6/29/05 – Bitchypoo

* * * Before I tell this story, I have to say that I don’t care about Hillary Clinton one way or the other. I mean, I think she takes a lot of crap because of who she is, but also I think that anyone who seriously wants to be a politician – especially those who want to be president – has to have a screw loose somewhere. I don’t think she’s the monster some people would have us believe, nor is she any kind of saint. She’s somewhere in the middle, I think, like most people. So. I was in Sam’s yesterday, and whenever I go into Sam’s I have to check out the book selection, because they have pretty good prices on hardcover books, and although I have far too many books already, I still have to look and see if there’s anything I want to read, so I can buy it and it can sit on the bookcase for two years before I get around to reading it. Some women buy shoes, some women buy jewelry, I buy books. Anyway, I checked out the book selection, and saw a book with the title The Truth About Hillary : What She Knew, When She Knew It, and How Far She’ll Go to Become President. With a name like that, you know it’s going to be a hatchet job (I’m surprised they didn’t just name it The Hatchet Job on Hillary, and be done with it), and when I saw that it was written by Edward Klein, I knew I wasn’t going to buy the book (well, I knew before then that I wasn’t going to buy it, because I have no interest in reading a hatchet job, and even less interest in politics, but when I saw Edward Klein’s name, I REALLY knew I wasn’t going to buy it), but I picked it up anyway to check out the flyleaf and the pictures inside. I didn’t get to the picture collection, though, because first I checked out the flyleaf. And I read: She’s a wife, but she shows no wifely instincts. She’s a mother, but she isn’t maternal. She’s a feminist, but she rode to power on her husband’s coattails. She’s strong and assertive, but she has abetted decades of chronic infidelity. She inspires fierce loyalty among her followers, but she frequently stabs them in the back. and I got to the third line, and I said “Oh, fuck YOU, Edward Klein. Fuck you up your stupid ass.” and I put the book back down – though to be honest, I wanted to buy them all so I could build a bonfire with them, but that would be shooting myself in the foot, because Fuckward Klein would still get the money from the sale of all those books, and I’m sure he doesn’t give a shit what happens to the books once they’re bought. I mean, what kind of bullshit is that? She doesn’t show wifely instincts? WHAT THE FUCK ARE WIFELY INSTINCTS? No one told me I was supposed to be showing wifely instincts, where the hell do I get a pack of those at? And as for being “a mother, but not maternal”, What. The. Fuck? Seriously, what the FUCK? How the fuck would anyone but Chelsea Clinton – THE CHILD of the woman purported to be unmaternal – know whether Hillary Clinton is maternal or not? Also, what a LAME allegation to make. I’ve forbidden Fred from bringing anything by Edward Klein into this house – thus showing that I might not have wifely instincts, but I certainly have bossy instincts – because I’m afraid the mere presence of lame bullshit like that would bring down the collective IQ of the residents of our home. And we can use all the IQ points we can get.

* * * I was ranting about the above to Fred last night, and he said “Welcome to last week’s news”, and I said “You shut up, motherfucker, or I’ll unleash my wifely instincts on you” and he said “Shut your unmaternal mouth, woman.” And then Miz Poo stomped across my hair, and the conversation was forgotten. * * * We were watching TV the other night, and Fred turned to me and said “I think I might have to start buying songs on iTunes. All the songs are basically a buck, right?” And I said, “Yeah, ninety-nine cents.” “Which is basically a buck,” he snarked at me. “What the fuck?” I said. “I WAS CLARIFYING IT FOR YOU.” “I didn’t need the exact number,” he said bitchily, smirking at me. “I just wanted to know that it was basically a buck.” “THEY’RE NINETY-NINE CENTS!” “I KNEW they’re ninety-nine cents. But it’s easier to say basically a buck,” he said. “There are less syllables in basically a buck than there are in ninety-nine cents.” “I don’t think so.” “Bessie, please,” he said, and then held out his hand so he could count syllables. “Ba-sic-al-ly… well, no, you really say ba-sic-ly, right?” “Yeah.” “Ba-sic-ly-a-buck. Five,” he said, looking at me to see if I’d gotten it. He held out his other hand. “Nine-ty-nine-cents… Shut up.” I only smiled. “Not allowed to write about it!” he said, pointing at me. “Nooooot allowed to write about it!” Ha. That’s what you get for snarking at me, motherfucker. * * * Okay, this is driving me CRAZY. I was doing errands this morning when the line “Country don’t mean dumb” popped into my mind, and I cannot for the life of me think of who said it. It was in a movie, and a man said it, and he might have punched someone before he said it, but maybe not. I can hear the voice, but I have NO IDEA whose voice it is. Help me before I go crazy from racking my brain, won’t you? * * * Them kittens. Snoopy, Edgar, and Oy are home and just fine. They were very indignant when I first picked them up from the vet’s, and they kept sticking their paws out of the carrier and meowing at me. They’d just started to settle down when I got to the shelter, and then they milled around in the carrier for a few minutes, ’til I actually walked through the door, and then they quieted right down, because there was a big slobbery dog there, and other cats, and they were so freaked out that they all ran to the other end of the carrier and huddled up together, and stared out at the dog and the other cats with big dark eyes. They were indignant again when I took them out, one by one, to have their vaccine shot, and when I took them back to the car they took turns meowing at me, telling me what an awful woman I am, but about five minutes after we left the shelter they were snuggled up in a pile, sound asleep. I expected them to be kind of loopy and out of it when we got home, but as soon as I opened the carrier, they all came bounding out, and ran around like their little butts were on fire. It’s going to be fun (NOT) taking Mia, Flossie and Peanut to the vet tomorrow, because Mia and Flossie are both pretty vocal, and I expect that by the time I get to the vet’s office, I’m going to want to poke a stick through my eardrums. Then it’s just a matter of waiting for room to open up at the pet store… and is it wrong that I hope it takes a looooong time for that to happen?