Month: April 2004

I’m curious, cause I’m jealous as hell, how did you not have to work? I’m so jealous that you get to stay home. Simply put, it’s because Fred is part owner of a fairly profitable company and he makes enough so that I don’t need to work. Once I had paid off the credit card bills I brought with me from my first marriage, I quit my job. Honestly, any money I’d bring in from working would probably be chicken feed, due to my spotty work history and the fact that I didn’t get a degree. I won’t deny that it’s pretty damn cool to be able to stay home, though sometimes I feel guilty and ask Fred if he wants me to get a job (so far, he’s said no). Believe me, I know how lucky I am! Got a question? Leave it in the comments!

* * * Sometimes I just hate the internet. Because when your doctor’s nurse calls to go over the lab results you had done, and she tells you that your liver enzymes are elevated, and you Google “Elevated liver enzymes”, you tend to end up on the pages where you get the shit scared out of you. Anyway, my liver enzymes are elevated. They did a test to rule out Hepatitis C (which came back negative, thankyajeezus) but I have to go back to have more blood drawn so they can rule out Hepatitis A & B. I also have to have a liver ultrasound done and I have to see a liver specialist. The nurse offered that I may simply have a fatty liver (Fred said I should have responded with “Are you calling me fat?”), but I found out on my own that there can be a myriad of other causes, such as mono, gallstones, or TUMORS. The nurse also asked if I drink alcohol a lot (um, no), take much Tylenol (only when I have a headache – which isn’t often), or take any herbs (again, no.). On the up side, my cholesterol levels are A-OK, along with my thyroid levels and my blood sugar levels. Whoo! Also, I’m making Fred come with me to the ultrasound, because I’m a big scaredy-cat and don’t want to do it all by myself. Edited to add: I’m not really worried about it – I think the chances are high that it’s just a fatty liver and not any of that scary stuff. I’ve been feeling perfectly fine lately, and I know that elevated liver enzymes is a relatively common thing, so I’m not going to sweat it. 🙂 * * * Say what you will about Dr. Phil, his show yesterday was one of the most compelling things I’ve ever seen on TV. I absolutely could not take my eyes off it. It was so intense I had to pause it a few times and take a walk around the house, it had me so stressed. He had one of his Dr. Phil Families on – Marty and Erin – and the hour was about confronting Marty about his lying. That Marty has got some serial-killer eyes on him. Erin should be more concerned with the fact that he’s been killing people and burying them in the back yard and less with his lying. * * * Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk, I’m a woman’s man: no time to talk… Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother, You’re stayin alive, stayin’ alive.]]>

Hey Robyn,can you show litter box pictures? Of your system there at home? I’m assuming you are using the thing to sift the litter and two boxes. We are still using the sifter to clean out the litter box. This is what our litter box looks like:

