Month: November 2004

frog are belong to us. (Make sure you click on the picture to get to the rest of the pictures; they’re worth checking out. I laughed my ass off.) PS: I’ll find my frog. Who took my frog?

* * * “Golly,” I said to Fred on Friday afternoon. “We have SO much money laying around. I feel like we should just up and spend it on something, but I can’t think of what. It’s just sitting there in a corner of the room taking up space and getting dusty.” “But Bessie,” Fred said. “We’ve made a big dent in that pile of money already. Remember how much it cost to take Spot to the emergency vet? And then the regular vet? Why, it took two garbage bags full of money for that alone!” “You’re right,” I mused. “I guess we’ll just leave it alone for now. I do wish I could clean that corner, though.” “Maybe this weekend we’ll move the humongous pile of money from that corner to another, and you can vacuum up the dead spiders and dust,” Fred suggested. “Good idea!” I said. “Now give me a kiss, I’m going to drive to the other side of Huntsville in rush-hour traffic to return my Holter monitor. I’m sure it will be neither annoying nor frustrating, and I’ll be back home lickety-split!” Fred kissed me, and I left. The Warren Brothers CD is still in my Jeep, so I turned the stereo up and sang along when I knew the words. It took a damn long time to get just a few miles down the road, and I hit every red light I possibly could. I was sitting at a red light at the corner of Wynn and University (for those of you in the area) when I heard a loud grinding sound, and my Jeep lurched forward a little bit. “What the hell?” I said. It almost sounded like I’d been hit from behind, but when I glanced in my rearview mirror, the guy behind me was chatting it up with the woman next to him and didn’t look particularly guilty. My second thought was that maybe something had fallen off the bottom of my Jeep – maybe the muffler? Do cars still have mufflers? – and I inched forward a little to see if I could hear the sound of a muffler dragging on the road. I heard nothing, and then the light turned green and I began driving. “What the -?” I said, realizing that it was really hard to move either left or right. I started to wonder if the entire underside of my Jeep had dropped out or something, and began looking for somewhere to pull over. I saw a fairly empty parking lot and had to pull really hard on the wheel to go far enough to the right to pull in and park at an angle. I picked up the cell phone and called Fred, who told me to call AAA and he’d be there in a few minutes. I called AAA, tried to explain exactly where I was and what the problem was, and was told it would be about a 45 minute wait. I called Fred to let him know, and then the call waiting beeped. I picked up that call, and was told that it’d really be more like an hour. I was sitting in my Jeep staring off into space and chewing on a fingernail when Fred pulled in beside me, got out of his car, knocked on the passenger’s side window, scaring the shit out of me. I gave him the key to my Jeep so he could see what the problem was for himself, and got into his car. He drove the Jeep around the parking lot for a few minutes, checked to be sure I wasn’t out of power steering fluid (or whatever the fuck it’s called), then shut the Jeep off and joined me in his car. We passed the time watching the incredible number of birds settling on the telephone wire in front of Kinko’s. There were hundreds of them, all trying to find a place on this particular section of wire for some reason, and everything would be calm for a few minutes, and then a big truck or loud car would come along and spook them, and they’d all fly off, circle around a little bit, and then come back and try to settle on the same bit of wire. I don’t know if that particular piece of wire was warm, or what, but there were some bitter, squawking fights as all the birds tried to fit. Almost an hour to the minute, we spotted the tow truck. Fred got out to wave him down, and then my cell phone rang. It was AAA checking to see if the tow truck had arrived yet. AAA rocks. Just in case you were wondering. Cell phones do, too. We went home and waited for the guy from the car repair place to call, and within the hour he did. The problem was apparently a chain reaction started by a bolt snapping, causing a belt to slip out of place, and then blah blah blah cartalkcakes. Buh-bye, pile of money. It was nice having you, if even for a little while. (The Jeep was done by Saturday afternoon, and it seems to be running just fine. I returned the Holter monitor this morning after I fed the cats at the pet store.) * * * There is a woman who works at the grocery store we frequent. Her name is Dorothy, and now every time I see her I want to scream “I’m DORFY!”. I haven’t yet, but I can’t promise I’ll be able to resist for much longer. * * * Man, I’ve been a cleaning machine these past few days. Yesterday I cleaned the entire upstairs INCLUDING DUSTING (which I hate to do for some stupid reason – I mean, it takes like 10 minutes tops, but I go ages and ages without dusting), changed the sheets on my bed AND Fred’s, put the table that was by the bed in the master bedroom back in Fred’s room and moved the bedside table by Fred’s bed back in the master bedroom, then I vacuumed the entire upstairs INCLUDING the spud’s room. Today, I cleaned the downstairs bathroom (and it’s been a really long time. I shudder to think how long. I have no idea why I skip cleaning it for so long because, again, it takes maybe ten minutes. Can I claim that we rarely turn the light on in there, so I never notice how nasty it’s gotten?), vacuumed the entire upstairs AND the staircase, and cleaned all the hardwood/ tile floors downstairs using my handy dandy Hoover Floormate. Tomorrow, I’m going to dust the entire downstairs and then maybe clean the garage. If I start feeling really adventurous, I’ll go around the house and dust all the floorboards (don’t count on it, though). I also need to really scrub down the kitchen, because (yet again) it’s been quite a while since I did that (though I do wipe down the counters and scrub the sink every day. Give me some credit, eh?). If I were pregnant (calm down, I’m not) I’d say I was nesting. As it is, I guess it’s just one of those multi-day bursts of energy that come along for no explainable reason. If I could figure out what causes those bursts of energy and force them to come along, say, twice a week, that would rock. Maybe crackcocaine? I understand that gives you some energy. But then there’s that pesky “addiction” thing, and I just can’t handle the thought of wasting roughly five years of my life as a crack ho before I hit rock bottom and go into rehab. Somehow I think Fred wouldn’t have the patience to wait for me, though I could be wrong. How does it go again? Love is patient, love is kind, love waits for his crack ho wife to hit rock bottom… ? * * * Hey, remember several months ago when I mentioned that I had started Seasonale and had break-through bleeding for most of the third month before I had my period? And remember how a bunch of you were all “Yeah, you’re going to have breakthrough bleeding the entire time, sucks to be you. Ha!” and then a few months later (during my second three months with Seasonale) I mentioned that I’d had several days of breakthrough bleeding with Seasonale during the third month, and a bunch of you (possibly the same bunch, though I can’t guarantee it) said “I SAID you were going to have breakthrough bleeding. Just accept it, and find a better birth control method. Geez!”? Hi there. I’d like to announce that on Saturday I took the last pill of my third three-month Seasonale pack, and guess what? No breakthrough bleeding. Not a single solitary drop of blood, not one. So there! (See? I told y’all I was going to give it a year for my body to adjust before I declared it a failure. And it’s been nine months, and I declare it NOT a failure. In case you were wondering.) * * * “I am so pretty that it literally causes me pain.” * * *]]>

Bonnie!!

