at him. Another reason I love the man: he makes me laugh every day. And sometimes it’s not even AT him. * * * All pictures taken by Himself. Pretty Bean. Stretchy Bean. “Whatcha doin’, Dad? Whatcha doin’? Huh? Whatcha doin’?” ]]>

http://ofb.diaryland.com/032304.html [edited to add: that entry has since been moved here], and wanted to invite you to please put your thoughts into a letter for consideration for the August issue. Thanks for your interest in Playboy. [name deleted] for the Playboy Advisor Ain’t it always the way that when you call someone names in your journal, secure in the knowledge that they’ll never see it, they always do?

* * * Did you know that if you live in Georgia and are a woman, your right to pierce your genitals is in jeopardy! It almost makes me want to go have my genitals pierced in protest. ::cringe:: * * * Hey, reader Martha has a niece who is unbearably adorable. Her name is JoJo, and she’s a singer. A piece of her video along with a short interview was on MTV’s TRL yesterday, and I voted for her. You can hear her song on her site, here. I’m addicted to her song (It’s got a good beat and I can dance to it!) and have to listen to it every day. I’ll be buying her CD when it comes out. * * * Speaking of music, I think that I may have – my god, this is hard to admit – developed the tiniest little crush on Clay Aiken. I KNOW! Don’t look at me like that, I’m embarrassed enough already! Look, I’ve always liked Clay’s songs and everything, but I saw his new video yesterday while I was waiting for JoJo to come on (or maybe he was on after JoJo, it’s all a blur now) and whoo! Just, whoo! Skinny little boys have never been my thing – and that eye-flutter thing Clay used to do while he was singing sure did creep me out – but I’m thinking I could make an exception. Heh. Be afraid, Clay. Be very afraid! * * * So last year I had a couple of planters filled with Million Bells plants by the front door. As the weather got colder I had the idea that I might move the planters into the garage for the winter, with an eye toward reviving them in the spring, so I wouldn’t have to order more Million Bells and put them in the planter and all that. I never quite got around to moving the planters, though, and they stayed by the front door all winter long, brown and dead. Yesterday I went out to get the mail and glanced down at one of the planters to find that not only had green leaves started to appear… But a couple of blooms had appeared, too! My plan is to cut the plants in both of the planters back drastically, and hit them with a dose of fertilizer. Hopefully they can be salvaged to bloom for another summer. And this fall, really. I’ll bring the planters into the garage. I will! * * * ]]>

unfried chicken), and I said “Do you mind having corn again, since we just had it on Saturday?” He allowed that corn twice in one week would be okey-dokey with him, and he stood up and rounded the bed, heading for the corner of the bedroom, which he’s turned into a writing corner of sorts. “There’s most of a bag of corn in the freezer,” he said. “Left over from Saturday. I don’t eat much corn when we have it, just a spoonful -” And because clearly I am far too stupid to fully comprehend the concept of the spoken word “spoonful”, he stopped and faced me and pantomimed holding a spoon in his left hand and a bowl in his right, and he carefully spooned a SPOONFUL of nonexistent corn with his nonexistent spoon from his nonexistent bowl to his nonexistent plate. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t believe I quite understand. Could you explain this “spoonful” word to me via pantomime again?” And so he did.

* * * The Bean seems to slowly be getting the hang of the cat door. As long as you pull the bottom of the cat door up a little so that it doesn’t touch his face, he’ll go out through it. When he comes back through it, he’s always hauling ass. We thought that he was coming through so fast because something had scared him, but he comes through that way every single time, so I’m thinking that he just likes to do it that way. He was full of piss and vinegar this morning, chasing the other cats around. When I got up, I made a hissing sound at him and waved my arms around, and he galloped from one end of the house to the other and back again, his ears back. He cracks me up. Miz Poo’s lip has gotten big and swollen from her recent constant grooming, which means she’s due for another steroid shot to lessen the swelling. I don’t blame her for grooming constantly; I’ve been scratching a lot lately. My skin isn’t reacting well to the change in the weather and we ran out of Lubriderm lotion, and the Curel we had was too thick so I wasn’t using any lotion at all and as a result was doing a lot of scratching. But I bought some more Lubriderm yesterday and I’m all lotioned up today… but still feel itchy. Ugh. I wonder if this entry could possibly get any less exciting. * * * ]]>

* * * Pet store kitty pics are hither.