As you can see, it’s a plastic sweater box that we bought at Wal-Mart, set inside a bigger box, to protect the wall from Spanky, who loves to pee over the side of the litter box (bastard). And this is litter box #2, another sweater box. Inside the box is a sifter. I can’t remember for the life of me where we got it – I think at Petco, but I’m not positive. It came as part of a set, which included two regular-sized litter boxes. We had to toss the regular-sized litter boxes (our cats prefer to have the litter deep, and regular litter boxes don’t really allow that). I take the full litter box, dump it into the box with the sifter, and just pull the sifter up, which will leave the pee and poo clumps sitting there. I dump those into a small plastic bag (we have a big box of small bags that I bought at Sam’s), tie the bag, put the now-full litter box back into the big box, put the sifter in the now-empty litter box, and put it away. (And then the Bean immediately comes and stinks up the joint, because that boy does love a clean litter box) I’m not sure how much sense that made – let me know if you need more detailed pictures, V. * * * Is your stalker kitty (Spanky? or am I mixed up there) just too shy to ask for some luv? Yeah, that’s Spanky. He’s not really too shy to ask for love, he’ll approach and rub against your legs when he wants petting and cooing. But when I’m up and on the move, he’ll follow me from room to room, watching me like he expects me to do something (maybe break into a tap dance?) and I always feel like he’s stalking me. The funny thing about Spanky is that years ago when I worked at Fred’s company, every morning when I woke up – before I got ready for work – I’d sit cross-legged on the bed and call Fred to ask or tell him something. Spanky would climb up on the bed and into my lap for the duration of the call. Now, if he sees me on the phone and I’m sitting on the bed, he immediately climbs up and into my lap. As soon as I hang up the phone, he’s gone. * * * That’s a disturbing story of your accident with the dog. Have any nightmares after that? I had occasional nightmares for months, and even now I can hear the ::thunk:: from when I hit that poor dog and it makes me cringe just thinking about it. * * * Your bathrooom has a mirror across from the toilet? Isn’t that against the law or something? Heh. When we first moved into this house, I actually tried to convince Fred that we should remove that mirror and put a smaller one higher up so I wouldn’t have to see myself. (Um, I should point out that I can only see myself from the shoulders up because otherwise, that’d be pretty gross) I have special mirror-avoiding skills, though, so if I don’t want to see myself in the mirror I don’t even catch a glimpse. That takes skill, my friend. * * * Hey Robyn, I read your entry from last year…how are your catnip and arabaca plants doing? We need a gardening update. This is the picture of the arabica plant from last year: And this is it now: You can see that it hasn’t grown much. I suspect that’s due to the fact that I am absolutely horrible about watering my plants. I finally got disgusted with my non-watering ways earlier this week and put “WATER PLANTS” on the calendar every Tuesday. I don’t know that that’ll help, but we’ll see. Also, I think it probably needs to be repotted, and I may stick it out on the front porch this summer to see if that helps at all. As for the catnip plant, I don’t have a CLUE what happened to that. I think I probably neglected it until it was dried up and dead, whereupon I scattered the leaves for the cats and tossed the rest of it away. Got a question? Leave it in the comments! * * * Yesterday was so beautiful and warm (but not hot!) that we (or I guess I should say, Fred) packed up the kayak and headed for the park by the water in Decatur, stopping on the way to get Subway for dinner. I went out in the kayak first for ten or fifteen minutes while Fred and the spud ate dinner. All I have to say about the kayak is this: those fuckers are HARD to get out of! I won’t go into detail, but I’ll say that I have bruises all over my knees, and I thought the spud was going to pass out, she was laughing so hard. The spud went out in the kayak for a few minutes, and then Fred took off. I finished eating and threw my trash away, and the spud and I talked. Suddenly, the spud pointed to a picnic table behind us. There, sitting and staring attentively at us was a squirrel. He clearly wanted some food, but I had eaten everthing and had nothing to offer. He came closer, and then he laid down on his belly on the bench of the picnic table, and watched us. He came closer and closer, to within about six feet of the spud until he finally realized we weren’t going to give him anything (though I thought about tossing him a piece of gum. Heh.), whereupon he stomped off on his little squirrel feet. And me without my camera. This is why I need a picture phone, damnit! * * * “What?” ]]>

Nance emailed me last week to let me know I had a package on the way from her, but she wouldn’t tell me what was in it. It arrived Friday afternoon, and I opened it to find… Well, words just can’t adequately describe what was in that box.

