Month: May 2005

reading: Death in Blue Folders. Finished over the weekend: Little Bitty Lies (good book – have I mentioned that I really like Mary Kay Andrews?) and I’m Not the New Me – another very very good book. I started it last night and ended up staying up ’til almost 1, ’cause I could NOT put it down. I recommend it!

* * * SURVIVOR SPOILERS: SKIP TO THE NEXT SECTION IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN LAST NIGHT’S SHOW Though what I really would have liked to see was a final two of Stephenie and Angie, I’m okay with the fact that Tom won. That boneheaded move of Ian’s, though, giving up immunity if Tom would take Katie to the final two? WHAT AN IDIOT. I said to Fred “Somewhere, Richard Hatch is having a conniption right now.” I get what he was doing, but I repeat: WHAT AN IDIOT. Giving up a million dollars if Tom and Katie will promise to be his friend again? What is he, ten years old? GOD. I haven’t watched the reunion show yet, but I sincerely hope that someone thumped that boy upside the noggin. Bless his heart – he might have pulled a dumbass move, but he sure is cute. He’s like a Precious Moments doll, with those big dark eyes. On a side note, every time Ian hugged someone, all I could think of was a few weeks ago when Jeff Probst said “Ian, you REEK!” And everyone seems to come up to Ian’s armpits, and when they’d hug and their face was pressed into his armpit, I had to hold my breath in sympathy, because I was sure it was stinkeriffic. I actually felt sorry for Katie at Tribal Council, she was catching so much shit. I didn’t much like her, but to be told time and again that you’re a lazy, worthless, coat tail-riding slacker can’t be fun. Also, I never noticed this before last night, but what the HELL was up with Jenn’s duck lips? She kept sticking them out as though she thought it was a good look for her. Note to Jenn: It’s not. You look weird. Stop with the fucking duck lips. Thankyew. Oh, Survivor, how I love thee. When does the next season start, anyone know? I guess I’ll find out at the end of the reunion show, eh? * * * Saturday morning Fred had gone to get groceries, and I had just fallen back asleep when the phone rang. I pushed Miz Poo off me and flailed across the bed for the phone. Caller ID said that it was Fred calling, and I assumed he had a question about something on the grocery list. “Want to see a dog?” he said. “A dog?” I said. “There’s a dog in the garage,” he said. “I’ll be right down.” I tossed my nightgown on and hurried down the stairs. I assumed that the itty bitty miniature pinscher from next door had gotten loose and was wandering around our garage, but when I opened the door to the garage, Fred was petting a small tan-and-white dog I’d never seen before. “Where’d he come from?” “I don’t know,” Fred said. “He was sitting by the front door when I drove up, and he whimpered and shook when I petted him.” The dog came over and wiggled excitedly in front of me. I bent down to pet him, and he scampered off, running around the garage and sniffing everything. “He’s not wearing a collar,” I said. “I wonder if he belongs to someone in the neighborhood.” “Yeah, I was wondering that, too.” The dog scampered around the garage a little longer, and then went over to the door into the house, and gave me an expectant look, as if to say Hey, you going to let me in, or what? I’ve had quite enough of this outside stuff, and I can smell cats in there. I like cats. They’re good to eat. (No, we didn’t get any pictures.) He ran around the garage a few more times, and then ran into the neighbor’s yard, where he sniffed wildly. Fred and I discussed going around the neighborhood and knocking on doors to see if we could find where he belonged, but it wasn’t even 7:30, and that’s too damn early on a Saturday morning. “We could put him in the back yard and call Animal Control,” I suggested. We talked about it for a few more minutes, and then I went inside, because I was cold, and started putting groceries away. Fred came in a minute later. “I’m going to take Mister Boogers out and see what he does!” He picked up Mister Boogers, flung him over his arm, and went out the front door. A minute later, they both came back inside. “He belongs to the people on the other side of the Smiths,” he said. “The lady who lives there was calling for him – his name is Oscar – and he went running.” Mystery solved. Later that morning, I took the spud to the house of one of her friends who was throwing a pool party/ sleepover in honor of her birthday/ high school graduation. The friend had gone to pick up someone when we arrived, and the friend’s mother was sitting outside their apartment. She waved us down, told us what was going on, and invited us inside. In her arms she held the most adorable chihuahua (well, second only to the magnificent Vince, that is), named something like “Loola”. Inside the apartment were another two chihuahuas, and they pranced around and licked my hands and sniffed at my feet. They were awfully cute, and I petted them for ten minutes or so before I left. And I left with a raging case of I-want-a-puppy-itis. I got over it pretty quickly, though. I guess the theme for Saturday was “dogs.” Unusual in the life of a girl who spends most of her time surrounded by cats, I’d say. * * * After last week, when I took a child’s dose of Benadryl and experienced next to no itching at all at the pet store, what do you suppose I did today? That’s right, I left the house without taking Benadryl, and didn’t realize it until I got to the pet store. And the itching was so bad that I wanted to remove my skin with a vegetable peeler. MY GOD IT SUCKED. I think I’m going to put the bottle of Benadryl in my purse so this doesn’t happen again. Nothing is less fun than standing in a room of concentrated cat hair and dander, and digging at your itchy, itchy skin until it bleeds. Hey. Speaking of digging at your itchy, itchy skin until it bleeds, did you know that Meth addicts scratch a lot? I watched Friday’s episode of Oprah, which was all about Meth addiction, and that’s one of the things they covered. That Meth addicts are often covered with sores because they think they have bugs under their skin, and they scratch, and then they dig holes in their skin. Due to the eczema, I scratch my arms a lot. No doubt I look like a fucking meth addict when I’m standing in line at the grocery store, scratching wildly at my arms. That Oprah show about Meth addiction was some scary, scary shit. They had a 17 year-old who’d been addicted to Meth for a year and a half, and they basically had an intervention on the show, and ended up whisking her off to rehab. (There’s a good series about Meth addiction here.) It wasn’t until I’d erased the show that it occurred to me that I should have saved it and watched it again with the spud. Not that I think I have anything to worry about with her, but it’s always a good thing to scare the bejesus out of a kid when it comes to drugs. Just say “no”, spud! JUST SAY “NO”! * * * The Booger is pissy because it’s raining out and he can’t go chatter at the birds. DAMN IT. ]]>

