Month: August 2005

* * * I’m going to kill my husband. KILL HIM. Ever since his mother and stepfather moved to Madison, I see them every so often at the pet store on Monday mornings after I’m done cleaning (they like to stop by and check out the cats) or at the grocery store, and occasionally at other places, too. I jokingly said to Fred, “I think your Mom and (stepfather) are stalking me!” And. He. Repeated. It. To. Her. He claims that he told her that I was joking, but YOU CANNOT MAKE JOKES LIKE THAT TO MOTHERS. BECAUSE THEY TAKE IT SERIOUSLY. So he went over there today (they smoke chickens every few months and always do an extra one for them, for they are wonderful, thoughtful people) and she told him that they’d seen me on Monday coming out of the pet store, but didn’t honk because they didn’t want me to think they were stalking me! I’m going to kill him. He is SO FUCKING DEAD. Y’all will come bail me out, right? I mean, not that ANY JUDGE ON EARTH would ever hold me over for trial or anything, but just in case.

* * * We watched a couple of episodes of Family Plots the other night – we’ve got episodes going back a couple of months, I think, because we rarely get around to watching them, although we always enjoy them when we do – and it was an episode that took place sometime after Rick and Melissa had broken up. Rick hired a “Life Affirmation Expert”, and they had a meeting and went around and each employee had to talk about the most difficult thing they’d ever dealt with. And Rick said that it was hard to deal with his son’s death, but the breakup with Melissa was the most difficult thing he’d ever dealt with. Oh, did my eyes ever roll. Because on one hand, THE DEATH OF A CHILD. On the other, the breakup with a woman I don’t like (I’ll think of a reason later). Rick. Dear. There are spoiled, bitchy women ALL OVER THIS WORLD, I’m sure you could throw a rock and hit one who’d love to USE YOUR CREDIT CARDS, and might even occasionally be NICE to you, but no one can replace your SON. Also, if you could talk to the producers and give us more Shonna and Emily and less Chuck-wandering-around-goofing-off, that’d be great. ‘k, thanks, BYE. * * * Currently reading: Don’t Eat This Book, by Morgan Spurlock. I’m about 150 pages in and it’s really good. Fred pointed out the other night while we were watching Wanted that Lee Tergesen’s character, U.S. Marshall Eddie Drake, looks an awful lot like Morgan Spurlock. I’ll let you be the judge: Lee Tergesen. Morgan Spurlock. Yeah, I’d say there’s some resemblance there. * * * And while I’m sharing pictures, I was informed that a few people were confused by my attraction to Gary Cole, mentioned in yesterday’s entry. For clarification: Gary Cole. Hot, hot, hot. Gary Coleman. Not, not, not. And as a side note, I’ve never EVER found Gary Cole hot in any other role, but in his role on Wanted, he’s HOT. Actually, now that I think about it, I find everyone on that show kind of hot, even the guy with the facial piercings whose name I can’t retain for more than ten seconds. (Oh, look at that. He’s apparently the lead singer of Saliva. HOW COULD I NOT KNOW THAT? Why, Fuck All Y’all is the song that was playing when Fred and I fell in love. We consider it “our” song!) * * * Pet store kitty pics from yesterday are here. * * * If you haven’t read Fred’s entry yet, you must go check it out and see the cutest damn turtle picture EVER taken. Also, wish him luck. * * * I don’t know what impressed me more yesterday, the fact that I was able to give the kittens their medicine (amoxicillin; slight upper respiratory infections) all by myself (I usually require Fred’s help, but decided that I need to learn to do it by myself, since he’ll be incommunicado incapacitated after Friday and won’t be able to use both arms to pick up squirming kittens and force their mouths open), or that Miz Poo was trying to play with Jodie. Unfortunately, Miz Poo’s idea of playing with another cat involves laying down on the floor in a submissive position, and then smacking the other cat if it gets too close. We kept the kittens out for most of the evening last night, and at one point, right before bedtime, Rambo climbed up in my lap and arranged himself so that I could rub his back with one hand and his ears with the other, and then went to sleep. He was so damn cute I had to restrain myself from squeezing him ’til his guts shot out his ears. So cute, these two. Especially when I had Rambo on my lap, and Jodie flopped over onto her back and fell asleep next to me. Cat and mouse. Mister Boogers, mid-yawn. I think he doesn’t actually know that Jodie’s right behind him. Taking her life in her paws… “RAAAAAAWRRRRRRR!” (Really, a yawn.) Keeping a wary eye on the babies. See the rest of today’s kittens pics (including the pet store kitties) here.]]>