* * * In case you hadn’t heard, Fred’s gone country. I like to think I had a little to do with that, since every time I’m flipping channels or want to sit in the living room and read, I turn the channel to VH-1 Country or CMT or TNN and listen to the videos while I’m reading. (Though more often than not, I end up sitting on the couch staring at the TV with my book in my lap because a video I like or haven’t seen before comes on) Not only does he like Toby Keith, he likes some Tim McGraw as well. Every now and then he’ll mention a country song that he heard on the radio (because now he listens to country music!) that he likes (Suds in the Bucket by Sara Evans, for one). I asked him several times if he’d heard American Soldier by Toby Keith yet, and I’d say (not sing, because I love him too much to subject him to my singing voice. Well, no I don’t – I don’t sing the song because I can’t remember the entire chorus, so I just say it rather than singing it) the part I can remember – I don’t want to die for you/ but if dyin’s asked of me/ I’ll bear that cross with honor/ ’cause freedom don’t come free – and every time he shrugged and said it didn’t sound familiar. So last night we were each sitting in front of our computers, and I was looking at Toby Keith’s website and I found the video for American Soldier, and I thought to myself “Aha! I can play the video for Fred so that he can finally hear the song!” So I said “Baby, listen to this!” and I played the video. I sat and watched the video and got all teary-eyed because I AM A BIG DORKY SAP. If you don’t know the song, toward the end Toby Keith sings “I’m an American soldier, an American” roughly 68.93 times, and when the video was over, Fred shifted around in his chair and coughed. “Was that American Soldier?” he finally asked. Yes, it’s true. NOTHING gets by him. NOTHING. * * * So, the trip to the Heart Clinic in downtown Huntsville yesterday afternoon went just fine. We were a little confused when we first walked in, because there were no signs telling us where to go, and so Fred walked over to the desk where a woman was sitting, and he said “Can you tell me where to go for outpatient testing?” and she looked at him as though perhaps he was speaking in a foreign language, and she repeated, slowly, “Outpatient… testing?” She seemed a little confused. “An echocardiogram and Holter monitor,” I said. “Oh!” she said, and then directed us to the second floor. When we got to the second floor, I walked to the sign that said “SIGN IN HERE” and Fred went to sit down. I looked at the only clipboard by the sign, and it said in big bold letters across the top “PACEMAKER TESTING”, and I thought to myself “Well, I have no pacemaker and don’t need one tested. What the hell am I supposed to do now?” I waited until a woman sitting behind the counter glanced at me, and politely said “I have an appointment for an echo -” “Sign in right there,” she said, pointing at the “PACEMAKER TESTING” clipboard, with an air of “Oh lord, how many times a day am I going to be required to repeat the same goddamn thing to the same stupid-ass people?” I meekly signed in and went to sit by Fred, who had chosen a seat as far from the sign-in desk as possible. We had a discussion as to whether Fred would accompany me back for the echocardiogram – first he said he’d rather wait in the waiting room, then I said I’d rather he come back with me, then he went to the men’s room, and then when he came back I told him it was okay with me if he waited in the waiting room but that we needed to move because we were sitting right next to some loud-ass drug reps and I wasn’t going to hear if they called my name, so we moved, and a few minutes later Fred said he’d rather come back with me (I don’t remember why) and then the lady behind the counter called me over so I could answer all the questions they always ask – name/ address/ phone number/ doctor/ next of kin questions, all that shit. At one point she looked down at my insurance card and realized that it was one of the new ones that didn’t have Fred’s social security number on it (Blu3 Cross recently sent out new cards in hopes of cutting down on identity theft) and she looked at him and said “Do you know your social security number?” I know my face immediately went blank, because I was fighting the urge to laugh out loud. “Yes,” Fred said. “Yes, I do.” And he recited his social security number for her, clearly also fighting the urge not to laugh. “And is your social security number 00X-?” she asked me, looking at her computer screen. “Yes,” I said. “You must be young!” she said. “I’ve never seen one that started with 00X!” Beside me, Fred snickered. I just smiled at her, wondering how on earth a social security number starting with those numbers meant I must be young. Once we’d finished answering all the questions and I signed in 16 different spaces, we went back out into the waiting room to sit down and wait for my name to be called again. As we waited, I eyed the drug reps and wondered aloud whether I should go over and ask for some pens. Because you really can’t have too many Bic Clic pens, y’know. After, I don’t know, ten minutes or so a woman came out and called my name and we followed her back to another waiting room, where we had to sit and wait some more. “It seems cruel to call us back just to make us wait more,” Fred observed and I concurred. We passed fifteen minutes or so watching an episode of Star Trek (it was the one where Captain Kirk ran around without a shirt on, and kicked some alien ass…) and then they called me back for the ECG. I had to strip down from the waist up and put a johnny on, then lay on my left side on the table. The gel was warm, at least, and laying on my side (without a pillow) was a little uncomfortable, but it only took about 15 minutes for the entire echocardiogram. It wasn’t too bad, though I thought at one point she might crack one of my ribs. It also wasn’t that uncomfortable having her flop my boob around – I was just relieved to have it done by a strange woman rather than a strange man. The… echocardiogram-ist (?) was great, always telling me what we were looking at. It was, to say the least, freaky as hell to be looking at a picture of my heart. Because to be honest I prefer to think that I don’t actually have organs or anything – that there’s skin, then blood, then I’m solid all the way through with a few bones and veins and capillaries thrown in for good measure. (By the way, Fred can now officially confirm that I have a heart; he was there for the ECG and saw it himself!) We were directed back to the waiting room again to wait for the person who was going to be putting the Holter monitor on me; we only had to wait a few minutes, then she took me to a room, gave me a couple of sheets of instructions (I have to return the monitor this afternoon; if I haven’t returned it within two weeks then they’ll bill me for $2500), then she told me to pull my shirt up, and she slapped five pads on me, two on my upper chest and three across my abdomen, like so: She attached wires to each pad, then gave me the recorder and told me it was okay to put it in my pocket; I did so, and then we were on our way home. Altogether, we were at the Heart Center for about an hour and a half, most of that spent sitting and waiting. Could have been worse, I suppose – at least I had Fred there to keep me entertained. The monitor isn’t too bad; mostly it’s just annoying, and I keep worrying that it’s come disconnected, so every few minutes I press on each of the pads to make sure everything’s as it should be. I usually sleep naked, but last night I wore my bra to bed so I’d have something to clip the recorder to. I have to keep a sheet of paper and pencil nearby so that I can record each and every flutter, and that’s really exciting: “Time: 11:03 pm. Activity: Reading. Symptom: Fluttering in chest.” Thus far, I’ve had fluttering at 4:12, 4:31, 5:49, 6:27, 6:36, 7:28, 9:13, 11:03, 7:32, and 9:54, all while doing exciting activities such as “sitting in front of computer”, “watching TV”, “reading”, and “brushing teeth.” Sleeping while wearing the monitor wasn’t too bad, though at one point the monitor fell off my bra, where it was clipped, and fell onto my hand, jolting me awake. I couldn’t sleep on my stomach, which is how I usually spend a good part of each night, so my right shoulder was a little stiff this morning, but all in all I have no real complaints. I’ll be glad to be able to disconnect the monitor this afternoon, though, so I can take a shower. I feel all greasy and nasty, even though I’m sure I’m not stinky yet. Least, I hope I’m not! * * * Meester Boogers sits quietly, whilst the Daddy dangles a wooden snake over his head. Meester Boogers, fed up with the wooden snake, attacks. * * *]]>

It’s Veteran’s Day, Americans. Take a moment to remember and thank those who are willing to serve and protect this country as well as those who died doing so.