reading: Little Bitty Lies, by Mary Kay Andrews. Finished last night: Death of a Butterfly. Excellent book.

* * * I think my body is still trying to figure out the new menstrual (as opposed to minstrel) schedule. I’m retaining water like a champ this week, despite the fact that I just had my period two weeks ago and thus won’t have it again for another 10 weeks (thank you, Seasonale!). Also, one of those really painful zits popped up on my left cheekbone, and when that started going away, a couple popped up on my jawline. The one on my cheekbone is mostly gone, but the ones on my jawline are bright, flashing, neon red. If you’re in the same room with me, you can’t look away from them, believe you me. Oh, it’s FUN to be a girl, ain’t it? * * * Know what word I loathe? “Chuckle.” It’s such a smug, self-satisfied word. * * * I’m sitting here drinking my daily cup of tea, and it occurs to me that though I’ve informed Jane of this fact, I perhaps have not shared it with y’all. The fact about me and tea is that I don’t like the taste of tea. That is, I like the peppermint tea I drink every day, but I don’t like tea that tastes like tea. If there’s absolutely nothing else to drink, I’ll take a glass of iced tea and dump 63 packets of Splenda in it, but given a choice between tea and anything else – ANYTHING – I’ll take the other thing. Don’t tell me I just haven’t found the right tea. I’ve tried them all, and I don’t like the taste of tea. The only word I can think of to describe the taste of regular tea is “grainy”. I don’t know. Don’t give me that look. But give me a cup of peppermint tea, which tastes like peppermint (BUT NOT TEA), and I’m all set. Of course, I’d take Diet Coke over even peppermint tea any time. The daily (big-ass) cup of peppermint tea is just to shake things up. I love Diet Coke, but if I drink too much of it, I feel like my blood is getting all sluggish. No doubt it’s all in my head, but I’m sure the peppermint tea doesn’t hurt. * * * Speaking of things to drink, Fred has lately taken to drinking sugar-free cherry Kool-Aid. He makes it in big gallon-sized jugs, and no matter what he does when he opens a packet of the Kool-Aid mix, invariably the next day when I’m wiping down the counters, the powder has gotten all over the place. The dishtowels and dishcloths I was using were yellow, and when you use a yellow dishcloth to wipe up red cherry Kool-Aid mix, you get a stain that will never ever ever come out. Fucking Kool-Aid. So after some thought, I bought a set of good white dishcloths at Williams-Sonoma, and some white flour sack towels on eBay, and then I bought some dye, and I died the discloths and dishtowels a darkish blue (denim blue, I think this particular shade was called), and now when I wipe up the red Kool-Aid, you can’t see the stain on the dishcloths. And the flour sack dishtowels are awesome; they soak up water like nobody’s business, and they dry out in about ten minutes. It really takes very little to make me happy, have you noticed? * * * I have come to the conclusion that I definitely need a camera phone. It’s always my intention to carry a camera around in my purse, but I do that for a few days then take the camera out to download the pictures to my hard drive, and forget to put it back. And invariably I’m out running errands and see something that would be a cool picture… but I don’t have my camera! I don’t intend to send pictures to people; I just want to be able to take a picture when I need to. Our cell phone contract is up in December, so I think I’m going to trade my phone in for a camera phone. Maybe I will, anyway. I guess it’ll depend on whether I can convince Fred that I need one! * * * “How YOU doin’?”]]>

