10/24/05 – Bitchypoo

Hanne Blank‘s LiveJournal this weekend (EVERYONE has a LiveJournal, don’t they?), this entry (a very good one) in particular, and this paragraph made me want to stand up and cheer: (And if you feel the need to have any of those rants, or start foaming at the mouth about how superior you are to “people like that” because you’re “childfree,” take it somewhere else because I don’t want to hear it. If you want there to be someone around to wipe your ass and make sure you get your meds when you’re 93 and in the rest home, someone else is going to have to do the hard work of rearing some children, so quit your self-righteous bitching and be grateful that they’re doing so.) I suspect the spud is really looking forward to when Fred and I are old and decrepit, so she can pay us back for the torture we’ve inflicted on her in her youth. It’ll be great, ’til the first time she hides in the closet and jumps out at Fred to scare him (like he’s scared her so many times) and he clutches his heart and keels over dead.

* * * The other night I was telling Fred about an episode of Oprah I’d seen that day, the one with New York Jets wide receiver Laveranues Coles, (that first name is pronounced “Luh-VERN-ee-us”) talking about being molested from the ages of 10 to 13 by his stepfather. I was going on and on about what a brave move it was on his part, and that he seemed very uncomfortable talking about the subject and yet very determined to do so, when I noticed a smirk on Fred’s face. “You are NOT about to make a JOKE about this, are you?” I said indignantly. “Of course not!” he said. Then he smirked again. “I was just thinking that Lavernicus would be an excellent name.” The room was silent as we pondered what he’d said. “That makes me want to get pregnant and have a baby, just so I can name it Lavernicus,” I admitted. “That WOULD be an excellent name.” “We could name it Lavernicus Cholulabean*,” Fred suggested. And we laughed. But not at Laveranues Coles, who is an awesome guy. And, I assume, a really good baseball player. (Please note that the “baseball player” is a joke. I was KIDDING. Even I know there are no wide receivers in baseball. Plus, they put up about a thousand pictures of Laveranues Coles playing football on Oprah.) *Fred loves to put Cholula on his popcorn, on his red beans and rice – on just about everything, really. One evening he was saucing up his red beans and rice, and he said “Cholula would be an excellent name for a kid.” He paused and considered, and added “Cholulabean would be even better.” So next time we need to name foster kittens, chances are good that one of them is going to be named Cholulabean. Or Cholula Bean. Depends on the kitten, I suppose. * * * I think I’ve injured my shoulder. My RIGHT shoulder which also happens to be the shoulder that Fred’s having problems (ie, the one he had arthroscopic surgery on) with. He thinks I’m just having sympathy pains, because he’s afraid I’ll take all the painful-shoulder attention away from him.

Actually, I suspect that his shoulder is hurting more than mine – in fact, I can pretty much guarantee it – because the pain I’m having isn’t constant (actually, I don’t think his shoulder pain is constant either), and I can move my arm in all directions without being stopped by the pain. It really feels more sore than painful, as though I’d lifted weights heavier than usual. That also happens to be the side I sleep on most of the time. So this morning when I went to the pet store, my shoulder was already a little achy, and then I had to pick up a particularly heavy cat, and I felt a twinge in my shoulder, and it’s been aching ever since. I guess I should take some Advil and see if that helps, eh? Maybe if I’m really REALLY lucky, I’ll get to have arthroscopic surgery for my 38th birthday, and then Fred and I will have matching badass scars! (I bet not, though.) * * * The exterminator from a local pest control company is coming this afternoon to spray the outside of the house and the yard to get rid of those damn ants. We finally banished them from the kitten room (with the liberal use of duct tape, because we really ARE white-trash rednecks), and the very next morning the spud found a trail of ants in her bathroom.

We know when we’re beat. We spent the weekend getting rid of the ants in her bathroom (though there were never nearly as many in her bathroom as there were in the kitten room), and I haven’t seen a single ant since yesterday morning, but we’re still having the exterminator come. We’re also buying the yearly package, so that if they need to come back and spray inside the house, it’ll be included in the yearly package. Said yearly package will really come in handy next Spring when the kitchen ants start showing up again. You bet your ass that for the next year every time I see a single solitary ant in the house, I’ll be calling the exterminator. It’s kind of like having a lawyer on retainer, only classier. The exterminator will probably become a part of the family. I’ll have to invite him to the spud’s wedding and introduce him around. “Have you met Bob? He’s OUR EXTERMINATOR!”, and people will tremble in fear. Or, you know, not. * * * Last week it was sunny and in the 80s all week long and then, just like that, it’s not going to even get up to 60 today, and the overnight temperatures are dropping into the 30s. I expect we’ll get some more warm weather before it’s all said and done, but I think this is the beginning of the end of summer. I know y’all in the cold-weather states are feeling realllly sorry for me right now. * * * Someone mentioned in my comments that they wanted a certain picture on notecards, and since I am nothing but WONDERFUL to y’all, you can get those notecards here. As always, they’re marked up by a dollar, and all profits go to the cat shelter I volunteer (and foster) for. If you look in the sidebar, you’ll note that you can get Flossie swag, Tubby swag, Stupid swag (t-shirts with a picture of General Russel Honore and the words “Don’t get stuck on stupid”, or just a plain “Don’t get stuck on stupid” bumper sticker), and now Kitten swag. Like I’ve said before, if any of y’all see a picture you particularly like and would like to see on a t-shirt or mouse pad or whatever, just say the word. It only takes a few minutes to set up. * * * Sugarbutt, I am convinced, is the second coming of Tubby. He’s got the same barrel-chested bow-legged stance, and he’s a total pig. He’s figured out how to jump up onto the table, and from the table to the kitchen counters, where he can sniff around for something to eat. And when you’re eating, you need to keep a can of air handy, or he’ll just climb up into your plate and make himself at home. He sure is cute. And no, we’re still not keeping him (though Fred does, half-jokingly, keep saying that we should put Miz Poo to sleep so we can keep Sugarbutt. At least I THINK he’s joking…). If anyone’s seriously interested in adopting him, let me know and I’ll give you the number to the shelter, and you can discuss it with the shelter manager.