* * * The Bean, I don’t believe I’ve mentioned, is on antibiotics. We took him to the vet emergency room in Huntsville last Tuesday because he felt hot and was lethargic and not acting like himself at all. We found that his allergies – and I’m sorry, it still makes me laugh that cats can HAVE allergies – had turned into an infection, and he had a sore throat and swollen lymph nodes. They gave him a shot and then gave us a bottle of antibiotics to give him. Thus, every morning Fred had to shove half a pill down the Bean’s throat for his allergies, and follow that up with a squirt of liquid antibiotics. The Bean, as you can imagine, does not care for this at all. Luckily, he hasn’t quite figured out that if he shoved at Fred’s arm it would in turn shove the pill/ antibiotics away. Instead, he uses his little paws to shove at the arm of the person (usually me) holding him, and that does no good at all, though if he catches me hard enough with his claws it does make me swear loudly at him. (I know I could wrap a towel around him. I don’t want to, because the house is messy enough without a towel laying around cluttering up the place.) Anyway, sometimes Fred gives the Bean a little tiny bit of milk to get the taste of the medicine out of his mouth, and so the Bean has mentally linked Fred in the kitchen to the tiny bit of milk Fred sometimes gives him, and when he sees him there, he jumps up onto the cupboard and looks expectantly at Fred. The other night Fred took advantage of the Bean’s presence to shove the medicine down his throat, and while he was doing so, Miz Poo jumped up to see what was going on. The Bean, licking his lips and swallowing and just generally looking disgusted, turned and stuck his nose up Miz Poo’s ass as far as he possibly could. I walked into the kitchen to hear Fred singing “A snootful of butt smell helps the medicine go down, the medicine go down, the medicine go dooooooown!” Have I mentioned that he’s under the impression he lives in a musical? * * * ]]>

letter in support of Martha Stewart. (Link found over at Aimee‘s) I’m neither a fan or a critic of Martha Stewart – I’m pretty neutral on her – but I think it’s ridiculous that she’s looking at so much jail time.