* * * *AMAZING RACE SPOILERS. SKIP TO THE NEXT SECTION IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE SEASON FINALE YET* Oh, man. We were SO pulling for Rob and Ambah at the end! If nothing else, this show proves that the slightest thing can keep you from winning. Or that you can come from very last place and still win, like Joyce and Uchenna did. I said at one point that I’d prefer Rob and Ambah or Joyce and Unchenna to win. Like I said, we were pulling more for Rob and Ambah than Joyce and Unchenna, but I am just THRILLED OUT OF MY GOURD that Ron and Kelly didn’t win. I mean, what the hell? They’re in the middle of a race for a million dollars and she wants to discuss the state of their relationship? They were both pretty unlikeable, at least to me. Joyce and Unchenna are really nice people and they ran a nice race. I guess nice guys don’t always finish last, eh? When does the next season start, anyone know?

* * * We have, lately, taken to recording episodes of South Park and watching them when nothing else is on. That is one FUNNY fucking show. Yeah, it can be offensive, but they’re equal opportunity offenders and they don’t hesitate to skewer ANYONE, so it’s really our kind of show. Last night there was nothing on – we don’t bother to watch the American Idol results show, because it’s nothing but fluff, and we can just watch the last ten seconds of the show, or find out who left online – so we watched the “Death Camp of Tolerance” episode. It was a pretty funny one, but there was this whole subplot that involved a gerbil – Lemmiwinks – who had to find his way out of a gay man’s ass (what? I DIDN’T CREATE THE STORYLINE, DON’T LOOK AT ME!) and it involved a song and a helmet torch and a sparrow king and a talking frog, and at one point I looked at Fred and I said “Just how many drugs were these guys DOING?”, because I imagined Trey Parker and Matt Stone, smoking pot and snorting coke and shooting heroin simultaneously, and coming up with this storyline. I mean, it was clearly the result of a LOT of drugs, and some obviously disturbed minds as well. Then, this morning, I did some looking around online and found that the whole gerbil’s journey was an homage to The Hobbit. No wonder we didn’t get it. All the South Park watching has gotten me in the mood to watch Cannibal! The Musical again. There are some seriously good songs in that movie. Say what you will about Trey Parker, the man can write a catchy tune. Hey, look! Another South Park Robyn! Make your own here. I save mine by using the “print screen” button and pasting into paint shop pro, then cropping down so only the picture is showing. There might be a better way, but if so I don’t know about it. * * * Pet store kitty pics from Monday are here. * * * Spot had to go to the vet yesterday. Fred got home from work, put the cat carrier on the table, and went upstairs to change clothes. Ten seconds later, I heard a thump, and went out to investigate. I’m sure you know what I found. ]]>

reading: Death of a Butterfly, by Margaret Maron. Finished last night: Skipping Towards Gomorrah, by Dan Savage. It started out good, got a little boring in the middle, and finished off strong. Definitely worth a read, but I wouldn’t run right out and buy it, unless (like us) you like to throw your money away on books you’ll only read once and then give away.