who the fuck is calling.) and it was the spud. “The bus isn’t here, and it’s 7:15!” she said. “Every year the bus is late for most of the first week until the bus driver figures out his route,” I reminded her. “Just stay there and wait for the bus.” “I want to be on time today!” she said, even more frantically. “WAIT FOR THE BUS,” I said, then hung up. A few minutes later I left for the pet store, and I was almost there – in fact, I could see the pet store – when my cell phone rang. It was the spud, of course, and when I answered the call she said “Where ARE you??” “I’m on my way to the pet store!” I said. “Why?” “The bus STILL isn’t here, and I don’t think it’s going to come!” she said frantically. “It didn’t come the first day last year!” “Stay where you are, and I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I growled. “What if it doesn’t come?” she said. “Stay THERE, and I’ll BE THERE in a few minutes!” I said, and hung up. I pulled a u-turn and hauled ass toward home. The traffic going from Huntsville to Madison was pretty light, and I was able to get home in a little less than ten minutes. On the way, I called Fred to bitch. “Could you call the school,” I said to him when he answered, “And ask them why it is that the bus driver has his head so far up his ass that he can’t seem to recall from one year to the next that he needs to go down the main road of the subdivision and pick our child up?” We continued bitching in this vein until I was almost to our subdivision, and then I hung up the phone. I drove by the street where the spud waits for the bus, and didn’t see her. “Oh, JESUS CHRIST,” I growled to myself. “Don’t tell me she fucking WALKED HOME and called me from THERE.” I turned onto our street and took out my cell phone to call her and tell her to get her butt in front of the house so I wouldn’t have to pull into the driveway and go into the house to get her. And there was a voicemail message waiting for me. “Um… Hi, Mom,” said the spud. “The bus just came.. it was just REALLY REALLY LATE. Um… just remember, I love you, so don’t kill me!” She’s just lucky she made me laugh, that’s all. I thought about text messaging her and asking her to have one of her friends kick her in the butt for me, but those babies are 5 cents apiece, so I didn’t. On the up side, I didn’t have to sit in the horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad traffic on the road to her school, but I DID have to sit through the traffic by the elementary school on the way out of Madison. At least she has her license and can take herself to Staples and buy her own (with my money) school supplies, so I don’t have to suffer through THAT horror this year. And for those of you who think I should have let her take my car to school on the first day of school: 1. I had pet store duties, or I probably would have. 2. It’s my car, but I’m being kind and allowing her to use it to get to school two days a week. BECAUSE I’M JUST THAT NICE. 3. No, we’re not buying her her own car. She doesn’t have a JOB, why would she need her own car? If she gets a job, she’ll get a car. It’s that simple. I’m sure my father thinks I’m evil for not running out and buying her her own car (I’m sure he thinks she should have a Maserati), because I had my own car when I was her age. But I also got my first job when I was 15, so there you go.

* * * So around these parts, if Fred says something I don’t agree with, instead of saying “Husband. I don’t agree with what you’ve said. Perhaps you need to rethink it and get back to me when you can say it in such a way that I can agree with you.”, I simply say “YOUR ASS.” I think I picked it up from Fred. In fact, I’m sure I did, because who else would come up with such a doofy way to indicate disagreement? So anyway, Friday night/ Saturday morning I was having fucked up dreams – I always have fucked up dreams on Friday night/ Saturday mornings, because we eat crappily on Fridays – about the end of the world. And I don’t mean the end of the world in a nuclear bomb/ everyone dies sort of way, I mean a disease-runs-rampant-and-kills-the-majority-of-the-population/ The Stand sort of way. So I was still alive – OBVIOUSLY – and there were a bunch of people who were still alive also, and I was living in a hotel on the ocean in Ohio (YES, I KNOW; IT WAS A DREAM) with a bunch of other people. And I was handing out dinner to different people, and lo and behold, there were Nance and Jane, and they were all hanging out talking, and I put their dinner down near them, and as I stood back up, my hand brushed Nance’s butt (IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, NANCE. I WAS NOT PUTTING THE MOVES ON YOU), and I said “Oh! I’m sorry!” And Nance and Jane chorused, “Your ass!” And I said “No, actually! YOUR ass!” And we all guffawed. Even in my dream, I’m a dork. * * * Later in the same dream, I was talking to an asian man, who was sitting on his bed (we were sleeping in a dormitory-type setting, with single-size beds) and I looked at the headboard of his bed, where there was a plaque with his name and date of birth on it (I don’t know. IT WAS A DREAM.) and I read it, and it said that his name was Neseus, and that his nickname was Seussie. And I started laughing REALLY hard, and I said “Oh my GOD! They call you SUZIE?!” When I woke up, I was laughing so hard I was crying. But now, two days later, it’s not funny at all. Hmph. * * * We watched Wanted last night (and let me take a moment to say that Gary Cole? IS HOT. Who the hell knew that Bill Lumbergh had it in him?) and were thrilled to see Lee Tergesen show up. Of course, he’ll always be Beecher to us, but we like him in this role, too. If you haven’t checked out the show, you might want to give it a try. It’s not like there’s anything else on right now… * * * The kittens didn’t spend a whole lot of time out running around in the house yesterday. I let them run around for about an hour, then they started getting whiny, which I’ve come to see as a cue to put them back in their room, so I did (whereupon they ran over to the food and began eating as though they hadn’t eaten in a month) and left them there for a few hours while I ate lunch and did some errands. I let them out for another hour in the afternoon until Mister Boogers began whining to go outside, so I put them back in their room for an hour or so, then we let them out for most of the evening. Mister Boogers can’t seem to decide what he thinks of them. Sometimes he’s fine with them, and then sometimes he does this growly-hissy thing which indicates that he’s not to thrilled at their existence. He’s smacked them both a few times, but he hasn’t attacked them. But when he starts with the growly-hissy thing, we separate them from him, because if he attacked them I’d have to kill him. I think he might be all talk, though. Climbing around on Fred. Warning: Cat cannot hold his licker. More spooning… and more spotted belly! You can’t tell from this picture, but she’s got her foot over her head, as if she’s doing kitty yoga. You can see all of today’s kitty pics here. ]]>