The mind boggles, does it not? The gold wings? The gold necklace? THE GOLD PUMPS? Who created this work of art and what kind of drugs were they on? You’ve gotta wonder. Nance said that she saw it and immediately thought of me. Heh. It’s been sitting on the kitchen counter since I got it, and EVERY time I walk into the kitchen it makes me laugh. I might have to move it into the living room so that it doesn’t get splashed or sprayed with Pam when Fred’s making his popcorn. Art like THIS, you’ve gotta protect, y’know. (Thanks again Nance, you goofball!) * * * Let’s see… it’s been a while since I checked my Picosearch stats to find out what people have been searching on within the site (for those of you new to the page, you can click on that “search” link over there to the right under the “journal” heading and search within bitchypoo.com). Below are some interesting searches. (And for the record, all searches are completely anonymous, so go ahead and search on weird things to your heart’s content.) Cat stain. Oh, I know what this one’s about – I’ve gotten a lot of email lately asking me what on earth that stuff was called that I waxed poetic about, the stuff we got from the carpet guy that worked so amazingly well to kill the smell of cat pee. It’s called Axi-dent and you can get some here. The kind we have came in a big jug and when we need to use it (which we haven’t had to since Tubby died, actually) we pour it in a spray bottle. Digital Camera. It’s a Sony Cybershot DSC-V1, and we LOVE it. The old one (which we still have and use) is a Sony Cybershot DSC-P50. The difference between the two? The old one is a 2.1 megapixel, and the new one’s a 5.0. Also, the new one will make movies with sound, whereas the old one doesn’t have sound. Also, the movies aren’t as good. Music. Also, song. 8 searches on each of these. I’m not sure what you’re looking for – leave a comment and I’ll see if I can help you out. Email and email 2004. You can find my email address by clicking on the “contact” link over there to the right. If you were looking for something else, let me know in the comments. Pancit and Recipes. There’s a recipe link over there on the right. I try to upload recipes as I “discover” them, but if there’s something in particular you can’t find, just ask. I won’t bite. (At least not hard…) Seasonale. I’m in my 10th week of using Seasonale and I’ve been having breakthrough bleeding for the last week and a half. Ask me if I’m thrilled. I expect it’ll keep on until I have my period in a few weeks, and then hopefully it’ll go away. Fred actually asked me the other night “Still loving the Seasonale?”, but I don’t think this is really the fault of the Seasonale – it’s just my body trying to figure out what the FUCK is going on. I expected when I started on it that it was going to take at least a year for my body to get into the new rhythm, since I’ve been on a 28-day cycle for the last 8 years. Davinci. I’m sure this is in regards to The Davinci Code. Which we own, but I haven’t read yet! Enell. Still got it, still love it, still refuse to go out in public while wearing it ’cause it makes me look barrel-chested. Kalahari. I had no idea what this might be, until I went to Target and saw The Kalahari Typing School for Men in the book section. I hadn’t heard of this before – is it good? Starting Over. I’ve heard of this, I think – the reality show with women who are, basically, starting over? Never seen it, though. I hear it’s addictive! Wedding photo. Of Fred and I? I don’t think I’ve ever put one up, actually! You’ll understand if I keep it that way for the time being. 🙂 3fc. I suspect you were looking for the entry about the whole brouhaha last year wherein someone stole the “before” picture off OneFatBitchypoo and used it as their own. That entry was actually written over at OneFatBitchypoo, and since I’m still in the process of putting up archives, it’s not available at the moment. Okay, I think that’s it. Is there something I’ve mentioned and never followed up on that you’re dying to know? Or just something you’re curious about? Leave a comment and I’ll see if I can’t assuage your curiosity. (Amy, I’m working on a picture of the coffee plant for you!) C’mon. Don’t be shy. Ask! (This is what I do when nothing’s going on in my life, y’know. I demand that you give me topics to write about. I’m nothing if not a lazy bitch. Heh.) * * * The stalker strikes again. ]]>