* * * Okay, those of you who clicked on the “movie” link yesterday and ended up with the movie of Tubby, the direct link to the Booger movie is here. I changed the name, so y’all should have no problem seeing it now. Of course, when I put a new movie up, that link will give you a 404 error, so if you want to see it, check it out soon! And I expect to put up a new movie next week. I got some great footage of Spot that I HAVE to share. * * * I was folding laundry this morning, and I had CMT (Country Music Television) on in the background. Commercials were on, so I was only half paying attention, but when a woman started talking about her busy, busy life and how hard it was to take a pill every day, I looked at the TV. It was a commercial for the birth control patch – how convenient! You put the patch on, leave it on all week, and replace it with another patch after the week is up – and the busy busy woman with the busy busy life seemed inordinately thrilled at the idea that she wouldn’t have to take a pill every day. Now, I don’t know. I think that if your life is SO BUSY that taking the time to put a little pill in your mouth throws your entire schedule off, then perhaps it’s time to reorganize your life. Maybe do a little less house-cleaning or ferrying the kids to soccer games? I’ve been on the pill for almost 9 years now (yes, Fred is vasectomized, but a man isn’t immediately sterile once he’s had a vasectomy, and if I went off the pill and got accidentally pregnant while he still had sperm roaming around in his system, I’d have to throw myself off the nearest cliff) and never once have the words “Oh, CRAP! I spent so much time cleaning and driving and working that I DIDN’T HAVE TIME TO TAKE MY BIRTH CONTROL PILL!” come out of my mouth. Okay, okay, I jest. I know her issue isn’t really not having time to take the pill – even though she IMPLIED that it was – her issue is really that she has a hard time REMEMBERING to take the pill every day. And, really, I’ve gotta ask: if you can’t remember to take a pill every day, what are the chances that you’ll remember to replace the patch every week? And for the record, I have forgotten to take a pill once or twice, but for the most part I have such an established pattern at bedtime – take the pill, brush my teeth, take out my contacts – that I almost never forget. * * * I had a dental appointment this morning, to have scaling and root planing done on the other half of my mouth (the left half. The right half was done at the end of April, in case you’re curious). The hygienist took a look at my gums and declared that they were already much better, even the side that she hadn’t scaled and planed, due to my rigorous use of the Rota-Dent. I’m really getting the hang of using the Rota-Dent, by the way. When I first started using it, it took me about ten minutes to clean my teeth at night. Now, it’s more like five minutes, which is a lot better. Because who the hell wants to spend ten minutes cleaning your teeth every night? NOT ME. (Thus, the reason I developed periodontal disease, I’m sure. Damn my laziness!) The hygienist scraped around for a little while, took some gum measurements, and then commenced to scaling and planing. MY GOD was it uncomfortable. I wouldn’t call it painful, but it was certainly uncomfortable right up to the line of pain, and I was seriously glad when it was over. I guess the left side of my mouth is more sensitive than the right. I go back in another couple of weeks so she can check my gums and polish the dinginess off my teeth (the medicine I use with the Rota-Dent makes my teeth dingy). I’d complain about having to go to the dentist all the time, but as it’s MY OWN DAMN FAULT, I won’t. * * * There was a woman on Oprah last week who has 81 cats. EIGHTY-ONE cats. Fred wandered by while I was watching it, and said “That’s how many cats YOU’d have if I’d let you!” I don’t know – sometimes I feel like we already have too many cats. I can’t turn over at night without dislodging either Miz Poo, who sleeps on a pillow next to me, or Mister Boogers, who likes to sleep pressed against my leg and gets all pissy if I have the nerve to move. With one on each side of me, it’s generally a five-minute effort to extract myself from under the covers when I need to get up and pee. I can’t imagine having 81 cats in this house. I’d probably have twenty cats on the bed, pinning me down, and I’d have to become a bed person to avoid displeasing them. 81 cats? No. But I could go for another couple of kittens. Mister Boogers needs some kittens to keep him on his toes, don’t you think? * * * Hey, look! Smart and Sassy is a year old today! Happy birthday to us! Has it really been a year? My, how time flies. Now, where the hell’s my birthday cake? * * * Such a pretty boy. I have no idea what he’s looking at, but he sure is pretty, isn’t he? ]]>

Portland Oregon” was the song I was referring to. I’m not a Jack White fan ordinarily – or rather, I guess I should say I’m not a White Stripes fan (yes, I know, BLASPHEMY), but I like his work on that song.) There’s a rumor that she’s pregnant. (Renee Zellweger, I mean. Not Loretta Lynn.) Of course, whenever any celebrity female gets married, there’s a rumor that she’s pregnant. If she is, though, that’s going to be one seriously round-faced squinchy-eyed baby.

* * * For the first time in months, there’s a new “movie of the week.” I call this one “Phantom of the Boogra.” * * * Since there’s just nothing going on ’round here today and I have ten thousand pictures taking up space on my memory stick, I’m going to toss them up here (most of them are of the Booger, because he’s just so damn photogenic) and call it an entry. If you hate cat pictures, you have my permission to skip the rest of this entry, and I’ll see you tomorrow. We call him… FANG! “Oh, that “Yes, Dear” just cracks me UP.” Da Boog loves hanging out in (or out OF) the basket. The fashionable Boog likes to sport a shiny red ball upon his noggin. Oh, how he lurrrrrves his daddy. Rolling around in the sun, trying to figure out how to make trouble… Boog in action (he’s jumping on Miz Poo, if you can’t tell). Miz Poo kicked his ass, so he backed off. Da Boog in da box. Much as she pretends to hate him, Miz Poo can often be found within paw’s reach of that Booger. Lick. Lick. Lick. See something on the floor? Lay on it! Pissy Boog. Lick. Lick. Lick. It’s a rough life for a Boog. Cute ‘n cuddlesome. Happy Boog. Apparently the box needs a smackdown. Poo in the sun. Sunshiiiiine on the Poo-piiiiiiiie makes her happyyyyyy… Full of grass, but not ready to barf yet. When it’s time to barf, she’ll go inside and do it on the carpet, of course.]]>

reading: Skipping Towards Gomorrah, by Dan Savage. It’s pretty damn good, so far. Finished reading over the weekend: Tales from the Scale. Not to be crass (since I’ve written part of it), but it’s a mighty good book. A plus! plus! plus! plus! Heh.