Starved Saturday night, and I have to say, I like it. It’s fucking warped, and it’s got my boyfriend Eric Schaeffer in it, and the line “I ate 212 almonds last night really fast and then puked them back so they were still kinda whole. I just washed them off and ate ’em again. I’ve seen dogs do it.” made Fred shoot applesauce out his nose. My only complaint is that the last minute or so of the show got cut off, so I need to tape it again and see what I missed. Fucking people in charge of programming. Is it too much to fucking ask that they synchronize their watches? After we watched that, we watched Dead Calm. I’ve never seen it before, though I’ve kind of always wanted to watch it, because it’s the movie that brought Nicole Kidman to America’s attention and I’ve always heard it’s pretty good. She just looked utterly unlike herself, and I’m not exactly sure why. I think she’s had some dental work done, and her face is somehow… bonier now. I can’t explain, you just have to see it for yourself. Billy Zane was an absolute dead ringer for a young Marlon Brando. Though of course I couldn’t think of Brando’s name, so I had to say “He looks EXACTLY like… Oh, what the hell is his name? “Stella! Stella!”” “Marlon Brando?” Fred said. “Yeah, you’re right. He DOES.” Billy Zane does a good psycho character. It was a pretty good movie; I recommend it. DEAD CALM SPOILER BELOW; SKIP IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT AND THINK YOU MIGHT. The instant Sam Neill went down into the hull of the boat and stuck his knife into soft, rotting wood, I knew he was going to have to eventually get out that way. I also knew the dog wasn’t going to make it to the end of the movie; the dogs never do, do they? Also, Fred got all pissed off because Nicole Kidman left Billy Zane alive when she threw him on the raft and cut him loose. He said “Why do people in the movies NEVER just kill the bad guy? WHY? I would cut his fucking head off, and toss him in the ocean, and if I had to stand trial for the crime, I’d happily do it. Because that would mean he could never COME BACK at the end of the fucking movie and attack me!” Heh.

* * * Currently reading: Scoot Over, Skinny. Finished late last night: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE SPOILERS BELOW. SKIP TO THE NEXT SECTION IF YOU HAVEN’T READ IT YET AND THINK YOU MIGHT. So now I know the big spoiler, and I have to say… eh. Whatever. I’ve come to realize that I care very little about the adults in the Harry Potter books and reserve my likes and dislikes for the kids. The next book should be mighty interesting, though. When will we see that one, around 2010? * * * Fred’s currently reading Between a Rock and a Hard Place, the book by the guy who had to cut off his arm because it was pinned beneath a boulder and he had to cut his arm off to survive. Now he – Fred, that is – is saying he wants to move to Colorado or Utah. Fucker. I said “Oh, BECAUSE THERE’S NO FUCKING OCEAN THERE, of course.” And then I thought for a moment and said “Wait, wait, WAIT. It SNOWS in Colorado, so if you’re willing to move there, you must be willing to move to Maine, where there are MOUNTAINS and OCEAN.” And then he suddenly changed his mind about Colorado, I’m sure because I was making total sense, and decided he’d much rather live in Utah. OVER MY DEAD BODY. He did, after some haranguing from me, allow that the Appalachian mountains are big and good for hiking, and that he might be okay with moving there, EVEN THOUGH there’s ocean near them thar hills, and that would make me happy. I’m not holding my breath, though. * * * So yesterday, Fred woke me up by bringing the kittens out of their room and putting them on the bed with me. Neither of them was interested in snuggling up, because there was room to explore, and they both hopped down off the bed immediately to sniff around. I let them run around while I got up and got dressed and made the bed and all that stuff, then put them back in their room. They weren’t thrilled about being stuck back in that room, as I’m sure you can imagine. A while later, after I’d exercised and eaten breakfast and was about to head upstairs and take my shower, Fred said “We should let the kittens out to run around…” and then came upstairs with me, and we did just that. Fred sat at the top of the stairs to prevent them from going downstairs, and I sat on the landing, and the kittens ran around and sniffed wildly, and Mister Boogers came out and growled and hissed and smacked at them, and just generally acted like an asshole. We let them run around for ten or fifteen minutes, and then put them back in the room and shut the door. After I took my shower, Fred said something like “If our cats could get acclimated to them, I’d have no problem letting them run around the house, as long as we kept the cat door shut.” I about fell over, because I never thought Fred would go for that; in fact, it had occurred to me to mention the idea to him, but I didn’t because I’d been sure he’d shoot down the idea. After lunch he shut the cat door and went up and let them out of their room, and they were just as happy as they could be, running around and sniffing and playing and having their butts sniffed by Mister Boogers. We let them stay out for a couple of hours, and then they started acting tired, but just couldn’t seem to settle down. I was sitting in the chair in the computer room, reading Harry Potter, and Rambo would climb up on me and settle down, then his attention would be caught by one of the other cats and he’d go running off. (It was while I was reading Harry Potter and petting Rambo that I came up with the perfect name for him – Dobby. Too bad he’s already named, huh? Doesn’t matter, Fred’s been calling him “Bubba” and Jodie “Miss Squeaks”.) When they’d both been wandering around making sad little meows for a while, I suggested to Fred that we should put them in their room for a little while so they could settle down, then let them out around 6:30 and let them stay out until we headed upstairs at 9:00. He agreed with that, and I ran them upstairs and left them in their room. Fred couldn’t wait until 6:30, though. He went upstairs at 5:30 and let them out again, and we let them stay out until 9:00, as planned. It went pretty well, though Miz Poo smacked at each of them more than once, and Mister Boogers made his growly-hissy noise that scares NO ONE. Spot hid under my desk, and Spanky actually smacked one of the kittens, which surprised me – I’d expected him to run from them. I think I’ll wait until I’ve had my shower and vacuumed the upstairs to let them out this morning, partly because I don’t want to scare the shit out of them with the vacuum, and partly because Mister Boogers is running in and out a lot this morning and I don’t want to shut the cat door just yet. I think it’s hilarious that Fred said to me, yesterday, “This is just going to make giving them up harder, because you’ll be even more attached to them.” “I’ll be more attached to them?” I said. “Yeah, you will because they’ll be out and around you more.” “Who’s the one who couldn’t wait ’til 6:30 and had to run up and let them out an hour earlier?” I pointed out. He had no good response to that. They’re SPOONING. How cute is that? This is not the sight Mister Boogers likes to see when he first wakes up. “Hi! Hi! See my spotted belly? Hi!” That ain’t a look o’ love Mister Boogers is giving those damn kittens, who are sleeping in HIS BED. Rambo climbed up on top of the giveaway box and promptly began biting a book. He’s a biter, that one. You can see all of the kitten pictures I uploaded today, here. ]]>