Say, but seen in many journals and blogs. 1. What year was the best year of your life? I don’t know that I could choose. 1988, when the spud was born? 1996, when I met Fred? This year? Next year? Who knows? 2. One animal or insect that Noah should have left off the ark? Everything in the creepy-crawly family. Oh no, wait. Wasps. Definitely wasps. Those big ugly red ones with the long legs. ::shudder:: 3. Do you make a wish before blowing out your birthday candles? Always. 4. Do you generally open your bills on the day that you receive them? Yes, just to make sure everything’s as it should be. And then I stuff them in my desk drawer and put off paying them until the last minute. 5. How many pillows are on your bed? Four. Two for my head, one to lay next to me to hug, one for Miz Poo to lay on. 6. Favorite ice cream flavor? I’ve always had a soft spot for french vanilla. 7. What is the most dominant color in your wardrobe? Probably blue or purple. I don’t own many yellow items, surprisingly. 8. Have you ever seen a ghost? Nope. 9. Would you rather go to a carnival or circus? Carnival! 10. Favorite meal: breakfast, lunch, or dinner? Usually lunch, but it depends on what’s for dinner. 11. Your favorite fictional animal? Wilbur. 12. Have you ever flown first-class? I wish! 13. Would you go on a reality show? Hell yeah. Well. Depends on the show. 14. Are you more optimistic or pessimistic about the future? Optimistic. I’m an optimist, y’know. 15. Pancakes or waffles? Pancakes. 16. If you could own a home anywhere in the world, where would it be? The coast of Maine. Preferably with very few people around. 17. Your favorite Soup of the Day? Eh. I don’t really care for soup, except lobster stew. Which is a stew, not a soup. 18. What site is a must see for all visitors to your city? Probably the U.S. Space and Rocket Center. 19. Can you recommend a good restaurant in your city? I haven’t been in one that totally blows me away, no. 20. You go to the zoo; What is the one animal that you want to see? The cats, of course. 21. Potatoes, rice, or pasta; Which is your favorite? I don’t actually care for any of them. If the pasta was included in a creamy cheese sauce, I might go for that. 22. What is the best movie that you’ve seen this year? 21 Grams. 23. One of your favorite books when you were a child? The entire Little House series. I saved my allowance every week for those books, and still have them. When I was a little older, I liked the Sweet Valley High series, at least the first several of them. 24. What in your life are you most grateful for? I’m grateful for everything in my life. 25. You are home alone and use the bathroom; do you close the door? No, why on earth would I do that? 26. What is your favorite small appliance? ::snicker:: 27. Salty snacks or sweet treats? Sweet. I’m a sugar fiend. 28. Are you usually a little early, a little late, or right on time? A little early. Sometimes way early. 29. What is the most daring thing that you have ever done? Packing up the spud and moving 1500 miles to Alabama to move in with Fred after spending less than a week, combined, in each others’ presence, with no guarantee that it would work out. Craziness! 30. Have you ever met someone famous? Stephen King when I was a teenager. I was awestruck and could not speak. 31. What was one of your favorite games as a child? Doctor Dead and Mr. Alive! Heh. I bet Tracy doesn’t even remember this game – it was one we made up when we lived in Guam and we’d play when my parents went out for the evening, and Tracy was in charge. I don’t remember exactly how it went – I think one person was (duh) Dr. Dead and one was Mr. Alive, and if Dr. Dead touched you, you had to fall over and be dead until Mr. Alive found you and touched you, whereupon you became alive again. I’m not sure if that’s exactly right, but most of the elements are there, I think. 32. At what age have you looked your best? Uh. 19? 33. One person that never fails to make you laugh? Fred. Also, Debbie. 34. What was the first music that you ever bought? I have no idea. I know that I bought the John Lennon/ Yoko Ono album that was out when he died (“THIS is going to be worth something someday!”), but I know I bought music before that. I’m sure it was Top 40s stuff. 35. If you could change one thing about your family life when you were a child, what would it be? Everyone else would have recognized that I was the Queen of Everything and given me the proper respect. 36. What is the one thing that you cook that always receives compliments? Everything I cook receives compliments, because Fred’s just grateful he’s not cooking that night. 37. From what news source do you receive the bulk of your news? Fred and The Usual Suspects. 38. In the last calendar year, how many people have you told that you love them? Less than 10, I’d guess. 39. Who received your first kiss? My first boyfriend, when I was 16. He was a HORRIBLE kisser, came at me with a wide-open mouth. ::shudder:: 40. The single most important quality in a mate? The ability to make me laugh. 41. What do you value most in a relationship? Honesty (and the ability to make me laugh). 42. Do you believe that you have a soulmate? Yes. 43. Do you consider yourself well organized? Uh. No (but I know where everything is…) 44. On average, how many times a day do you look at yourself in the mirror? Once in the morning, when I’m putting moisturizer on my face. Whenever I use the downstairs bathroom, I sit and make faces at myself, too. 45. Did you ever make a prank phone call? Years and years ago, when Debbie and the kids and I lived together on Goddard Street, Debbie and Liz and I were home one night. Debbie had seen some guy once or twice, and she talked to him on the phone, and for some reason I can’t recall we decided he was a dickhead. So we called him REPEATEDLY and played the part of The Thanksgiving Song where Adam Sandler says “Love to eat turkey!” into the phone, then hung up. I know, a total psycho move, but I laughed so hard I cried. 46. What one quality do you seek in a friend? The… ability to make me laugh? 47. Have you ever killed an animal? When I was 18, I briefly lived in a very crappy house in the country with three or four guys. I was driving down the road to go to my parents’ house, and a dog – a yellow lab – was sitting in the middle of the road. I couldn’t avoid him, and I slammed into him. He went flying into the ditch, and I got out to see if he was okay. He wasn’t – he was dead. I still feel awful about that, not least because the family was sitting on their front porch when it happened, and the kids freaked out. 48. When you were twelve years old, what did you want to be when you grew up? A veterinarian (and then I found out how much school was involved…) 49. Do you believe in an afterlife? Yes. 50. What would you like to accomplish with the remaining years of your life? I’d love to get my ass in gear and get Brady‘s story actually written, instead of flying around in my head.