* * * My god, I just love Gretchen Wilson to death. I’m not so crazy about “Redneck Woman” or “Here for the Party” (I’ll listen to them, but I wouldn’t, say, download them or anything), but “When I Think About Cheatin'” and “Pocahontas Proud” just send shivers down my spine. That girl has some serious lung power. * * * Meme, stolen from Lynda: Press each letter in the address bar of your browser and list what the auto-complete function jumps to first. A – adamnthing.com B – baldmoses.org C – capitolone.com D – dienu.com E – ejshea.com/buddha.htm F – fallingstar.net/awakened/ G – geocities.com/marseeya/ H – happyhomewrecker.com/pom/ I – islandbathandbody.com J – jane’s guestbook K – kitykity.com L – la-the-sage.diaryland.com M – mail2web.com N – nebshit.com (Even though I know Nance is at work all day long, I still compulsively check her site 23,000 times a day!) O – opendiary.com (Jane Says) P – pamie.com Q – qnet.com (warning: a happy little song involved; turn your sound down!) R – redhairedgirl.com/sandbox.htm S – shauny.org/pussycat/ T – thefatdiaries.blogspot.com U – ullapopken.com V – valleymls.com (juuuust looking. And drooling.) W – willa.com/journal/ X – x-entertainment.com Y – yahoo.com Z – zwire.com * * * Okay, I’m going to call that an entry, ’cause there’s nothing much going on around here – Fred and the spud had the day off and we’re all just hanging around the house – and I’ll be leaving soon for my ECG and Holter Monitor installation. I can hardly wait to have a stranger flopping my left boob around and squirting ultrasound jelly all over my chest, I can tell you that much. See you tomorrow! * * * Is it just me, or does Meester Boogers appear to be trying to look up Fred’s shorts? * * *]]>

journal entries, ’cause it really hurts to shoot Diet Coke out your nose. I’ve done it so often that no doubt the inside of my nose looks like I’ve spent twenty years snorting heroin (does one snort heroin? I am completely clueless when it comes to drug matters).

* * * I just cracked myself up, because Meester Boogers just came through the cat door and I always turn around to be sure he’s not carrying a bird or large insect in his mouth when he comes in from outside, and he glanced over at me, and because you MUST greet the kitties when you see them, I said “Hey, Pooperman!” and Meester Boogers made his patented grumpy noise at me, and I laughed and laughed at the fact that I’d just called him “Pooperman” and he’d responded. * * * I went to the pet store twice this week (the regular Tuesday morning person was out of town and I was covering for her). Monday’s pictures are here, and Tuesday’s are here. I have completely fallen in love with Brewster, and so I hope like hell that he’s adopted before I go again on Monday, because I cannot be held responsible for what I’ll do if he isn’t. Also, I took a picture of one of the kittens making the patented Meester Boogers “I am disturbed” face: That’s Justine, by the way. I actually considered popping Meester Boogers into the cat carrier and taking him to the pet store with me. Mostly because I’ve never seen him with a smaller cat and I’m curious to see what his reaction would be, but also because I think he’d like playing with the pet store kitties, because at home the other cats usually either growl at him, smack him, or run away rather than actually play with him. But I didn’t want to put him through the trauma of being in the carrier and then the car. Plus, he has a loud-ass meow that would have gotten on my nerves pretty damn quick. Maybe one of these days, though… * * * “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said to Fred the other night, mocking him about something I can’t for the life of me recall now. “You just shut up,” he said from where he was standing by the window. “Or I’ll come over there and smack that look right off of your face!”* “Shut up, motherfucker!” I said brilliantly. “Oh, isn’t that just like a Democrat**!” he smirked, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk. “Nothing smart to say, so you call me names!” “Oh, and isn’t THAT just like a Republican***!” I responded. “Something you don’t like, so you pull out the threats of physical violence!” For once, he had no good comeback. *Note for the humor impaired (because I just know someone’s going to take offense): Fred would hit me right around the time hell froze over, but he likes to jokingly threaten physical violence. We both do, for that matter. Because it’s something that would never happen in our house, we think it’s humorous to joke about it. If that offends you, I’m sorry. But you don’t get a vote in what goes on in our house, mm’kay? **Voting for Kerry does not make me a Democrat, just for the record. ***Also, voting for Bush doesn’t make Fred a Republican. In case you were wondering. * * * I still haven’t gotten around to taking those pictures I owe y’all, in case you were wondering. Maybe THIS weekend I’ll get around to it… * * * Pooperman. Hee! * * *]]>

off back from the rug (I guess it’s a good thing we have an open floorplan, eh?) and the cats were completely freaked out. Meester Boogers and then Miz Poo walked all over the rug, sniffing every inch of it, and then looked at the living room furniture in the kitchen, and you could almost hear the gears in their heads grinding as they tried to figure it out. Once the computer room is done, I need to do the area of carpet between the master bedroom and laundry room; it’s looking pretty bad. All this cleaning is making me lightheaded.