* * * If you… 1. …owned a restaurant, what kind of food would you serve? As long as I don’t have to do any of the cooking (because that’s a restaurant that would go out of business mighty damn quickly), I’d love to have a restaurant that offered healthy, yet tasty foods. In normal sized servings, everything using natural ingredients, and nutritional information on the menu. When I used to work at Fred’s company, I always thought it would be a cool idea to have a delivery-only restaurant that delivered salads, soups, and sandwiches. Yet I have no desire to ever work in a restaurant again, thanks. Oh, wait! Or I’d have a seafood restaurant. Seafood every day. Yum! 2. …owned a small store, what kind of merchandise would you sell? It’d be a book store/ cafe. And you bet your ass I’d have one or two store cats. 3. …wrote a book, what genre would it be? Chick lit, with an edge. Also, lots of swearing. Heh. 4. …ran a school, what would you teach? I couldn’t possibly teach, I’d have to run the office. 5. …recorded an album, what kind of music would be on it? Country, and I would entitle it “Robyn Sings Country (for the Tone-Deaf).” * * * Confidential to Joanna – Miz Poo says that anyone who owns cats and would go out and buy leather furniture is asking for it, because leather furniture feels so very good on kitty toes that kitties have to thank the leather furniture by sharpening their claws. Also, nothing makes claws sharper than leather. Miz Poo offers that you can buy kits to patch up leather furniture, and according to the infomercials that she watches late at night while we’re asleep, you can’t even tell where the leather has been patched. Good investment, thinks Miz Poo, two paws up! * * * After getting up to 84 this past weekend (whoo!), I woke up and came downstairs this morning to find that it was 33� out, and isn’t supposed to get any warmer than 50 today. Brrr! I know that your hearts are breaking for me, especially those of you who had snow recently. * * * The spud has this week off from spring break and she’s already started the “Are you going anywhere tomorrow? How about the next day? The day after?” dance. Tomorrow I’m taking her to take the test for her learner’s permit, god save us. She came downstairs while I was sitting on the couch reading yesterday and said “Sean (her friend from school) said that he passed the test for the learner’s permit and didn’t study at all.” She said this in a tone that conveyed the message “He didn’t study, so you shouldn’t keep telling ME to study, either.” I put down my book and turned to her. “But you didn’t pass the test the first time you took it,” I said slowly. “So clearly YOU do need to study.” She stood and let it sink in, then turned and flounced off. What the fuck? At dinner, we were talking about how Fred is going to be in charge of teaching the spud to drive (when I told my father that back in December, he scoffed and said “But I thought women were supposed to have more patience!” Patience? What the hell does that have to do with it? I just don’t want to die!), and the spud said “Auntie Debbie showed me how to drive in the parking lot thingy.” PARKING LOT THINGY. AGH! I snapped “‘Parking lot’ would have sufficed!”, and she stared at me blankly. * * * It amazes me that when left to my own devices, I’ll sleep for 9 hours. But when I have a hard time to getting to sleep at night and then have to get up early the next morning, thus netting me only about 5 hours of sleep, I don’t have a problem waking up, and once I’m up I don’t really feel tired during the day. Odd, no? I had a hell of a time getting to sleep last night, first because I started reading Passing for Thin and didn’t want to put it down, and then Fred came into the room around 11:00 and told me he couldn’t get to sleep and was going to go work out. When I looked at the clock and realized it was almost midnight and he hadn’t come upstairs yet, I went downstairs to make sure he hadn’t been crushed under a falling weight (he hadn’t; he was just sitting in front of the computer ’til he cooled down). Miz Poo, who was snoozing on the pillow on my desk woke up and realized it was bedtime, and followed me back upstairs. I turned off the light and rolled over, and thus began the three-act play “How Loud Can I Lick My Ass?”, with Miz Pooty J. And3rson in the starring role. Act 1: LicklicklickSLURP, lick. Bed shakes. Momma lifts her head and glares. “Miz Poo, do you fucking MIND?” LicklicklickSLURPSLURP bed shakes and shakes. Momma grabs Miz Poo and pushes her off the bed. (2 minute intermission) Act 2: Miz Poo jumps up on the bed and springboards across Momma. Momma, who was close to drifting off yells “argh!” Miz Poo settles on her usual pillow. Is quiet for a few minutes to lull Momma into a false sense of security. When Momma is relaxed and thinks she might actually be able to go to sleep, Miz hoists the leg over her head and begins. LicklicklickSLURP. SLURP! SLURP! SLURP! Momma touches Miz Poo gently on the back. “Don’t make me hurt you, goddamnit,” she says gently, but Miz Poo will not be deterred from her ass. SLURP! SLURP! SLURP!, and Momma has decided This Is Enough, grabs Miz Poo, and pushes her over the side of the bed. (8 minute intermission) Act 3: Momma has actually begun drifting off to sleep when the Poo jumps up and shakes the bed. She springboards across Momma, digging her back claws in while jumping, and Momma suspects this is on purpose. “Ow, DAMNIT!” Momma yells, but Miz Poo cares not. She settles on the pillow next to Momma, curls up, and sighs contentedly. Momma shifts around, trying to sleep. Momma is actually asleep when the licking and slurping and shaking begins. “Oh please YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” Momma yells, but Miz Poo ignores licking the fur on her side. Lick, lick. Shake, shake. Lick, lick, lick. The bed shakes, the Momma cries, the Spanky sleeps in his pillow without moving. Momma grabs Miz Poo and deposits her none-too-gently on the floor. When Miz Poo makes as if to jump back up on the bed, Momma makes a loud, scary hissing noise that scares Miz Poo, who runs under the bed. Miz Poo does not jump up onto the bed for hours and hours, until Momma is sound asleep and cannot feel the bed shaking, or hear the licking and slurping. All are happy. Curtains. Applause. * * * He must’ve just smelled something really good, ’cause his mouth’s hanging open. Goofy cat. ]]>

* * * Oh my god, best thing EVER. If strong language offends you (in which case, why on EARTH would you be here?), give this a miss, but it’s excellent. EXCELLENT, I SAY! Go see your favorite stars swearing up a storm. If that link doesn’t work, try this one. Not work safe at ALL. Link ripped off from those crazy kids at Fractious Times.