reading: London Transports, still. I haven’t been doing a whole lot of reading lately, due to the large number of naps I’ve been taking and the kitten-snuggling I’ve been doing and that I haven’t been staying up all that late lately. I need to get the damn book read, though, because we finally got the latest Harry Potter, and I’ve been avoiding spoilers like the plague, but I’m sure my luck is going to run out one of these days if I don’t get the damn thing read.

* * * It occurred to me, as I read Jane’s entry from yesterday, that I should have totally made up the name of the shampoo and conditioner. Because I would have liked to read the story of Jane walking into Victoria’s Secret and saying “Can you tell me where the Slap My Ass and Call Me Bertha shampoo is?” Probably she wouldn’t have fallen for that. That Jane, she’s a smart and wily one. Speaking of the shampoo, Fred and I were laying down talking (NOT A EUPHEMISM) the other day after he got home from work, and he pretended to sniff my hair, and then lisped “You thmell THO THEXSAY!” at me. Except that it was a Back to Basics Marine hair day, not a Victoria’s Secret Too-Goofy-To-Mention-The-Name day. Silly man. Any WOMAN would have known the difference. * * * Several of you have asked about Miz Poo’s lip and how it’s doing since we started putting medicine on her big, swollen side lip. To our surprise, the ointment actually worked, and her side lip is pretty close to normal. Of course, now that we have THAT sorted out, the front of her lip is starting to get kind of scabby-looking, so maybe we’ll try the medicine on that, as well. If we could just have one week where one of her lips wasn’t all swollen, or she wasn’t squinting through one – or both – of her eyes, or about to cough up a lung, I’d be happy. * * * Some men bring their wives flowers or jewelry, sing them love songs, write them love letters. Me, I get other things. LUCKY me. * * * We watched The Laramie Project last night – Fred taped it off the HBO high definition channel (high definition rocks, woot!) and we had nothing else to watch last night, so we watched that. It was really a good movie. There was a lot about the whole thing we weren’t aware of – for instance, we both thought Matthew Shepard died that night; instead he lived on in a coma for a few more days. My only gripe about the movie is that there were so many familiar faces in it that we were distracted thinking “Who the hell is that, and where have I seen him before?” through half the movie. Good movie, though – I recommend it. * * * The kittens are doing well. They’re not quite as rambunctious as Flossie, Peanut, Snoopy, Edgar, and Oy were, but maybe that’s just because there aren’t as many of them. Rambo absolutely cracks me up, because he has such big dark eyes and such a small head (though it’s pretty big compared to the rest of his body, I guess) that he looks exactly like a little alien kitty. Am I the only one who sees the resemblance? We weighed them last night. Rambo weighs 1 pound 4 ounces, and Jodie weighs 1 pound 9 ounces (I guess that fur is heavier than it looks!). I expect it’ll be at least three weeks before they’re both big enough to be spayed and neutered. That’s just fine with me. The longer, the better! I really like this picture of the two of them. Oh, yeah. He haaaates having his belly rubbed. Uh huh. Suuuure he does. I wanted to get a shot of Jodie’s speckled belly, but at the last moment she moved her paw to block the shot. Apparently she doesn’t WANT you to see her belly! Rambo with attitude. He cracks me UP. ————————- To find Spot, just look for a patch of sun.]]>

reading: London Transports, by Maeve Binchy, still. What’s up with her obsession with girls having affairs with married men? I’m about a third of the way through the book (it’s a book of short stories) and almost every story features a girl having an affair with a married man.