* * * I think it’s about time to sue my cable company for emotional distress. Last night after I cleaned the living room carpet, I decided to sit down and watch yesterday’s Oprah, which I had taped using the DVR, because it was the show about the 550-pound woman who’d lost 300 pounds, and also there was going to be an update about Wynnona Judd and her relationship with her mother. I WAS REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS SHOW, okay? I sat down and started watching it, and then I missed something Oprah had said, so I tried to rewind. And the fucker locked up on me. “Oh!” I said, stomping across the wet carpet to disconnect the power. “Oh, of COURSE! You goddamn piece of shit! Why do you never lock up on the shows I don’t really care about YOU FUCKING THING!!!!?” I rebooted the DVR and decided that I’d just watch the show without trying to fast forward or anything. I watched the first ten minutes of the show, then it FUCKING LOCKED UP AGAIN. While I was mid-conniption, Fred wandered into the room and I looked at him all wild-eyed, and I said “You call those fuckers tomorrow and tell them to come get their fucking piece of shit! We are getting a TiVo RIGHT NOW!” “I can call them right now, actually,” Fred said, and picked up the phone and called the cable company. “You tell them that we’re getting a TiVo because this DVR is such a piece of shit!” I instructed. And then I looked around the living room, and said “Don’t let them come tomorrow, though!”, since the rug might not be completely dry by then. He hung up the phone and said “They’ll be here Wednesday between two and four.” Then he got on his computer and ordered a 40-hour TiVo (we don’t need the 80-hour one, we really don’t) from Amazon – $179 and a $100 rebate. Whoo! We even opted to pay for shipping, so maybe it’ll be here by the end of the week. A girl can dream, anyway. And then I wandered off to check my email and Fred sat down to watch TV, and he yelled “Bessie, come here!” I went into the kitchen, and he picked up the remote and tried to rewind the TV to show me something. “Hmm,” he said. “It won’t rewind!” “Will it pause?” I asked. He tried it. “No!” “Odd,” I said. “Maybe we should reboot the box. Let me look at our list of taped shows…” I hit “list”, and what did I see? I saw a message from THAT GODDAMN CABLE COMPANY saying that we weren’t authorized for blahblahblah service. It appears that they’d instantly taken away our DVR service. Which I guess is what they were supposed to do but I HAD SO MUCH STUFF TAPED THAT I HADN’T WATCHED YET, GODDAMN IT! That’s the second episode of ER I’ve lost. The second episode of Desperate Housewives (thank god they rerun it on Saturday nights), Boston Legal, and god knows what the hell else there was. AGH!!!!!! “We lived without it before,” Fred said reasonably. “We’ll survive without it for a few more days!” “Shut up!” I snarled. “People lived with outhouses, too, but that doesn’t mean I want to live that way. THIS IS NO WAY TO LIVE!” God I hope that TiVo gets here fast. * * * Meester Boogers is a bossy little bastard these days. At 9:00, when we’re through watching TV for the evening, Fred goes upstairs and I generally come into the computer room and check my email one last time. Sometimes I get caught up in an email or a journal entry and I am still sitting in front of the computer five minutes later. Which is when Meester Boogers comes downstairs and meows bitchily at me. “Dad’s upstairs,” he seems to be saying. “Now you have to be upstairs, too. It’s time! It’s after 9, you have to be upstairs!” Usually I give in and come upstairs immediately, because he has a very loud meow when he’s being bossy. I guess that, just like his daddy, Meester Boogers likes his routine and dislikes it when anyone deviates from it. * * * “What?” * * *]]>

am less fluttery, or because I’ve been busy all morning long and just haven’t noticed. I cut down drastically on my caffeine over the weekend, so if that’s causing it (or helping to cause it) maybe that’ll help. I have no idea why I’m so resistant to the idea of caffeine-free Diet Coke. I think it’s because I assume it must taste differently, but surely it doesn’t. Does it? And it’s not like I drink Diet Coke for the caffeine, anyway (though the caffeine-withdrawal headache I’m sporting today begs to differ), so why do I care whether I drink caffeine-free or not? I bought a bottle of the caffeine-free this morning and I’m going to give it a try. I expect there to be no difference at ALL in the taste, but if there is I’m going to be peeved. I mean, GOOD LORD PEOPLE, I switched from regular Coke to Diet Coke to save on the calories. Now I have to switch from Diet Coke to caffeine-free? What next – am I going to have to give up soda altogether and drink nothing but water? Wahhh!

* * * Someone posted in my comments yesterday (or Saturday, I don’t remember which) and asked if I’d update the “Journals and blogs I read” page. The short answer is yes I will, because I’ve actually been working on it for the past few days. The long answer is, I’ve got another blogrolling list going, and am adding the journals and blogs I read every day – the problem is that I don’t have a list of links in my favorites. If I find a journal or blog I like and they have a notify list, I join the notify list. If they don’t have a notify list, I add their url to my Change Detection list, and when there’s a change on their page, I get an email from Change Detection. My point is that if I read your journal or blog but you don’t update very often, you might not end up on the list. To make the list as complete as possible, I’m going to take the rest of November to get my list up and running, and then I’ll let you know where it is and y’all can peruse my links list to your heart’s content. * * * Spot seems to be getting back to his old self, thank goodness. He came down and demanded food this weekend when I was mixing up turkey burgers for Fred and the spud, but I had already mixed the ground turkey with the oat bran, Dale’s steak sauce, and egg, and once you adulterate the meat like that, Spot won’t eat it. Fred chopped up a few pieces of raw chicken for Spot, who ate some of it and then wandered off. He’s been eating a ton of cat food, his color is a lot better, and he’s been a lot more sociable these past few days. This morning when I was doing laundry, he kindly came into the laundry room to demonstrate to me that Spanky’s not the only cat who likes to pee over the side of the litter box. I was touched by his thoughtfulness, I really was. * * * We were sitting in the living room watching TV, Fred eating his snack of a peanut butter and applesauce sandwich and I eating my snack of a blueberry bagel with peanut butter. “Would you like a bite of my sandwich?” Fred offered. “No thank you,” I said. “I think I’d like to buy some almond butter and try a sandwich with that,” Fred said. “Hmmm,” I said. Five minutes passed as we quietly watched TV. Fred turned to me. “Almond butter is like peanut butter,” he said earnestly. “Only with almonds.” “No shit, babe, really?” I snickered. He ignored my mock surprise and nodded. “I bet it’s good.” “I’m sure it is.” * * * I wandered by the organic section of the grocery store this morning and caught sight of all-natural almond butter. I picked it up to make sure there was nothing but almonds in it and was about to put it in my cart when I caught sight of it. $10.19 for a little jar of almond butter. I put it back. For a price like that, it better be pretty damn good, that’s all I’ll say. * * * * * *]]>

* * * Also, reader Kathy would like to know how much y’all are paying for gas. If you’d be so kind, leave a comment telling us how much your gas is, per gallon, and what part of the country you’re in. For the record, I think I paid $1.89 a gallon when I got gas earlier this week – I opted for the cheap stuff this time around.