* * * We finally watched Primetime Live’s Fallen Idol on Friday night, and by the end of it I was horrified, angry, and very, very sad. Because that, my friends, is an hour of my life I will NEVER get back again. I think Paula Abdul should be thrown off American Idol for having very, very poor taste. I mean, COME ON, Paula, you have all those cute little hunks, and you pick COREY CLARK? Gah. ARE YOU BLIND?? Do I think Paula Abdul had an affair with him? Yeah, probably. Was she wrong? Of course she was, even if he wasn’t a dead ringer for Sideshow Bob. Do I care? No, no, and HELL NO. At one point during the show, Fred turned to me and said “I wonder if this will help his career or hurt it?” I think it will do neither, because NO ONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT COREY CLARK. ABC will do their best to flog the story for a little while, and then Corey Clark will sink back into obscurity, where he was before he started trying to sell his book full of EXPLOSIVE ALLEGATIONS. And my god, that song he was recording? I rolled my eyes so hard that I almost passed out. “Paulatics”, indeed. * * * Hey, remember a few months ago when I whined about the fact that whenever I go to the pet store to feed the kitties and clean their cages, I get really really itchy? And then someone suggested that I try taking a child’s dose of Benadryl before I go to the pet store? And then I bought a bottle of Benadryl and it sat on the counter for a long time? Well, this morning I finally remembered to take it before I left for the pet store, and guess what? It worked! I had some itching, but NOTHING as bad as it’s been. Thank you, whoever recommended the Benadryl! You saved my skin! I bet it would have been especially bad this week if I hadn’t taken the Benadryl, because all the cats were shedding like hell. There was so much cat hair wafting around in the cat room that I could barely see from one end to the other. Ordinarily I would have been standing there scratching like hell, but not today. Yay! * * * I have recently started on a stringent vitamin-taking routine, because I’m getting old and I know I don’t get all the vitamins I need from the foods I eat. I’m also taking a hair, skin & nails pill with biotin in it, because the hair atop my noggin is thinning (the doctor suspects it’s due to thyroid issues), and I figure my nails and skin could use all the help it can get. ALSO, I’m taking an essential oil twice a day – Udo’s Choice, to be exact – because when I’m eating the way I should, I don’t get nearly enough essential oils in my diet. So this weekend, after my shower, I put on some Lemon Meringue perfume I got at Bath & Body Works last Fall. About midday, I realized that the smell had changed from Lemon Meringue to something that smelled exactly like White Musk. My question to you, my smartypants readers, is this: is my new vitamin-taking regimen somehow altering the way my body reacts with perfume? I’ve been occasionally using the Lemon Meringue perfume for months now, and this is the first time I’ve noticed it smelling like White Musk. Which is not one of my favorite smells, in case you were wondering. Got an opinion on the topic? Leave it in the comments. Thanks! * * * So, apparently Jennifer Garner is pregnant. When I heard that, I thought “Boy, that’s a shot to the heart of La Lopez, ain’t it?” I mean, it’s no secret Jennifer Lopez wants kids, and to hear that Ben’s new woman is pregnant already has to sting a little bit. Whenever a celebrity couple breaks up and the new girlfriend gets pregnant, I always wonder what the old girlfriend’s reaction is. Are they thinking “Better her than me”, or “That asshole!”, or crying and eating a gallon of Ben and Jerry’s or what? When Julia Roberts and Benjamin Bratt broke up, I believe it was about ten seconds later that Talisa Soto got pregnant. I immediately wondered what Julia Roberts thought of THAT. I also wondered if Benjamin Bratt was all “In your FACE! I don’t need YOU to have kids with me, I’ve got someone ELSE to get pregnant. Ha!” Yes, perhaps I DO spend too much time thinking about the lives of celebrities. (You bet your ass I already have the DVR set to record Chaotic.) * * * Anyone have any idea what’s going on with Eyes? It was pre-empted last Wednesday by the Primetime Live Corey Clark snoozapalooza, and it doesn’t appear that it’s going to be on this week, either. I haven’t been able to find anything anywhere that says it’s been cancelled, so maybe they’re going to wait until after May sweeps to finish airing the season? I need my Tim Daly fix, damnit! * * * Yesterday was so sunny and warm that most of the cats spent a good part of the afternoon lolling about in the sun, watching the birds. * * *]]>

reading: Tales from the Scale. I have to say, even if I weren’t involved with this book at all, I’d think it’s a really good one. I had a hard, hard time putting it down last night and only did around midnight because I could barely keep my eyes open. As a bonus (for me, anyway), I read a chapter that I had completely forgotten writing, and thought to myself “Hey. That’s not totally terrible!” Finished last night: Hissy Fit. Who is this Mary Kay Andrews, and how come no one’s ever mentioned her to me before?! This was a good book and a quick read. I loved it!