* * * Pet store kitty pics from yesterday are here. * * * Ten minutes ago, the phone rang. I checked the caller id and when I saw that it was a tollfree number, I let the answering maching pick up. Naturally, the fuckers hung up without leaving a message. I did a reverse lookup and came up with nothing. Finally, I dialed *67 (which blocks your number, for those of you not in the know – or in other countries) and called the number back. It was fucking Ch@se Manhatt@n Bank, the home financing division, to be exact. I’m sure those assholes are now going to try to get us to refinance the house, and I will be DAMNED if we ever have another mortgage through that bank. Every month with our mortgage statement they send us a load of crap trying to get us to sign up for one thing or another so they can squeeze a little more money out of us. Fuckers. I told Fred that if they call back, I should answer the call and tell them “Tell you what. If you call here again, I WILL refinance. But it won’t be through your bank, MOTHERFUCKER.” Ugh. * * * That’s Miz Poo’s pillow on my desk… but that ain’t Miz Poo! (The nerve of the little bastard!) ]]>

* * * Speaking of French, my mother and nephew went to Paris last week on a school trip (or a trip through the school. Or somethin’.). I talked to my mother last night, and they apparently had a pretty good time, although my mother was disappointed that she never got to have any pastries (she wanted to visit the local bakery, but couldn’t make time to do so). Their room arrangements got fucked up, so they ended up in a room with a girl and her aunt (I guess there was some kind of divider between the two sides of the room, so they weren’t in each others’ faces all the time or anything – but still. Would YOU want to share a room with a couple of strangers?), who told my mother several times that it was fine, and then apparently promptly went off and had hysterics about the arrangements. Four days is apparently not enough time to “do” Paris, but they hit the important attractions, like the Eiffel Tower (at 10:00 at night!) and a ride down the Seine. They visited a perfumery, and my mother sent me a bitty bottle of French perfume. I’ve opened the bottle and sniffed it, figuring that it’d be the bee’s knees, but I’m not sure I’m all that impressed with the scent. I’ll stick with my Sand & Sable, I think. I’ve always thought that April in Paris was supposed to be beautiful, but my mother reports that it was cold and miserable. Also, everyone in Paris wears black. Heh.

* * * I stayed up late to finish Jamie Kennedy’s autobiography last night. He’s a funny guy, that Jamie Kennedy, not that I’m surprised. As a direct result of finishing the book right before I went to sleep, I had a dream that Pamie was acting out the entire book for me, word for word. I woke up laughing. Damn I love it when I wake up laughing – it’s tons better than having a bad dream and waking up crying, believe you me. * * * I was ready to call the woman who runs the no-kill cat shelter I volunteer for and quit this morning. I had to wait close to 10 minutes for a manager to open the door to the cat room (yeah, I know she was in the manager’s office counting money, but eh. Am I not more important?), and then one of the cats hid under the cages and I couldn’t get the little bastard to come out for love or money, and I was just ready to throw up my hands and quit out of frustration (not to mention that I exercise before I go to the pet store, and even though I had cooled down for five minutes before I changed out of my exercise clothes and into my everyday clothes, by the time I had cleaned out two cat cages, I had sweat running freely down my face, and my clothes were sticking to me and making me VERY VERY UNCOMFORTABLE). But then one of the two kittens there managed to force his way out of his cage, and he went under the cages and CHASED the cat who was hiding there out, so that I could snatch him up and toss him back in his cage, and all was well. Also, the kitten who forced his way out of his cage was like the Bean at his spazziest, but as soon as I picked him up he’d meow bitchily at me and then purr so loud it shook his little body, and I’d just melt. Besides, if I quit, how on earth would I get my kitten fix? (Cat pictures will be up tomorrow) * * * Oh, da Poot-poot. ]]>