* * * (Note for the spazzes amongst you: clearly I’m fine, or I wouldn’t be writing an entry about it, right? Right. So turn your spaz-o-meter to zero before reading the rest of this entry. Thankyew. Mwah!) Fred and I had a hot night on the town last night. Whoo! That’s right, we spent two and a half hours in the emergency room because I was having a weird fluttery feeling in the center of my chest and when I Googled “Symptoms of heart attack woman”, the top symptom was always “Odd feeling in center of chest”. I was pretty sure I wasn’t having a heart attack – come on, I’m healthy as a horse – but when I went to watch TV with Fred it seemed to be a stronger feeling and I tried laying down to see if it would go away, and it didn’t, so I waited until Fred was done with his snack, for I am a wonderful, kind, THOUGHTFUL wife who is underappreciated, and then I sat up and fixed him with a look and said “Will you take me to the emergency room?” Talk about a sentence to get a man’s heart racing! I thought he was going to have a heart attack right there in front of me. I went upstairs to change my shirt (because I knew they’d be taking my blood pressure, and I needed to be wearing a short-sleeved shirt) and told the spud that Fred was taking me to the doctor and we’d be gone a while, and that Fred would have his cell phone with him. Then we drove to the emergency room in record time, and Fred kept saying “Keep talking so I know you haven’t keeled over dead!” and I kept telling him to shaddup, I wasn’t going to keel over dead. And then I keeled over dead. Kidding! Just kidding. Did I scare you there for a minute? Did you think I was writing this from The Great Beyond? Anyway, we got to the hospital and went to the ER and signed in and started on the paperwork I had to fill out, and we’d only been in there about three minutes (juuuuust long enough to catch the very end of Survivor and find out who got voted off, even though we did our very best not to listen. Urgh!) when they called me into triage to ask me questions and take my blood pressure and all that good stuff. I tried to explain the feeling in my chest and where it was and explain that it wasn’t PAIN, it was just uncomfortable and it was a fluttering, bubbly kind of sensation. Fred jumped in and helpfully TATTLED on me. “It’s been going on for TWO DAYS NOW,” he said disapprovingly and gave me A Look. “It’s been going on since YESTERDAY AFTERNOON!” I corrected hostilely. “And it wasn’t constant at first, but now it is!” Fred added, and I gave him a Just You Shut Up look. The paramedic took my pulse and told me reassuringly that it seemed to be nice and strong, and then she led us back into the examining part of the ER, showed us to a tiny room, and left us there. The door was open and so we could hear her telling the doctor “She says it’s not painful, it’s a fluttering feeling.” “Fluttering?” the doctor said. “Yes, in the middle of her chest.” For the rest of the evening, Fred snickered whenever anyone said “fluttering”, because the word just seemed to baffle everyone who said it. I CAN’T HELP IT! THAT’S WHAT IT FELT LIKE, MOTHERFUCKERS! A few minutes later a doctor walked in. “Having chest pains, huh?” he said. “Not pains!” I corrected him. “It’s more of a… fluttering kind of feeling.” Fred snickered. The doctor gazed at me confusedly, and then gave me a pointed look. “And what other health issues do you have?” (“Oh, ‘CAUSE I’M FAT, you mean?” I didn’t say.) “Nothing,” I said. “I’m on thyroid medication.” “Nothing else?” he asked, glancing unsubtly at my stomach. “No.” He gave me a johnny and told me to undress from the waist up and put the gown on and another doctor would be in shortly. I did so, and Fred and I sat and waited and cracked jokes. A few minutes later, another doctor came in and introduced himself as Dr. Anders0n. He said “Chest pains, huh?” “Not pain,” I said. “What does it feel like?” he asked. “It’s kind of a fluttering feeling, right here,” I said. Fred snickered. “And is it happening right now?” “Yes,” I said. “I’m feeling it right now.” He listened to my lungs and heart and asked a few more questions. “Well,” he said. “I’m not sure what it is. You’re feeling it right now, but your heart sounds okay to me, a nice strong beat. It could be something, or it could be nothing. I’m going to order an EKG and some blood tests and maybe that will tell us something. Now,” he said with a pointed look at my gut. “What other health issues do you have?” “I’m taking Synthroid for my thyroid,” I said (and honestly – why do three people have to ask the same questions? And all three of them write down the answers? Why, god?). He jotted down a note. “Anything else?” A glance at my stomach again. “That’s it.” And then he launched into this really long explanation of what it might or might not be, and right around the time he said “ventricle” for the third time I found myself on the very verge of laughing out loud, because I desperately wanted to make that “Whoosh!” sound and make the motion, you know the one, where you fly your hand directly over the top of your head to indicate that what the other person is saying to you is going right over your head. Fred told me later that he was watching me and saw my face go blank at that very moment. I was struggling with all my might not to laugh out loud, because I didn’t want to have to explain WHY I was laughing. Anyway, the doctor finished talking and said someone would be in shortly to do the EKG and take my blood, and Fred and I sat and laughed and made fun of ourselves and the doctors. Some time later a nurse came in with the EKG machine and Fred went across the hall to use the bathroom. The nurse pulled up the front of the gown I was still wearing, doing her best to keep me mostly covered. “I’m going to do my best to keep you covered,” she said. “They knock before they come in, but they knock as they’re opening the door, before you can tell them to wait!” Then she showed me the stickers and told me there were twelve of them, and that she’d put the stickers on me, and then attach a… uh… THINGY to each sticker and it shouldn’t take but a few minutes. She put one on each of my legs (which is when I wished that I’d shaved my legs in the shower that morning), one on each of my wrists, and then she hoisted my left breast out of the way and put the rest of the stickers under there. Fred walked through the door as she hoisted, doing his best to open the door as little as possible so he could slip through. He sat with his back to me as she did the test. It took only a couple of minutes once everything was in place, and then she printed out the test and made a copy, and pulled the stickers back off. And let me tell you – those stickers were REALLY sticky and didn’t want to come off. She told me that the EKG results looked fine to her, but that the doctor would discuss them with me. A little while later, a lab tech came in to take my blood, and he set his little carrying case down and started pulling empty tubes out. A LOT of empty tubes. Five, to be exact. He started poking around in the crook of my right elbow, located a vein, and was done so fast I hardly knew I’d had it done. “I was waiting for you to tell him that they usually use a butterfly needle in the back of your right hand!” Fred scolded me after the guy was gone. “Why didn’t you?” “Because they just used that vein to take blood at the doctor’s office on Wednesday!” I said. “And the phlebotomists here at the hospital usually do a good job of getting blood from my arm. GOD! YOU’RE SO BOSSY!” And then we cooled our heels for more than an hour, waiting for the doctor to come back in and talk to us. Fred finally opened the door so we could see what was going on. A whole lot of nothin’, is what was going on. The doctors and nurses stood around chatting and we sat and watched them. The nurse who’d done my EKG walked by. “Oh, he’ll be in in a minute,” she said. “We just got your lab results back.” And for the next fifteen minutes or so, we watched the doctor yukking it up with various other people who wandered by. “Give him a dirty look,” Fred suggested. “I will not!” “I should go out there and fake a seizure,” he said. “Go for it!” “You should clutch your chest and gasp ‘Oh, my heart!’ and fall over,” he suggested. “Yeah, I should. Heh.” And then I got the idea that Fred should go out there and kick him in the ass, and the mental image made me laugh really hard. I’m not talking a straight-on kick in the ass, but one of those kicks where you kick someone in the ass with the side of your foot. I imagined Fred running up behind the doctor and doing that, and then his reaction. And it amused me so much that whenever anyone walked by our door, I tried to get Fred to go kick them in the ass. He wouldn’t, though. Spoilsport. Finally, the doctor came in and said that the test results came back just fine. He gave me a copy of the lab results, told me to follow up with my regular doctor, and then said the nurse would be in in a minute with my discharge papers. Three hours after we arrived at the emergency room, we were on our way home. “Don’t go dying in your sleep,” Fred said as he kissed me goodnight. “That would really piss me off!” “I’ll do my best,” I said, and went straight to bed. This morning my chest was still doing its thing, so I called and made an appointment with my doctor. She listened to my heart, asked a bunch of questions, looked over some lab results, and posited that perhaps the problem was that once again I appear to be on the edge of diabetic – not quite there, but almost. Also, my thyroid levels are a little low, so maybe the combination is causing occasional palpitations. She ordered an ECG and a Holter monitor (basically a 24-hour EKG), both of which I will be getting next Thursday. What do you want to bet I stop having that funny feeling in my chest before then? * * * If you’ve ever had an ECG, answer me this – can I wear a bra to the appointment? Because the page the nurse at my doctor’s office gave me said to wear a button-up shirt, but didn’t say whether a bra is okay. * * * And let me just say really quickly that I really really really love my doctor. I was so very very sad when my previous primary care physician left to go to an office closer to where she was from, sure that I’d never have another doctor as wonderful as she was, but Dr. M is even better. Love her! * * * Just a wee bit freaked by the camera. * * *]]>

Butch up, crabapple is my new motto. getupgrrl rocks the casbah. In case you didn’t know.