* * * I went to the grocery store this morning, and by the time I left, I was ready to kill someone. I should have known when I pulled into the parking lot and saw TWO school buses unloading in front of the store that it wasn’t going to be an easy shopping experience. First I had to wait five minutes for the kids – who appeared to be around kindergarten age – to finish milling through the front door, then I had to wait for them to move out of the way so I could grab a basket. Basket in hand, I headed for the bakery section, only guess what? Yes, that’s right. It was crowded with kids. And the employees were gathered around handing out stickers or something to the kids. When I realized I wasn’t going to be able to get into the bakery section, I headed for the produce section. Which was crammed with kids. And as I walked by the produce section, the produce manager FOR SOME UNGODLY FUCKING REASON thought it would be a good idea to have all the kids scream at the top of their VERY FUCKING LOUD lungs, and they screamed and they screamed and they screamed and I ran away from the produce section as fast as my stubby little legs could carry me, my ears aching. I grabbed the few things I really needed – shampoo, Edy’s Light chocolate chip ice cream – and paid for it as fast as I could, and I all but ran out the front door of the store. The kids were STILL screaming (they might be small, but they have big lungs), and an older lady was walking toward the store, and I gave her a wild-eyed look and said “You DON’T want to go in there!” She gave me a wary oh-hey-it’s-a-crazy-person look and walked through the front door. And before I’d even made it to my car, she had come back out the door, and she gave me a commiserating smile and said “You were right!” Damn skippy I was right. * * * Pet store kitty pics from Monday are hither. * * * The guy who bought our old big-screen TV (you know, the perfectly good one that did not, in actuality, need to be replaced by a high-definition TV, but I don’t get a vote in these matters regarding funds that would be better used BUYING NEW FUCKING CARPET FOR THE HOUSE. Though when I’m watching American Idol and can actually count the stubble on Ryan Seacrest’s face, it’s almost worth it.) finally came and picked it up yesterday. Which means that the garage has only the one big-screen TV (which has a burned-in image on it, and actually did need to be replaced a few years ago, and so now it lives in the garage and I use it when I’m exercising), and now I can stop bitching about how I can’t wait to get the damn TV out of the garage. Also, the sale of the TV will be partially paying for our trip to Florida this summer, so it’s all good. I do need to get out there and vacuum the rug in the garage, though. It’s been a few months, so it pretty desperately needs it. * * * I’m going to try to talk Fred into going antiquing this weekend. I bet that won’t be a very hard sell. We went a few weekends ago (the weekend before he had his vasectomy), and suddenly got it into our heads that maybe we need a new end table for the living room. The one we currently have is okay, though it’s a little beat up. We ended up at a reallllllly nice antique store in Huntsville, and saw an end table that I really liked a lot. Not only was it big enough to hold a lamp and a cat bed (yes, we DO have our priorities!), it also had a drawer, and a shelf underneath to hold books or my current cross-stitching project, or whatever. The only problem was that it was from the 1940s, and Fred is a snob who was of the impression that that was not NEARLY old enough. He found a table that he really, really liked, and it was old enough and everything, but the price was a little more than he wanted to pay. So we went to another antique store, didn’t see any end tables at all, and then went to yet another. That last store? A total mistake. As soon as we walked through the door, the woman working there came up to us and asked if we were looking for anything specific. I should have said that we were just looking, but instead I said that we were looking for an end table, and that was all she wrote. She followed us into the large back room and basically pointed out every single piece of furniture that could possibly be used as an end table. She quizzed Fred about what exactly he was looking for. When he showed some slight interest in a table, she tried to get him to take that table AND the one next to it. She said “I won’t give up until you’ve found what you want!”, and she said it several times. By the time we’d been in the store ten minutes, I was ready to push her down and run for the door. Finally, Fred muttered something about having to think about it, and we beat a hasty retreat. She followed us to the door, and quite frankly I’m amazed she didn’t throw herself on the hood of the car and beg us to buy SOMETHING. My god, I hate it when salespeople don’t understand that I want to be left alone to look at things, and if I have a question or need help I WILL ASK FOR IT. Hoverers make me want to just get the hell out of that store as soon as humanly possible. * * * * * *]]>

* * * A few months ago Fred worked out a little too hard, and he was having some muscle soreness. Being the nice wife that I am, I stopped by the drugstore and pick up a container of epsom salt. Last night after he went to bed, I was taking a bath – it gets cold in our house sometimes, and nothing warms you up like reading in a hot bath for half an hour or so – and I looked over at the back of the epsom salts. Apparently epsom salt is a miracle drug. Did you know you could use it to relieve muscle soreness, as a plant fertilizer, and as a laxative? I had no idea. I guess you really do learn something new every day, eh?