* * * So, Fred’s going in for surgery next Friday. In the interest of full disclosure and TRUTH, I’m going to tell y’all that I would most likely be okay with wiping his ass. I mean, it’s not something I’d WANT to do, but I could do it, and I’d be okay with it, and I’d just figure it’s practice for when I have to change his diapers in another ten years or so (ha ha! See that? I made a thinly veiled joke about his age! I am SO FUNNY!). But the truth is that Fred would rather hold it in for two weeks than let me do such a thing. Because he’s too goddamn independent, and would rather suffer in silence than ask for someone’s help. Damn the man. I expect that by the end of spending two weeks with his arm in a sling, he’s going to be bouncing off the walls, since he won’t be able to go on one of his gentle hikes directly up the side of a mountain while looking for poisonous snakes to poke with a stick. I’ll entertain him the best I can, but since I won’t be able to throw him on my back and carry him up the side of the mountain, I imagine we’ll both be a little stir crazy. He should be able to go back to work pretty quickly, even though his job requires a lot of typing. He can type with one hand if he needs to. I’ll let you make your own joke out of THAT. * * * The spud and I did a little mother-daughter bonding this morning. I’ve been saying for a long time (probably even as long as a few years) that I was going to take her to have her upper lip waxed (she gets that from my side of the family, unfortunately) and her eyebrows waxed. Since school starts on Monday, I was running out of time, so I finally called a local dayspa and made an appointment for both of us to get our eyebrows and upper lips done. I’ve only had my eyebrows and lip done once before – a few years ago – and it REALLY FUCKING HURT, but this time I made sure that we both took a couple of Advil before we went, and it ended up not being too bad. We both have wax remnants left all over the place, though, so that’s fun. I guess this means I’m set for another two years, huh? * * * So, I went out to the shelter yesterday to drop off the last of the donations made in Mia’s memory. I sat and chatted with the shelter manager, and held and snuggled a tiny little white blue-eyed kitten named Timon. I looked around the area where there are usually quite a few small kittens in cages (if they haven’t been tested yet, they’re kept in big cages and let out a few times a day to run around and play), but the cages were all empty. “It cleared out, huh?” I said. “Yeah, but we’re getting ready to fill back up,” she said. She took at least two calls while I was there from people who had found small kittens that they couldn’t keep. “Well,” I said. “I’m back, so if you need foster care…” Meet Jodie and Rambo. Jodie. Rambo. They came pre-named, by the way. Despite their resemblance to each other, they’re not siblings. Jodie was born on 6/11 and Rambo was born on 6/9. They’re both incredibly friendly, very happy to be held, and they purr REALLY loudly. Jodie, especially, likes to have her tummy rubbed. I haven’t gotten a good picture of her belly yet, but it’s gray, with dark gray spots. Very, very cute, both of them. Rambo’s quite the character and likes to beat up on Jodie. She holds her own quite well, though. It’s a little easier getting in and out of the room with only two kittens rather than the five we had before, I’ll tell you that. Rambo did get out of the room this morning when I opened the door, and the spud chased him down. He’s FAST for a little kitten, though maybe he was moving a little faster than he’d wanted to, since Mister Boogers was right behind him with his nose up his butt. They both weigh just about a pound each, so they’ll probably be here for about a month. They’re healthy and bright-eyed and friendly, so I think we’re going to have a good time with them. ——————– Doesn’t Mister Boogers look thrilled that he has to share the chair with Spanky?]]>

Janie-Jane!