* * * 1. Your name spelled backwards. Nybor. 2. Where were your parents born? My mother in Brunswick, Maine and my father in or around Tuscaloosa, Alabama. 3. What is the last thing you downloaded onto your computer? I actually had to go look. I’m pretty sure it was the song Better Man by the Warren Brothers. Songs are pretty much the only thing I download nowadays. 4. What’s your favorite restaurant? I… don’t know! I’m not sure I have one. I like most restaurants with the exception of Ruby Tuesday’s, though I’ll even eat there in a pinch. I like most chain restaurants. 5. Last time you swam in a pool? Crap, I don’t know. Maybe the summer of 2003, when I swam in my parents’ pool. 6. Have you ever been in a school play? Not that I can remember – if I was, I’m sure it was a grade-school play and I was the broccoli or something else that required me just to stand there. I was in two ballet recitals when I was 13 and 14 (I think). This is where Fred starts singing the music from “No Rain”. You know – the video with the little fat Bee Girl. 7. How many kids do you want? Just the one’ll do me. 8. Type of music you dislike most? I’m not crazy about Rap or Techno. 9. Are you registered to vote? Yes. 10. Do you have cable? Yes. I can’t imagine life without it! 11. Have you ever ridden on a moped? No, but I desperately wanted one when I was in high school. 12. Ever prank call anybody? Of course. Who hasn’t? The most recent time would be about 10 years ago (give or take) when some guy was an ass to Debbie, and I kept calling him and playing Adam Sandler’s Thanksgiving Song (“Want to eat turkey! Want to eat tur-ur-urkey!”) in the phone. God was that fun. 13. Ever get a parking ticket? Yeah, I’m sure I have but I don’t remember when or where or, basically, anything at all. 14. Would you go bungee jumping or sky diving? Yeah, I’d do both. 15. Farthest place you ever traveled. Hawaii – no, Guam, when I was a kid. My god that plane ride sucked. 16. Do you have a garden? No. In the next house I want to have a fenced-off bit of land so we can have a veggie garden the cats can’t get to, and a bulb garden they can’t get to, as well. 17. What’s your favorite comic strip? For Better or Worse, or Luann. 18. Do you really know all the words to your national anthem? Not even close. 19. Bath or Shower, morning or night? Shower, morning. If I’m really cold or need to relax, I’ll take a bath at night, but that only happens about once a week, if that. 20. Best movie you’ve seen in the past month? Walking Tall was surprisingly better than I expected, despite the occasional cheese factor. “If you acquit me, I’ll run for sheriff, and I’ll clean up this town!” 21. Favorite pizza topping? Pepperoni, mushroom, and onion. If I can only have one, then pepperoni. 22. Chips or popcorn? Chips, though I don’t eat them all that often. Popcorn is one of those things that always smells better to me than it tastes. And even when it tastes really good, I always get a husk stuck in my teeth and can’t get it out, and that drives me frickin’ nuts. The taste isn’t worth the aggravation. 23. What color lipstick do you usually wear? I don’t wear lipstick. I wear Blistex all the time. It’s clear. 24. Have you ever smoked peanut shells? Smoked peanut shells… to eat? Or smoked them like you’d smoke a cigarette? Either way, the answer is no. 25. Have you ever been in a beauty pageant? Yeah, last week I was strutting around on stage in my string bikini in an attempt to capture the “Mrs. Alabama” title. ::snort:: 26. Orange Juice or apple? Orange juice, pulpy. I don’t drink it very often, though. 27. Who was the last person you went out to dinner with and where did you dine? Fred and the spud. We went to Macaroni Grill for dinner Friday night. It was excellent. I had the lobster ravioli and it was amazing. My only complaint is that there was so much of the yummy sauce left over that I had to steal some of Fred’s pasta to soak it up so it wouldn’t go to waste. The spud had spaghetti and meatballs, brought home her leftovers and had it for lunch Saturday and Sunday. Now, that’s a bargain! Fred had the chicken parmigiana. We’ll definitely go back there again. 28. Favorite type chocolate bar? My current favorite is 3 Musketeers, but it changes a lot. 29. When was the last time you voted at the polls? Tuesday! 30. Last time you ate a homegrown tomato? Last month, when we picked the last of our cherry tomatoes. Those things were really good; we’re planning to grow some more next summer. 31. Have you ever won a trophy? When I was in sixth grade, I won a “Citizenship” trophy. I still have it somewhere. One person in each sixth grade class voted, and you could vote for anyone in your class. After the voting was done, my classmates took an informal poll and asked who everyone had voted for. I lied and said I’d voted for someone else, but in truth I voted for ME. Ha! 32. Are you a good cook? Passable. As long as I have a recipe to go by, the results are edible. I consider Fred a better cook – he can cook things off the top of his head (figuratively speaking) and they come out really good. Me, I need a recipe or I get freaked out unless it’s something I’ve made ten thousand times before, like shepherd’s pie. 33. Do you know how to pump your own gas? Of course. Who are these people who don’t know how to pump their own gas? 34. Ever order an article from an infomercial? Yes, a couple of things. “Set it and forget it!”, the rotisserie thing. And the Citrus Express, which still sits in the cupboard but probably hasn’t been touched in two years. I’m a sucker for the infomercial which is why I don’t stop to watch them when I’m looking for something to watch. 35. Sprite or 7-up? Eh. Either is fine, I guess. I really prefer Diet Coke, though if my stomach is upset I prefer something clear, and either Sprite or 7-Up works for me. 36. Have you ever had to wear a uniform to work? When I worked at McDonald’s. Brown polyester uniform of horror. Gah. 37. Last thing you bought at a pharmacy? The Sunday paper. 38. Ever throw up in public? When I was pregnant with the spud, my ex-husband and I went out to Sizzler for lunch. I think we opted just for the salad bar, and I had finished a salad and was eating some watermelon when, without warning, I barfed everything back up onto my plate. I covered it with a napkin and ran out to the parking lot, where I barfed some more. Luckily there weren’t a whole lot of people around. 39. Would you prefer being a millionaire or find true love? Why does one preclude the other? 40. Do you believe in love at first sight? Eh. Maybe. Lust at first sight, for sure. 41. Ever call a 1-900 number? I don’t think so. Are those sex numbers? 42. Can ex’s be friends? Theoretically, yes, but I have no desire to be friends with any of my exes. 43. Who was the last person you visited in a hospital? Er… Fred’s father, after he had his appendix out a few years ago, I think. Poor guy, he looked awful. 44. Did you have a lot of hair when you were a baby? About average, I think. 45. What message is on your answering machine? “Hi, you’ve reached XXX-XXXX. Please leave your number after the beep and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can. Thanks!” The voicemail to my cellphone used to say “You’ve reached XXX-XXXX. You need to leave a message, because if I don’t recognize your number, I won’t pick up the phone and you’ll never get to talk to me.” Nance called and left me a message last New Year’s Eve and thought it was funny as hell. I recently listened to it and got embarrassed at how dorky I sounded, so I changed it back to a generic “Leave a message after the beep” message. 46. What’s your all time favorite Saturday Night Live Character? The Church Lady. 47. What was the name of your first pet? The very first would be Koko, maybe? A little white dog I barely remember. That was when I was very little and there were other dogs along the way, but I will always consider Taffy to have been my first real pet. 48. What is in your purse? My wallet, various and sundry old receipts, a notebook, a pen, a wad of McDonald’s napkins (when we drove to and from SC, three different bathrooms were out of toilet paper. I decided it would behoove me to carry something around with me that I could use in a pinch.), two AA batteries, eye drops, a bottle of Aleve, a pick comb, keys, sunglasses, cell phone, the digital camera, and two packs of Trident White Wintergreen gum. 49. Favorite thing to do before bedtime? Talk to Fred, pet the cats, and read. 50. What is one thing you are grateful for today? My crazy kid, my crazy husband, and YOU – my crazy readers. * * * From my comments: I am dying to know: What did the Spud get on her ring? I never got a class ring (my mom agreed to buy a letterman jacket and a pair of birkenstocks instead) but my husband still has his (thankfully doesn’t wear it) and he got the school mascot and a diver. Did she pick the cross? Or just that model with something else? The suspense!! She got her name on one side with her zodiac sign, and on the other side she got the year she graduates (2007) and the “Friends” expression (I can’t really explain it – you’d have to go to Balfour.com and look for “Friends” under “Expression”). I think it’ll be a pretty nice-looking ring – maybe when it arrives, I can get her to model it for y’all. Also, it just now occurs to me that I should have suggested she have “Spud” engraved on the inside instead of her initials. Heh. are you sure it wasn’t a bat??? This is regarding the entry the other day wherein Meester Boogers brought a small squirrel into the house. Yeah, I’m positive it wasn’t a bat – bats don’t generally have tails like squirrels. And Fred got a good look at it’s face – it was definitely a squirrel. Ohhh I would be scared to death he’d bring in an animal while I was home alone! Do you shut the cat door while you are home alone?? No, we actually leave the cat door open all the time. He’s brought a bird in when I was home alone and that turned out okay – I caught the bird and brought it outside, where it flew away. To be honest, I’d rather deal with the occasional bird or other animal than listen to the cats whine about not being able to go outside. They get really bitchy when the cat door is closed. What is it that people love so much about South Carolina anyways? I can’t speak for anyone else, but anywhere where I can see the ocean is aces with me. How’s the bus thing going? I know she’s on break now… Since the first week of school, there’s been no problem with the bus at all. It picks her up at 7ish and drops her off at home at 3:30, and it been working out fine. Good thing, ’cause I wasn’t looking forward to driving her to school every morning! Really, “Fall Break”???? I never had that when I was the Spud’s age!!!!!! Didn’t she just start school again???? She started school at the beginning of August, so I guess she had about two months of school before Fall Break. I still don’t get the point of Fall Break – I’d much rather she start school a week later and have no Fall Break, but it appears that I’m in the minority on that. I TOTALLY was going to get that purse from LL Bean but figured that all my stuff would be clumped at the bottom and it would be hard to sift through. I think they are so cute! Tell me more about what you like about it because maybe I WILL end up getting it. This is regarding my purse: I like it because it’s comfortable to carry around, and it’s got a lot of inside pockets to put stuff in. For instance, there’s a pocket where I keep my eye drops and little bottle of Aleve, a pocket where I can stick a small notebook and some pens, a pocket where I can stick a digital camera, and on the outside is the pocket where I drop my keys and keep my cell phone, another pocket where I keep my sunglasses, and a zipped pocket where I keep the all-important Trident White Wintergreen gum. In the main part of the inside, I just keep my wallet and a checkbook, and if I need to temporarily put anything else inside the purse, I can just set it on top of my wallet. I like that the bottom of the bag is so wide, but the top is so narrow, and that I can zip the bag open and see exactly what I need and grab it. In other words, two thumbs up! Whatever happened to One-Eyed Fern from the pet store? I would have rushed to take her home if I lived anywhere close to you! She was adopted from the pet store, apparently – she’s not on the shelter list, so that means she was adopted. She sure was a sweetie! * * * I know I still owe you guys pictures from, like, a month ago when I asked people to suggest pictures in the comments. I hope to get most of the pictures taken over the weekend and put up over the next few weeks. Rest assured that I haven’t forgotten! * * * Since being replaced the DVR has frozen up three separate times. I’m giving it one more damn chance, and then I’m getting a TiVo come hell or high water. I’m particularly peeved, because I’ve taken to taping Oprah and Dr. Phil every day, and I really wanted to watch the Oprah from Monday about spouses who cheat, because it looked like it was going to be really good. But the DVR froze when I tried to fast forward, and after rebooting, it froze again on the same show, so I had to delete it without watching it. Grrr! * * * Pet store kitty pics from Monday are here. It took me exactly twenty minutes to clean out the cat cages, and I spent fourty minutes sitting on the floor snuggling kittens. It was great! * * * “Yeah. Real funny, Dad. Har de har.” * * *]]>