* * * It’s a day that ends in “y”, so clearly it’s time for another slapfight! ]]>

published aw-thor! Anyway, the book came out a few days ago. Because I am bone idle, instead of going to the store and having to look for it, I ordered it through Amazon. Yesterday, it came! It was very cool to look through a book and see my name, I’ll tell you that. Miz Poo is clearly impressed. Also, just laying near the book makes her look thinner! Buy a copy of Tales from the Scale and YOU, too, can look ounces thinner! I wrote that! I even came up with the chapter title, and giggled at my own wit, which I am sure is the very definition of lame. The chapter Nance isn’t allowed to read. In fact, none of you are allowed to read it. Did I really write a chapter about my sex life? Eek! What was I thinking? ::blush:: I happen to be in the middle of reading a book already, so once I finish that, I’m going to sit down and read Tales from the Scale from cover to cover. I can’t wait. Hell, maybe I’ll throw caution to the wind and read Tales from the Scale BEFORE I finish the other book. That’s me, living life on the edge!

* * * So, every week or so I reindex the search engine for this site so that if you’re looking for something you’ve read recently you’ll be able to find it. And when I set up the reindexing, I like to check and see what y’all have been searching for. To the person who searched on fat fuckin slob yesterday: I don’t ever use the word “fuckin”. I either spell it “fucking” or “fuckin'”. I’ve also never used the phrase “Fat fucking slob”, either, so I’m not sure what you were looking for, but I hope you found it. The most popular searches: Cat pee cleaner, cat odor, carpet odor cleaner: It’s called Axi-dent, and you can get it here. I promise, one of these days I’m going to put a link to that in the sidebar, or do a “recommended” page so y’all don’t have to do a search. living will: Actually, I didn’t use the phrase “living will”; I used “advance directive”, and that entry is here. camera, camera model, digital camera: It’s a Sony DSC-V1, and I LOVE IT. The only thing that pisses me off is that when I’m using the flash, it hesitates before it takes the picture, and I’ve lost a large number of awesome pictures due to the hesitation. beef jerkey: I bet you were searching on the beef jerky I raved about back in January, weren’t you? It’s Jack Links Beef Nuggets, and I actually bought a couple of packages of the Beef Nuggets on Monday at Target. That stuff is like CRACK, and after polishing off two packages in as many days, I’ve decided that’s the sort of thing we really can’t have around the house. Damn that stuff is good, though. I’ve never tried the teriyaki flavor, though – just the original beef steak nuggets. chickpea: The recipe is here. * * * The spud actually WENT OUT AND DROVE BY HERSELF last night. First, she drove to the school and back with Fred in the passenger’s seat. Then she dropped Fred off at home, and drove to the school and home again by herself. Fred got so worried and antsy that he went out and started driving toward the school to make sure she hadn’t gotten into an accident. She made it there and home again just fine, though. Which is good, because tonight she’s going to drive herself to church and home again. I wouldn’t put it past Fred to drive to the church and follow her home, though. He’s such a nervous nellie. * * * I stumbled across defective yeti yesterday – I think I was on Jan‘s page, and checked out her links; defective yeti was at the top, and I clicked on the link. That was all she wrote – I spent the afternoon reading through his archives. Some of the conversations he has with his wife sound EXACTLY like conversations Fred and I would have: Vital Signs, Rock the Poot, Constructive Criticism, Gotcha, and I’m pretty sure we’ve had the exact same conversation as the one in Locke Jaw. Awesome blog – check it out! * * * The saga of why we don’t currently have a VCR in the living room: 1. Buy JVC DVD/ VHS player/ recorder. 2. Exchange non-functioning DVD/ VHS player/ recorder. 3. Two weeks of functioning DVD/ VHS player/ recorder. 4. DVD/ VHS player/ recorder stops functioning, with Netflix DVD inside. We cannot get it out without breaking it. 5. Fred calls JVC to see what the hell we’re supposed to do. They instruct him to send the DVD/ VHS player/ recorder to a certain address in Lawrenceville, GA. They are adamant that the instruction book and remote must be enclosed with the machine. 6. Receive JVC DVD/ VHS player/ recorder in timely manner. Take out of box to set up, and realize there’s no instruction book OR remote control enclosed. 7. Fred calls customer service. Customer service woman is confused. “You asked them to send the remote and instruction book back, and they didn’t?” Fred says “No, we didn’t specifically instruct them to return the remote and instruction book. WE ASSUMED THEY WOULD.” Customer service lady says she’ll send our request for remote and instruction book along to the pertinent people. 8. Box arrives Monday afternoon, return address JVC in Lawrenceville, GA. I leave it on Fred’s desk. He puts it on the floor and we ignore it. 9. Yesterday, I suggest that Fred set up the DVD/ VHS player/ recorder. He hands me the box and tells me to dig out the remote. I open the box to find it crammed with styrofoam peanuts, WHICH ARE THE WORK OF SATAN. At the bottom of the box? The instruction book. Not included in the box? The remote control. The invoice in the box lists the remote. Which is not in the box. “I don’t fucking believe this,” I inform Fred. Fred puts the invoice by his wallet so that he’ll remember to call JVC customer service, which is open from, like, 11:58 to 12:01 on even days. 10. Today, he calls customer service. They inform him that the remote and instruction book were scheduled to be mailed out in separate shipments. “You could save a lot of money by not shipping out a huge box of styrofoam peanuts and an instruction book, and instead send the remote in the same box,” Fred says to the customer service lady. Who does not care. 11. The remote is supposed to arrive today. I’ll believe that when I see it. Later today I’m supposed to stop by the dealership to have the remote entry fob programmed and handed over. I fully expect that my car will explode spectacularly in the midst of the programming and I’ll catch on fire and run screaming around the parking lot. But if things go right (which I expect they won’t), I’ll never have to see Salesguy ever again in my entire life. Which will be too damn soon. * * * “Look. I don’t have opposable thumbs like you do. How else am I supposed to clean it?” ]]>