* * * Pretty, no? Unfortunately Bradford Pear trees, when in bloom, have the foulest rotting-body odor I’ve ever had the misfortune to smell. Seriously, last year I thought there was something dead and rotting in the ditch behind our fence until someone clued us in that that’s just how those damn trees smell in the Spring. GAG. Oddly, the spud said yesterday, “Have you noticed that it kind of smells like chinese food outside?” CHINESE FOOD! Bwah! If that’s what chinese food smells like to her, I’m wondering why on god’s green earth it’s her favorite food. Perhaps what she meant was “Have you noticed that it smells like the bodies of fifteen [gentlemen of Chinese descent] laying in a pile in the ditch, rotting?” * * * No, that’s okay Miz Poo. You just sit there directly in front of my monitor, that’s just FINE. Just sit there and stare off into space, it’s not like I need to SEE the monitor or anything, nope! Confidential to Amy and Sharon: Miz Poo says they purr so loud in the middle of the night while laying as close to your head as possible to prove that they love you, and also that you are mean, unappreciative people who do not deserve the love of a good (or even bad) cat. (Of course, she only thinks that because she doesn’t know what I’ve been saying about her. Ha! I’ll be in trouble if she learns to read, I suppose…) * * * They’re still talking about sending either Fred or his partner to Bagdad (is that spelled right? Isn’t there an “h” in there somewhere?) to set up a new floopy-floop, Fred and his partner apparently being the only two on earth who can floop this particular floopy-floop. They’re the floopiest floopers who ever did floop! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get technical on you. You’ll just have to follow along and act as though you know what I’m talking about. Anyway, don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind to grab Fred and the spud and defect to Canada if they don’t stop talking about it… Watch out, Canoodlians! * * * Warning: if you’re looking at buying a wireless router thingy (technical term), don’t go for the cheapest one. And if you DO go for the cheapest one, opt for the extended coverage they always try to cram down your throat at the store. Our wireless router thingy shit the bed today, and I’m typing up this entry on Fred’s computer, because his is the only one close enough to plug directly into the modem, and I’m not fond of Fred’s keyboard. He’ll be stopping at the store on his way home to buy a new, expensive wireless router thingy that will hopefully work for longer than four months before it craps out. Damn computers. Why they gotta be such a pain in the ass? * * * “Hey Dad, whatcha doin’, huh?” (That’s Spanky, by the way)]]>

* * * After sitting and worrying about it for a little while yesterday, I finally up and called Expedia and expressed my concern about the fact that in July on my way to Hawaii I’m supposed to be able to haul my cookies from one gate to another in less than 25 minutes, assuming that the plane lands on time. And I think we ALL know that when you have to haul ass from one gate to another, barely making it (if indeed you make it at all), there’s no way on god’s green earth your luggage will make it onto that plane. So I threw myself on the mercy of the Expedia customer service chick, and she was appalled, not because I was throwing myself upon her mercy, but because it is sheer insanity to expect a fat woman from Alabama and her meandering-in-the-fastest-of-times child to haul ass in such a short period of time. I sat on hold for a long, long time, and then she came back to tell me that there was another flight she could put me on, but I’d end up flying into Honolulu at 10:19 at night instead of 7:30ish, and I said that was fine, and so now I have plenty of time to get from one gate to the other, and am flying not through San Francisco but Los Angeles. I’m hugely relieved, because running as fast as I can from one gate to the other (which, granted, ain’t so very fast) and then having my luggage lost in the ether is not a way I want to start my vacation. And hey – maybe we’ll see someone famous during our LA layover! Brad and Jen! Dahlinks! Let’s do lunch!