* * * Well, Jennifer Aniston did a pretty straightforward and open interview with Vanity Fair. In it, regarding the Jolie-cavorting Brad’s been taking part in, she says “There’s a sensitivity chip missing.” If THAT ain’t the truth. Christ, it’s only been a few months since they broke up; can’t he keep it in his pants out of respect for her, for the love of god? I suspect people as beautiful as Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have to be a little bit nuts, anyway. When the whole world bends over to lick your feet, that’s got to be crazy-making. You expect that whatever you do is A-OK with everyone else and don’t have to consider the consequences. Or so I’d imagine. And if I can just weigh in on the Jude Law/ Sienna Miller thing: I hope she leaves him in the dust. I mean, I don’t really know a single thing about her, but I do know this: if the man is fucking around with the NANNY (god, such a cliche) before you’re even married, he’s going to keep screwing around even after you’re married. Isn’t the rumor that screwing around is what broke up his first marriage? I don’t get the Jude Law love, honestly. He’s a good-looking man, but something about him gives me the ookies. This has been your Bitchypoo Hollywood report. Personally, I get my entertainment news from Perez Hilton and The Superficial, not to mention various and sundry sources I stumble across during my daily surfing marathon. * * * Oh lord, speaking of surfing, a few weeks ago Mo mentioned Yvonne’s site, and I’ve been reading her ever since. So yesterday I went back to an entry from about a year ago when Yvonne was waiting to go into labor with her daughter (who’s now a year old and GOD SHE IS CUTE), and I read forward from there about six months, and then went back to the current entry and read back to the beginning of July, and I ran across this entry where she puts quotes around a phrase and then links to a picture of herself doing the air quotes, and I laughed so hard I thought I was going to shoot a lung across the room. So Yvonne, if you check your stats and see that someone hit a thousand pages on your site, an IP that resolves to Alabama, I admit it! (But I swear I wasn’t cutting and pasting. Well, except for the url to the air quotes entry, because I had to share the love.) * * * God. I ended up staying up until, like, close to 1:00 last night, because I came downstairs to check my email (EVEN THOUGH I have the laptop upstairs) and I got caught up in looking at my stats and then surfing to bizarre locations, and then realizing I hadn’t been to Dana’s site in a long time and catching up there, and I don’t know where the fuck else I went, but I came out of my daze and realized I’d been hunched in front of the computer for almost three hours and I had to pee and my back hurt and I could barely keep my eyes open. The internet? It’s a drug. It’s a drug, Matt. It’s a street drug. You don’t know the history of the internet the way I do, Matt. You don’t, Matt. You really don’t. I do. You don’t. They sell the internet on the street. To CHILDREN. The internet is a street drugs, and the children are addicted, Matt. Look at me, Matt. Look at my crazy eyes. Be hypnotized by my crazy twirling eyes. You don’t need a computer, Matt. Computers are highly overrated. They’re hocus-pocus. They are, Matt. People don’t need computers. They don’t, Matt. Matt, they don’t. All they need is a rotary phone and a pad of paper. What can you do with a computer that you need to do, that you can’t do with a rotary phone and a pad of paper? NOTHING, Matt. Anything you can do with a computer that you can’t do with a rotary phone and a pad of paper, you don’t NEED to do. A rotary phone and a pad of paper and a bottle of vitamins and you’re set for life. Don’t be glib, Matt. Glib is unattractive. Computers are the devil and I’ve given up all computers and the internet and I’ve never been healthier. And in love! Whoo! * * * I did some looking around online over the weekend, and found that we could cut our cell phone bill almost in half by switching from an 850-minute/ nights and weekends free plan to a 400-minute/ weekends free plan. I don’t even care about whether nights and weekends are free, because if it’s at night or on the weekend, chances are good that we’re at home and can use the home phone. What sucks is that the cheapest family plan at Verizon (where we intend to switch when our T-Mobile plan is up in December) starts at $69.99 for two phones. I don’t know, that just seems like craziness to me, to pay that much for phones that we don’t really use all that much. We’ve already decided that Fred’s going to give up his cellphone in December (when the contract’s up) because the only time he really needs it is when he goes hiking, and he can take my phone for that. We actually considered giving up our cellphones altogether, but I’m not comfortable with the idea of the spud driving around without a cellphone, and my cellphone comes in pretty handy sometimes. Ugh. Fucking cell phones. Is it really so ridiculous that we don’t want to pay $70 a month for phones we rarely use? I’m open to suggestions, y’all. I know we’ve got a few months left before we can even do anything about switching our cell service, but even though Verizon was the company rated highest by Consumer Reports, I’m not sure I want to pay $70 a month for the privilege. * * * In our back yard, we have platform bird feeders. Occasionally, we get a squirrel visitor, who plops his big butt in one of the feeders and partakes of the scrumptious seeds we’ve provided for him. He spotted me looking at him, and headed for the tree. Nice of me to put the bird feeders so close to the tree, wasn’t it? It was unintentional, believe me. Annnnd… he’s outta there! * * * Spanky in the sun.]]>

reading: London Transports, by Maeve Binchy. I’m not far into it, but I almost always enjoy Maeve Bincy’s books, so I’m sure I’ll enjoy this one, as well. Finished late last night: We’re All in This Together, by Owen King. It was excellent, from beginning to end. I think Owen King’s a very talented writer, and I recommend his book.