here. I’ll leave it up ’til the end of the month. By the way, Fred took that picture, as well as the smackdown pictures from yesterday. But he was using my camera, so I claimed them for my own. Ha!

* * * Currently reading: Hissy Fit. Finished last night: Couldn’t Keep it to Myself. Good book – and very, very sad. * * * Kathy sent me this link a few weeks ago, and I’ve been going and giggling at it regularly, so I thought y’all might enjoy it, too. Go, Socky, go!!! And Vena sent me a link to Kittenwar. Whereupon I spent an hour looking at the kitten pictures and voting. Total time-suck – but I cannot resist the adorable kitties! * * * E’gar is home, FINALLY! Remember how I said that the woman at the dealership told me that she thought E’gar would be ready last Wednesday? Well, Wednesday came and went with no phone call, and when Thursday had half come and gone, Fred called to see what the hell was going on. The woman who runs the service department wasn’t in, so Fred told whoever answered the phone that he’d like to know what was going on, and then he (nicely) gave them hell for not keeping us informed, and because they also hadn’t kept the woman running the rental car place informed, so she called me on Tuesday and wanted to know what the hell was going on and why I hadn’t returned the rental car. So whoever Fred talked to apologized profusely and left a note for the woman who runs the service department. Friday, when we were sitting in the waiting room, before Fred had his vasectomy, the service department woman called and was apparently pretty defensive. “I told your wife it would be about a week!” she told Fred. Um, no. What she said to me was “We’re going to have your car for a little while”, and I said “How long is a little while?”, and she said “Wednesday.” Now, doesn’t that sound like “Your car should be done Wednesday”? It does to ME. But apparently what “Wednesday” meant was “We’ll get the part on Wednesday.” She told Fred she thought the car would be ready on Monday, and it was. Thank god, because I was getting pretty tired of driving a station wagon around. Not that there’s anything wrong with a station wagon, but it AIN’T MY E’GAR! I was about halfway home when I realized that the remote entry fob was NOT on the keyring they’d given me, despite the fact that Fred had called Salesguy a week before to let him know that the car was being serviced. Salesguy, in response, told Fred he’d “Take care of it”, but I think we all know by now that Salesguy is as full of shit as they come. Therefore, the remote entry fob hadn’t been programmed and left in the car as we’d expected. I had just picked up my cell phone to call Fred, when he called me and told me that Salesguy had just called him and told him that I’d “zoomed out of” the parking lot before he (Salesguy) “could get to” me. Which means – you guessed it! – I get to go BACK TO THE FUCKING DEALERSHIP YET AGAIN. I tried to convince Fred to take my car to work with him today and deal with Salesguy himself, but he wouldn’t go for that. Hmph. This is never ever ever going to be over, is it? I RUE THE FUCKING DAY I decided to buy a car from this guy. RUE IT. * * * Boog in a basket! Spot in a basket, under the Boog’s supervision! * * *]]>