* * * My PMS is over, thankyajeezus. At one point yesterday afternoon, when the PMS bitchiness had pretty much disappeared and I was sitting on the couch reading, I remembered that Fred had wanted me to email him a document from the laptop so I went upstairs and turned the motherfucker darling thing on, then went off to start laundry and talk to the cats or whatever the fuck I was doing. When I got back to the laptop I found to my chagrin that ZoneAlarm was having a tizzy – “Do you want to allow this to access the internet? What about this? This! What about this?”, and I had to click “yes you fucking piece of shit” 43 times before I could begin to do anything else. I opened Pegasus and created the email to Fred with the document attached, but when I clicked on send queued mail, I was informed that the program couldn’t access Kn0logy and something was unplugged somewhere, and don’t look at me, I don’t give a shit, lady, and a Gallic snort of disdain and a cloud of smoke in my face and a tsk before the motherfucker darling laptop sneered at me and (figuratively) turned away. Then Zonealarm did its thing, dancing around like a four year-old with a full bladder and no potty in sight “Do you want to allow this program to access the internet? That one? The other? What about this one, I don’t like the looks of this!”, and I clicked the “yes didn’t I already say yes and click on the “remember this answer” box, you motherfucking piece of shit?” button, then turned my attention back to the main screen, where the IE icon and the Trillian icon and the My Documents icon were clustered, looking at me and giggling their high-pitched giggles. So I tried to call Fred. And tried again. And yet again. And a fourth time. And a thirteenth time. And a twentieth time. And his answering machine answered, playing that SAME GODDAMN message I adore so much until I turned off the phone and yelled “ARGGGGGGGGGGH!”, and the cats scattered. Then I had an idea – I could save the document to a floppy and then bring it downstairs and email THAT to Fred! Good idea, go to it! ::clapclapclap:: I hauled my ass downstairs and searched for a floppy disk – which are in short supply around here ever since we gave the spud our old camera which writes pictures to floppies and she has felt the need to immortalize her nostrils in a series of pictures we like to call “Those big-ass nostrils must have come from your daddy, oh I guess you’re right, everyone looks like they have Grand Canyon-sized nostrils from two inches away”. I found a floppy and ran back upstairs, the cats running behind me, wondering what the hell was going on, and why does she keep running? I’ve never seen her RUN before, and it’s a bit frightening. The laptop. Oh, the motherfucking laptop. The laptop, my nemesis, it HAS no floppy drive. NO FLOPPY DRIVE. What the? How the? Where the? Why? How’m I gonna? Brilliant inspiration struck and I double-checked to be sure the motherfucker had a cd/ dvd drive, and it did (and then I remembered that I had watched Beyond the Behind the Near the Around the Below the Inside the Past the Under the Tuscan Sun on the laptop, so of COURSE – and here that ASSHOLE paperclip man (oh paperclip man, how I loathe you and your perpetual need to help me WHEN I REQUIRE NO HELP, THANKS! YES! YES THAT’S A LETTER, AND I KNOW HOW TO WRITE A LETTER, I’M THIRTY-SIX YEARS OLD RIGHT NOW YOU BASTARD, SO SHUT UP AND GO AWAY!) laughed out loud at me before he did his “now we print out paper!” dance for no particular reason. Back down the stairs I went, a coterie of cats hard on my heels, and I found the stack of rewritable cds, and I turned around and went back UP the stairs and I don’t mind telling you that I was breathing MIGHTY hard by then, but I was triumphant, because I was going to overcome the yeah, something’s unplugged somewhere or something, whatever laptop and the bastardly paperclip man, and I would be the boss of that motherfucking laptop! Laptops the world over would shiver in fear of me! So I put the cd in the cd drive, and I clicked on the Word document and I chose “save as”, and I chose the D drive and I clicked “save”. I’m sorry, you don’t have permission to access the D drive. CLEARLY a mistake. Obviously I read that wrong. Clickclickclick. I’m sorry, you don’t have permission to access the D drive. SUCKAH! Which is when I knew that I had to step away from the laptop immediately, or I would put my fucking foot right through the motherfucker, and I stood up and took a deep breath and chose the option to shut the motherfucker down, and then I stood for several minutes waiting for it to actually SHUT DOWN, WHY does it take 45 minutes for computers to shut down anymore, WHY? Finally I lost my patience, and I struggled with myself, wanting so very desperately to put my foot through the motherfucker, but I remained calm and in control, and instead of putting my foot through the motherfucker, I lean forward so that my face was half an inch from the screen, and I bellowed at the very top of my lungs – and when I say that that is very loud indeed, you have NO idea, folks. Fred thinks he’s heard me at my loudest, but he has never ever heard me this loud, I guarantee you, this is the volume you reach when someone is coming after you with a knife and you have to scream for your life (poet! knowit!) – “ANY FUCKING DAY NOW!” I bellowed, going immediately lightheaded from the effort and the volume. And the motherfucker shut down that very instant. Who’s the boss now, huh? That’s right, you motherfucker. I am the boss of YOU, and don’t you FORGET IT. But I sure am glad I’m over that whole PMS thing. Whew. Bring on the sore boobs! * * * We have to go to some meeting for the parents of 9th graders – an orientation they’re calling it – because the spud will be going to the big high school next year. It’s tonight at 7 because they ALWAYS schedule this shit on Thursday nights so as to interfere with our Survivor watching, but stymied! Survivor was on last night, not tonight. Ha! * * * Miz Pooty, I understand that cleaniness is, in fact, next to godliness and that cleaning yourself incessantly is the way you worship the God o’ Cats, BUT WHY MUST YOU DO IT TWO INCHES FROM MY EAR AND WHY MUST YOU GRUNT LOUDLY WHILE YOU ARE CLEANING YOUR ASS? * * * Perhaps the PMS is not so much gone, but rather just kind of laying dormant. * * * Tiptoeing guiltily through the daffodils.]]>