* * * Reader Lisa forwarded me an email entitled “When cloning goes bad.” Now, I’ve seen pictures that people have Photoshopped, combining two (or more) animals into one picture, but these pictures were pretty much the best ones I’ve seen yet. Go check them out – When cloning goes bad. If you’re easily freaked out, though, you might want to give it a miss. Especially the kitten/ penguin one. * * * Hey. I know you’re looking for a worthy charity. Go check out Save Wampi and do what you can to help, eh? I just will never ever understand how someone could hurt an animal. I mean, look at that sweet face! What kind of person could look at that face and want to hurt it? Poor Wampi! * * * Penny sent me this months ago, and I’ve been meaning to post it in here, but kept forgetting. Sometimes I think I need a great big dose of this stuff: * * * Pet store kitty pics from yesterday are hither. * * * When I was in Maine (“Yeah, yeah, yeah, SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT YOUR TRIP TO MAINE! We’re sick of hearing about it, already!”), at some point when we were hanging out together, I noticed that Debbie smelled especially good, and I made a mental note to ask her what perfume she was wearing, and immediately forgot about it. So a few days after that, we were in the Maine Mall in South Portland, and she said “I just want to run in to Victoria’s Secret for a minute!” and I said “Why the holy fuck would you want to go in THERE?” She said “I need to get some more shampoo! I love the way this stuff smells.” A distant bell clanged in the far reaches of my mind, and I stopped in place and stared off into space (poet! knowit!) and tried to make whatever it was come to the forefront of my brain. I’m sure, staring blankly off into space, I bore a striking resemblance to Tom Cullen. “Hey…” I said slowly, following her into the depths of Hell store. “You smelled really good the other day. What was that perfume you were wearing?” “It wasn’t perfume!” she said. “It was the Victoria’s Secret shampoo!” She stopped and picked up a bottle of the shampoo to show me. When I was done gagging over the name, I flipped the top open and sniffed. “Yeah, that’s it. DAMN, that smells good!” I ended up buying the shampoo, conditioner, and gel, all in the same scent. Who would have thought Victoria’s Secret would have something I could use? So I’ve been using it since I got home, though not every day. I use it about every third day, switching off with my favorite Back to Basics shampoo and conditioner. This morning when I woke up, my hair was hanging over my face (I was sleeping on my stomach) and my hair smelled SO DAMN GOOD, because not only had I used the Victoria’s Secret (forgive me for not being able to say the name of the shampoo, but it is SO FREAKIN’ GOOFY I can’t bear it) hair care products yesterday, but I also made a batch of blueberry bran muffins last night, and my hair had a cinnamon-y tinge to it, and the combination was just amazing. I wanted to lay in bed and sniff my hair all day long. Alas, there were things to do, people to see, etc. etc. I think they should make a perfume that smells like a combination of cinnamon and vanilla. They could call it Cinnilla. (Okay, maybe Fred came up with that name. M-O-O-N, that spells dork!) * * * For those of you who follow or have followed American Idol, you might be interested to know that Josh Gracin has had two hits in the country music genre, and he’s working on the third. It’s odd to turn on CMT and see him with hair. It’s also odd to see him on a bed (by a waterfall!) making out with some woman. I like Josh Gracin, I liked him when he was on American Idol, but seeing him on a bed making out with a woman just totally gives me the ookies. I have no idea why. Now, put Blake Shelton or Dierks Bentley or even any of those Rascal Flatts boys on the screen making out with a woman, and I’m A-OK with that. But Josh Gracin, doing the same? Ookies. * * * I’m now apparently officially 100 years old. I just went and watched the new Gretchen Wilson video for Jacked Up, and when drunk Gretchen got into her truck, I got all horrified. “Gretchen! WHAT KIND OF MESSAGE IS THAT SENDING TO THE CHILDREN!” Yep. 100 years old. Possibly even 101. * * * Things I purchased while in Maine (click on the small picture to see the larger version, if you’d like): This is a bird house – the birds are meant to go in and out through the ears – but I like it so much that I think I’m going to just keep it in the house. A Quarry Cat, which I collect. I didn’t have this one, though, so had to buy it! I should take a picture of all my Quarry Cats so I can keep track of which ones I already have. Egg Creatures. I collect these, too, and always buy some from the Hallmark at Cook’s Corner in Brunswick, Maine. When I first started buying them, they had only cats, but now they’ve apparently expanded the line. Bright yellow mixing bowls. Very “me”, don’t you think? Well, they’d probably be more “me” if I didn’t hate to cook. I was thrilled to find these, though, and still love them. A set of melamine mixing bowls I got at Macy’s for $20. All my mixing bowls are glass, and we have a stone kitchen floor, and I’d rather have mixing bowls that bounce when you drop them, than mixing bowls that shatter. Plus, I really like the colors of these bowls. I’ve seen this stone cat in catalogs for $50, but got it for $25! Score! Something about the position of the cat – the sitting up straight, the perked-up ears – reminds me more than a little of Mia. Right now it’s sitting by the fireplace, but I may put it out on the front step, or in the garden. I haven’t quite decided yet. I didn’t buy these – reader Marilyn sent them to me, and they crack me UP. Eggs with legs! Could there be anything funnier? I THINK NOT. Of course, I bought a lot more than that, but I didn’t think you needed to see the yellow sweat pants I bought in Macy’s Women for less than $5 (which I’d take credit for, but Debbie’s the one who spotted them and pointed them out to me. And they are MIGHTY comfy.), or the Finger Eleven cd, or the Lee Ann Womack Best Of cd (which I’ve been listening to nonstop since I got home), or the various and sundry magnets and stickers and stuff like that. I just hit the high spots. YOU’RE WELCOME. ]]>

* * * Attention: I got caught up on all my email last night. If you sent me an email and expected a response, send it again; either it didn’t make it to me, or I inadvertently overlooked it.