* * * The spud’s appointment was at 8:15 this morning, and we left the house at 7:45, because I wasn’t sure what the traffic would be like at that time of day. It wasn’t bad at all, so I actually had time to stop and get gas on the way. We got there, I signed the spud in, and we’d no sooner sat down than I looked up and saw Fred’s mother walk through the door. It’s funny how often I’m seeing her lately – I saw her at the mall a few weeks ago, at the pet store last Monday, and now at the doctor’s office. She was coming in for a checkup, and we talked for a few minutes before she was called back. It took all of about two minutes for them to draw the spud’s blood, and we were at the school by 8:30. I hadn’t checked her in or out before, so I wasn’t sure if I could just park by the sign that said “Student check in/out” or if I needed to park in the parking lot. I circled the parking lot for several minutes, concluded there was no way in hell I was going to find a parking space, and pulled up next to the sign. I accompanied the spud inside, and had the misfortune to be behind a VERY talky looking man and his daughter or niece or something. The spud and I stood patiently by while the man chattered at the school employees for several minutes and then my head exploded, scattering brain matter everywhere. Very messy. When Chatty McShutTheFuckUp was on his way, we stepped into the office and I discovered that I needed to get a doctor’s note for the spud. And if I’d had doctor’s note for her, I could have just dropped her off with the note and not had to come inside. Good to know for next time, I guess. So I signed her in and was on my way. Luckily I have a doctor’s appointment at 9:45 at the same office, so it won’t be a big deal to get a doctor’s note. Because if I had to make a special trip, I wouldn’t be a happy camper. Not that I’m a happy camper anyway, but you know what I mean.