* * * Wednesday afternoon, the spud came home from school feeling a little under the weather. She took a nap, and when we called her for dinner, she asked if she could put her dinner in the fridge and eat it later, then went back upstairs and back to bed. Around 7, the barfing began. She threw up two or three more times, complaining about how much her stomach hurt, and went to bed very, very early (like, 8:00). Fred, being the worrywart (seriously, I think I worry a lot, but he really takes the cake) wondered whether we should take her to the emergency room, and I finally said “Did your mother take you to the doctor every time you threw up? Because mine sure didn’t. In fact, even when I had a temperature so high that I was high off it, I didn’t go to the doctor.” I mean, she called the doctor, but she didn’t bundle me up and run to the emergency room or anything. Which for some reason reminded me of the time I was 6 or so – maybe even younger – and I felt I wasn’t getting enough attention, so I decided to pretend that I had passed out on the floor. So there I was laying on the floor, half in and half out of my bedroom door, and the floor was uncomfortable. I went and got my blanket and put it on the floor, then arranged myself atop the blanket, looking – I was sure – as if I had passed out. Various family members walked by me, but they didn’t seem too concerned about me, the heartless bastards. Also, around the same age, I was sick and there was someone in the bathroom, so I threw up on the floor outside the bathroom door and I GOT IN TROUBLE. For barfing on the floor. “Why didn’t you KNOCK ON THE DOOR and tell (whoever was in the bathroom) that you were going to throw up??” my mother asked. Uh, ’cause I was too busy actually throwing up? Anyway. So the spud was sick on and off Wednesday night, and I figured she wouldn’t end up going to school Thursday. Thursday morning, Fred woke her up and asked her how she felt (“Better”) and if she wanted to go to school. She said she did, and headed off to take a shower. A while later, she knocked on the bedroom door. “My stomach still hurts,” she said. “Go back to bed,” I said. “Do I have to go to school?” she said. “Would I tell you to go back to bed if I was going to make you go to school??” I said. She allowed as how that made sense, and went back to bed. Fast forward to 10:20, after I had exercised and was about to eat breakfast. She came into the computer room and said “Can I go to school?” Wuh? The child WANTED to go to school. She had a free pass to stay home all day, and she WANTED TO GO TO SCHOOL. Clearly she is not of my genetic material, because when I was her age, if I had the chance to stay home from school for the entire day, I not only would have taken it, I would have done my best to get to stay home the NEXT day as well. Granted, the reason she wanted to go to school was because she had a couple of tests she didn’t want to miss (!), but that wouldn’t have stopped me. After all, I arranged to take my Latin I final early so I wouldn’t have to get up early the day after the Scorpions concert to take it. I guess you could say school wasn’t really my top priority…

* * * I did NOT get to sleep in ’til 8 yesterday, because I couldn’t get back to sleep once the spud woke me up, so I laid in bed and read ’til 8. This morning, though, I had NO problem getting back to sleep once Fred left for work, and I got up at 8:03. Yay! * * * We had a strong storm last night, with heavy winds and rain. Fred shut the window so that rain wouldn’t come through the cat door. Cue the Bean, who is a weirdo, because when the strong winds drive the other cats inside to hide under the couch or the bed, the Bean wants to be out in it, feeling the breeze in his whiskers. Also, he does not dislike getting wet at ALL, in fact, I guess I’d say he kind of likes getting wet, since many mornings when I step out of the shower, he runs into the shower stall and sits on the seat, thus getting his paws and butt wet. Weird cat. Anyway, the Bean wanted to go outside, but Fred had shut the window so that when the Bean tried to push the cat door open, it would only open an inch or so before it hit the window. Poor Bean had no idea what was going on. I had to laugh, watching him continue to try to get the door open, then make a questioning “Brrrr?” sound, and try again. And again and again and again. Half an hour later when the bad weather had passed, Fred opened the window again, and the Bean trotted out to stalk around on the wet grass. * * * (Picture by Fred) ]]>