* * * You know what saying I don’t understand? “Go pound sand.” I understand that it’s similar to saying “Go fuck yourself”, but what does it MEAN? Why am I pounding sand? What am I pounding sand with? A hammer? A sledgehammer? Something bigger?? Is it that pounding sand is a useless activity, like running around in circles? Or does pounding sand cause pain? Anyone? * * * And while you’re at it, someone explain Gavin DeGraw’s song Chariot to me, would you? * * * Currently reading: We’re All in This Together, by Owen King. I’m about 100 pages in, and enjoying it. He definitely has his own voice, and I read an interview with him where he said that although he’s going into the “family business”, there are no horror or supernatural aspects to his writing. Which I like – truthfully, I love Stephen King more when there are no supernatural aspects to his writing. Read while in Maine and last week: Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress, by Susan Jane Gilman Double Whammy, by Carl Hiaasen (it was published 16 years ago, but it holds up well. Gotta love that Skink.) Hard Laughter, by Anne Lamott (I know a lot of people love and adore Anne Lamott and I’ll probably be strung from the nearest tree for such heresy, but I can take her or leave her, for the most part. I kept wanting to yell “Knock it off with the babbling and tell the fucking story!” when I was reading this book.) A Little Change of Face, by Lauren Baratz-Logsted Hush, by Anne Frasier Before the Cradle Falls, by James F. David (hated the ending) Tart, by Jody Gehrman (I enjoyed it while I was reading it, but it was apparently not very memorable, because I can’t for the life of me remember a single damn thing about it) 24 Hours, by Greg Iles (the first Greg Iles book I’ve read – and it makes me want to read more by him. Very compelling reading.) Cold Feet, by various authors, including Pamie. (I really liked this one – I read it in it’s entirety on the plane to Maine (but there was no rain) and it really made the time fly by.) The World According to Mimi Smartypants, by Mimi Smartypants I got a ton of reading done while I was in Maine. Which is odd, because I actually felt like I wasn’t reading as much as I usually do, since I had the laptop with me, and in my spare time wrote entries. Here’s something interesting I read, from page 156 of Hush, by Anne Frasier: Here’s a little-known fact: People who are getting close to snapping sometimes start wearing the color yellow. The brighter the color, the closer they are to snapping. Okay. GOOD TO KNOW. Do I even need to tell you what color I was wearing when I read that? * * * So, I got a ton of suggestions from y’all for what to use in closing my emails. My favorites: From Lisa: kthxBYE. I like this, because it’s kind of spazzy, like me. And if you’ve ever chatted with me, you’ll know (or maybe you didn’t notice, but I did) that upon saying goodbye, I don’t just say “Goodbye” and then leave. I say “I’ve gotta go.” Then I say “Talk to you later!” or “See you later!”. Then I say “Bye.” If I don’t get that last “Bye” in there, the parting process feels incomplete to me. BECAUSE I AM A DORK. From Lynne: I have a sign off for you. Feote (I shall pronounce it fee oh tay). It means Fucking End Of The Email. I like this because I could conceivably snow people that “Feote” is a Celtic (or Russian, or Japanese) word meaning something long and poetic. And from Linda: I spent quite a few years in the Navy (the Australian kind not the US!) and I spent two of those years on a ship. Whenever a “pipe” (announcement over the ships broadcast) of importance was made, the speaker (usually the Commanding Officer) would conclude with the phrase “That is all”. I think it would be a fitting and particulary dismissive tone for you to use. It is very final, don’t you think? I like that one because it is, in fact, very final and dismissive sounding. So, dilemma. I can’t decide which to use! I think I’ll try feote for a while and see how that feels. And if I’m feeling particularly spazzy, I’ll use kthxBYE, and if I’m feeling particularly dismissive I’ll use That is all. So, there. Dilemma solved. Thanks, y’all, for all your suggestions! * * * The final amount raised for the no-kill shelter is $2,194.71. Considering that my original goal was to raise $500, and then I raised it to $1,000, I think that’s an amazing total. I went ahead and took the donation page down, because the donations have pretty much stopped, though of course if anyone still wants to make a donation, email me and I’ll tell you how to donate directly to the shelter. Of course, if I receive any more checks in the mail I’ll pass them along and add them to the total. Thank you to everyone who donated for helping to raise so much money. It is more appreciated than I could ever tell you. I’m going to go drop the second batch of donations off this week. I was originally just going to put them in the mail, but I do like going to the shelter and being able to pick up random kittens who are wandering around and get some kitten snuggles. * * * When I was in Maine, Debbie and the spud and I went to the K-Mart in Auburn one night to look around. My feet started to hurt pretty quickly – new sandals – and Debbie and the spud were still busily looking around, so I bought the then-current version of People, and went out to sit in the car and read while I waited. When I came across this picture of Laura Bush, I became very amused, because that smile on her face – that’s a funny-looking smile, right there. It took a few minutes, but I realized that the look on her face in that picture reminded me very much of a picture I’d taken of Oy, and the expression on his face. Yes, I just compared the First Lady’s expression to a cat’s expression. You can’t deny the similarity! * * * Before I went on vacation, someone posted a comment asking how come I still take the birth control pill even though Fred’s been snipped. The answer is that because I like to be able to regulate my period. Which is perhaps not working quite so well, since in the last two quarters, my period started a good three weeks early just for the hell of it, but since I think I’m going to go back to having a period every month, or perhaps every two months, I shouldn’t have a problem with it. The last time I went without the birth control pill for any length of time – back in ’99 or 2000, I think it was – my period was both so incredibly erratic and amazingly LONG that it was a huge pain in the ass to deal with and I went back on the pill pretty quickly. On our insurance plan, we pay for our prescriptions up front and then submit a form to the insurance company for reimbursement of 80 percent of the cost of the prescription. I haven’t submitted the form to be reimbursed for the last batch of Seasonale I picked up, but I half expect that when I do, the insurance company will refuse to pay for it, since they’ve already paid for a permanent form of birth control. Which, by the way, cost us less than a year’s worth of birth control. Hmmm. I wonder if there’d be a lawsuit, if they refused to cover my birth control pills since they were happy to pay for most of the vasectomy. I could claim they were trying to stifle my sexual freedom, because what if I wanted to have an affair? (Let me just say: As IF.) Yeah, I bet that’d go over like a lead balloon, here in the Bible Belt. * * * The spud and I went to the pet store today to scoop ‘n feed, and I checked the list of adopted kittens, and was VERY pleased to see that Snoopy and Edgar were adopted together. Edgar, I may have mentioned 63,084 times, is the kitten I was most worried about. I’m glad he’s going to have his brother around to kick his ass and generally make his life miserable play with. ::sigh:: I MISS MY BABIES! * * * On Saturday, I went out back and cleaned out the birdbath. Fred was supposed to do that while I was gone, but apparently forgot to do so, because there was MOSS growing in there and it smelled horrific. I got it bleached out (usually I just scrub it with a scrubby sponge, but that wasn’t going to work this time around) and refilled, and came inside to do something (sit in front of the computer, I’m sure), and when I glanced out the window, Mister Boogers was rolling around in the puddle of water on the lawn. He’s such an odd cat – I thought cats hated to get wet, but he loves to go out and run around in the rain, and roll around in the wet grass. Luckily his Zapping Collar o’ Doom is water resistant. ]]>