* * * What the hell do they keep going on about on TV? Was there an election somewhere or something? Ha. I am so looking forward to hearing about this for the next two months. NOT. Oh. Kerry conceded. Well, damn. What the hell am I going to bitch about now? (I’m sure I’ll find something!) * * * “You. Come. Rub mah belly.” * * *]]>

5ive Days to Midnight last night when Fred said “Look at Stumpy.” and pointed toward the window. I turned and looked, and saw Meester Boogers standing outside the living room window peering at us. As we watched, he meowed at us, and then sat down to watch us. I can only imagine how fascinating it must be to sit and watch The Momma and The Daddy through the window watching TV, because the cats seem to love it, and take turns doing so every single night. If we look over at them, they look all pathetic and sad like “Why would you lock me out of your fun TV watching? Why? Whyyyyy?”, as if they’ve forgotten that a mere 15 feet from where they sit is the cat door through which they travel ten thousand times a day. If they look sufficiently sad and cute enough, one of us (read: Fred, because as far as I’m concerned, they can sit there and look sad ’til hell freezes over before I’ll get up off my comfy couch) will open the door and let them in, and they always look overwhelmingly grateful. Not two minutes later we heard the thump of the cat door opening and closing, and then we heard the sound of an angry small animal. “Squee!” it said angrily. “Squee! Squee! SQUEE!” Fred and I both jumped up to run into the other room, but before we could get very far, Meester Boogers hauled ass into the living room, his jaws firmly clamped around the body of what I thought at first was a bird. It sounded a lot like the baby cardinals that have been brought into the house. “Squee!” it reiterated. “Squee! Squee! Squee!” “Stumpy!” I said loudly, and clapped my hands at him to make him drop the poor thing. “DON’T CLAP YOUR HANDS AT HIM!” Fred said, and bent down to grab Meester Boogers. “I think it’s! It’s not a bird!” “What the hell is it?” I asked, and ran over to open the door. “I don’t know! Some kind of mammal!” Now let me digress for a moment to say that I spent many minutes taking shit for having clapped at Meester Boogers last night, and yet “some kind of mammal” is the height of brilliance? Hmph. Fred ran out the door with Meester Boogers in his hands. “Squee!” said the mammal in Meester Boogers’ mouth. “Squee! Squee! Squee!” Fred dropped Meester Boogers and Meester Boogers dropped the squealer, and then Meester Boogers was a blur as he went after the little mammal and caught him again, clamping his jaws around the mammal’s stomach. “Oh my god!” I said. “Is it a chipmunk?” It seemed to have the tail of a squirrel or chipmunk, but seemed too small to be a squirrel. “Squee!” said the little animal angrily. “Squee! Squee! Squee!” Fred yelled at Meester Boogers and reached down and grabbed him and shook him a little, and then Meester Boogers dropped the squealer and Fred hung on to Meester Boogers, and the squealer ran away. “It’s climbing up the side of the house!” Fred said in amazement. “Yeah…?” “Up the bricks! It’s climbing the bricks!” I went over to where Fred was standing, holding Meester Boogers, and looked up to where he was pointing. Sure enough, the mammal was running quickly up the side of the house. I went in and got a flashlight so we could see it more clearly, and we decided that it was a young squirrel. It stayed there near the top of the house for an hour or so, and then when Fred went out to see if it was still there, it had disappeared. He checked the ground beneath where it had been to make sure it hadn’t died and fallen to the ground, but it was nowhere to be seen. Upon talking about it later, we decided it was a pretty damn good thing that Meester Boogers hadn’t dropped the squirrel when I clapped my hands at him, because the idea of chasing a little squirrel through the house is not one that fills my heart with joy. He was awfully cute, though. I hope he’s okay. I’m sure that next, That Bastard Meester Boogers will bring a skunk into the house.

* * * The spud and I had to go to her school last night after dinner to order her high school class ring. I don’t think I got my high school ring until I was a Junior and the spud is only a Sophomore, but at least this way she’ll get to wear it for a few years before she realizes that anyone who wears their high school ring past, say, the first year of college is a big goober. She chose this ring, if you were curious. We ordered it in Celestrium, which is the least expensive metal offered. I do love my child, but I don’t love anyone enough to lay out the $450 for 14K gold. That’s just ridiculous, y’know? Anyway, we got to the school right after 5, because the Balf0ur reps were going to be there from 5 – 7. There were a good number of people already there, but most of them were clustered around the display case of rings, so the spud and I went and stood in line to wait for the next available rep. You know, people are just such a huge pain in the ass. See, when the spud told me it was time to order a class ring (or asked if she could have one, anyway – it’s not like she said “Time to order a class ring. Pay up!”) she brought home the order form and booklet, and anything you needed to know was contained in that booklet. Yet people showed up with NO FUCKING CLUE about what they wanted and the sales reps were having to fill every friggin’ square in the order form in for these dumbasses. THEY DIDN’T EVEN HAVE THE COMMON DECENCY TO FILL IN THEIR NAMES AND ADDRESSES, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. It took each parent/ child combo ten to fifteen minutes to have their stupid, stupid forms filled in by the rep. Know how long it took once the spud and I sat down in front of a rep? Three minutes. BECAUSE WE HAD OUR FORM FILLED OUT. All we needed to know was what size ring the spud wears and then the rep took the rest of the time to add up what we owed (my god, those rings are expensive. And the spud chose a nice average-priced ring, not one of the expensive ones.) and asked “Did you want to pay it all at once?” and I said “Yes” and she checked the “Pay all at once” checkbox, and then that was it – I didn’t even have to write a check because I had already written the debit card information in the correct place. Three minutes, folks. We waited 35 minutes for the idiots in front of us, and it took us all of three minutes. You know, it would never occur to me to show up at something like that unprepared. Because there’s no friggin’ reason you have to sit there and spell out your name and address for someone else WHEN YOU COULD HAVE DONE IT YOURSELF. Yet people show up all half-assed and “Oh. Was I supposed to fill out the form myself? I had no idea. Because I’m a half-assed idiot.” What the hell is that about? Always be prepared, people. Don’t be an annoying half-ass or one of these days I’ll snap and hit you over the head with my purse. And I have a heavy purse, oh yes. * * * The hunter. The mighty, mighty hunter. * * *]]>