Annoying

Oh, look. Crap on the counter. How unusual! (Yes, some of it’s mine. That makes it no less annoying) Fred’s drawer. Never quiiiiiiiite closed all the way. Every day I walk by and push it shut. Stalker. Tea spots on the kitchen floor. Who doesn’t drink tea? That’s right, me. Lick. Lick. LICK. slurp. Slurp. SLURP. Ad infinitum. “Oh! Gasp! I am dying! Water me! I am dyyyyyyyyying!” Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. “GODDAMNIT, STUMPY, JUST PUSH THROUGH THE FUCKING DOOR!” Breakthrough bleeding. “Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr?” “No, that’s okay, Miz Poo. I don’t need to SEE the monitor or anything!” Fred: “Boo!” Spud: Ear-shattering scream. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter.Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. “Stumpy, I am about to kill you.” “Brrrrrrr?” Stalker. Lick. Lick. Lick. Lick. Lick. Lick. Cough. Gag. Spit up hairball. Lick. Lick. Lick. Lick. Lick. Fred: ::fart:: Spud: “GROSS! Hahahahahahahah!” Fred: “That’s nothing. You should be in the room when your Momma farts!” Liar. Stalker. Those socks have been sitting there for a week. They don’t belong to ME. You call this “made”? Still stalking. ]]>

* * * My friend Liz has, since some time last Fall, been having some pretty scary symptoms. Her legs started hurting at night – hurting a lot, necessitating trip after trip to the emergency room where the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong, and ended up just giving her very, very strong pain medication. I know that more than once they gave her morphine to help with the pain. A short while later, she started having serious hot flashes at night. She went to see her doctor, who ran multiple tests and couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her, and finally referred her to a neurologist. Naturally, she couldn’t get in to see the neurologist for three months. She’s been missing a lot of work, but luckily she has an understanding boss who was more concerned about her well-being than about the amount of work she was missing. She had tried out for (and been given a spot on!) a women’s football team, but had to give that up, because she was simply in too much pain to work out and practice. She saw the neurologist last month. He ordered a lot of tests on her (one of them being an x-ray of her legs. There’s an idea!) and she had to wait three weeks to find out the results. The doctor thought it might be Lupus or… something else, the name of which I can’t recall. The tests came back and showed that it was neither Lupus nor the other thing. So the doctor ordered yet more tests, and today Liz called. She has a vitamin D deficiency AND Parvo 19. They’ll treat the vitamin D deficiency with a weekly vitamin, and the Parvo will eventually resolve itself (according to something I read when I was Googling up information, Parvo 19 generally only lasts for a few weeks, but can last for months). Thank god it’s something so easily resolved. Who knew there WAS such a thing as a vitamin D deficiency? Not me.

* * * If given the choice during the week, I’ll sleep in until 8 (except Mondays, because I have to get up and exercise before I go feed and clean at the pet store). Yesterday, it was my intent to sleep until 8, exercise, and then run errands. Except. Except that that damn Miz Poo had other ideas. At 5:30 sharp, she started smacking me on the head, wanting me to roll over on to my left side so she could flop against me. I didn’t WANT to roll over, since I was perfectly comfy on my right side, so I ignored her. For the next several minutes, she’d smack at me, then pause. I’d almost get back to sleep, and she’d smack me again. Finally, I looked at her over my shoulder and yelled “CUT IT OUT, GODDAMNIT!” After another smack, she finally gave up. It took me a while to get back to sleep, but it seemed that no sooner had I than Fred was in the bathroom getting ready for work, and the Bean was chasing Spanky around the room. Fred left for work after kissing me goodbye, and I settled in to go back to sleep. Which is when Spanky started howling. I threw a pillow at him and he ran off. Twenty minutes later the phone rang. I swore and flailed my way across the bed to grab the phone, intent on Fred giving me hell for calling at such an early – 7:20 – hour. Only it wasn’t Fred. It was a wrong number. Grrr. I can take a hint, so I hauled my ass out of bed and got going on my day. This morning I had to get up early, because I had a lab appointment at 8:30 to have my thyroid checked (I have that done every six months). I wanted to exercise and shower before I went, so I asked Fred to wake me up when he came into the room at 6:21 (yes, 6:21!) to get ready for work. Except. I woke up at 5:30, worried that I’d overslept. I looked at the clock and was pleased to find that I had 40 (well, 41, if you must be picky) minutes to snooze. Only, I couldn’t snooze. I just could not, for the life of me, get back to sleep. And at 5:50, Spanky started up with his infernal howling. I can take a hint. Tomorrow, come hell or high water, I’m sleeping in ’til 8. And no one better call me before then, you hear me? * * * My Secret Goddess is continuing to crack me up. I got an iCard via email last week, and then yesterday when I checked the PO Box, I got this card, which made me laugh out loud: You can see the iCard I got, but DO NOT click the link if you haven’t seen the Survivor that aired the week before last! See it here. Cracked me up, it did. Thanks, Secret Goddess! * * * Kinda looks like he’s yelling at the other cats, doesn’t it? (Picture taken by Fred, of course) ]]>

* * * One of my pet peeves is when people refer to things – usually FOOD-type things – by their wrong name. Like when Fred calls Diet Coke “Coke.” No. NO, it is NOT Coke, it’s DIET Coke. He also tends to refer to English muffins as just “muffins.” “Can I have one of your muffins?” he says, and I perk up. I have muffins over there? When the hell did I get muffins, and NO you cannot have one of my muffins, they’re MY MUFFINS, I didn’t know I had them, but I’m not sharing! Then I realize they’re ENGLISH muffins, which are a different thing altogether, and I’m all disappointed. Because I’m a freak, obviously. (This little bit of information brought to you by the fact that the spud put “Pepsi” on the grocery list. Except I don’t buy her PEPSI, I buy her DIET Pepsi. Hmph.)

* * * Miz Poo rolls around on the patio, while the Bean tries to decide whether to roll around too, or just jump on her. (He opted for rolling around, too.)]]>

* * * Speaking of Spanky, I feel like he’s stalking me. I swear, he follows me from room to room, purring and rubbing against things and looking at me like he expects something specific from me. Creepy little bastard.

* * * What’s the frequency, Kenneth? (Seriously – how many of you got the reference? Too obscure?) * * * A few months ago Fred and I were laying in bed talking, and Fred said “I read today that Jayson Blair has a book and movie deal.” “Oh,” I said. “Yeah, I think the movie’s out, actually. I just read a review of it…” “Already? That was fast!” “Yeah. Hayden Christensen is playing Jayson Blair.” Pause. Long pause. “Bessie, Jayson Blair is black.” And so he is. What I had read the review of was Shattered Glass, the movie about Stephen Glass. I rented it last week because I thought it might be interesting, and since we’d watched Kill Bill, Volume 1 (not bad) on Friday night and Timeline (eh. Like Fred said, they took the book and dumbed it down a lot) on Saturday afternoon, we watched Shattered Glass Saturday night. The wild partying never stops around here, y’know. Actually, we liked it. A lot. When the movie was over, we went online and looked up information about Stephen Glass and Adam L. Penenberg. I’ve found that the best movies based on real-life always make you want to find out more about the people portrayed. You also learn interesting facts, such as the character played by Chloe Sevigny was based on reporter Hanna Rosin, who did an article about the “novel” Stephen Glass recently put out. Also, Hanna Rosin’s husband, David Plotz, did an article about the movie. Interesting stuff. (Yes, shut up, I KNOW I need a life. Hmph.) * * * All Jane at Burnt Fuse (as opposed to the Jane I usually link) wants for her birthday is to get to 50,000 hits. Be a pal and click this link, won’t you? * * * No new kitties at the pet store, thus no pet store pictures this week. Boris did get adopted, though. Hmph. * * * “Do I want in, or do I want out? I think I’ll just stand here until The Momma gets impatient and pushes me one way or the other…” ]]>