November 2006 – Bitchypoo

11/30/06

here. It took me HOURS to get that shit sorted out, pictures taken, and the auctions listed last night. By the time I was done, I didn’t give a shit if anyone bought anything, I just wanted to be DONE with it, thus the reason my auctions aren’t very inspired. “Pants. Gray pants. The drawstring is missing. THEY’RE PANTS. Here’s a picture. Buy them, don’t buy them, I don’t give a shit.” And as soon as I got everything listed, I get an email from someone. “What are the bust and length measurements on the size 4x and 5x clothes?” and I had to haul those clothes out and measure them. But what I really wanted to say was “If you wear size 4x and 5x clothes, these will fit you! If not, they won’t! GOOD CHRIST!” It’s a good thing I don’t sell shit on eBay for a living or anything.

* * * The Nebshit Game! 1. Have you ever written something in your journal/blog that you regret? There’s only one thing I can think of that I regret posting, and not because I actually regret posting it, but because it occurred to me after I’d posted it that it could be used against the person I wrote it about, so I took it down. 2. Do you check your referring links to see if someone is slamming you out there? I check referring links when I’m bored; I don’t really expect to find someone slamming me, but if I find a link to my site I haven’t seen before, I check it out. I HATE IT when a members-only forum links to my site and I can’t see what they’ve said about me (Racine Family Club, I’m looking at YOU), but I’m pretty sure most of the time it’s a “What sites do y’all like to read?” or “Check out this Crazy Cat Lady!” post, I’m sure. 3. If you see that someone is talking shit about you on their site, do you confront or ignore them? Back in the beginning days of my journal a board populated by dumbass high school students (not that all high school students are dumbasses; these ones were, though) saw a picture I’d posted and started making fun of me. It drove me NUTS, and I started posting on their forum and it was a big clusterfucked slapfight. I learned my lesson. These days if someone talks shit about me I do my best to ignore it. If they link to me whilst talking shit about me, I redirect those referrals to a nasty porn site and laaaaaaugh. 4. Have you ever written something in your journal/blog because you knew someone in particular would read it? Not that I remember, except for the occasional reminder to Fred. 5. What constitutes a trainwreck journal? Someone who makes the same mistake over and over again and can’t seem to figure out why they keep getting the same result each time. * * * Meme, stolen from somewhere (I don’t remember where, though.) 1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? Hot Chocolate. I’ll drink maybe a small cup of egg nog around the holiday season, but I’m not that crazy about it. 2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree? Santa wraps them, even though he considers it a huge pain and it takes hours and hours. 3. Colored lights on tree/house or white? I like both, but I don’t like it when people mix the kind of lights they have. They need to either have colored or white, not both. I’m lightist! 4. Do you hang mistletoe? No, but when I was a teenager, I had a headband with a fake piece of mistletoe on it, and I got a couple of kisses out of wearing it. 5. When do you put your decorations up? Whenever I get around to it, usually sometime after Thanksgiving. I’ll probably put everything up on Monday. 6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)? I really like the spinach/ artichoke dip Fred’s stepmother makes, and I really like the devilled eggs his sister makes. My favorite, though, would have to be sweet potato casserole. 7. Favorite Holiday memory as a child? I don’t know that I have one. 8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? I was embarrassingly old – 11 or 12 – and my cousin, who’s a year younger, told me that her mother had told her there was no Santa. I probably believed for so long because I was adamant that there was NO WAY my mother would spend that much money on all of us. It still amazes me that we got so much for Christmas, considering there were four kids and most of the time only one income. 9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? Fred and I open our gifts to each other on Christmas Eve, and the spud opens a bunch of her presents on Christmas Eve; otherwise we’d spend all of Christmas day sitting and watching her open presents. 10. How do you decorate your Christmas Tree? There’s no theme, unless it’s a cat theme. I just buy the ornaments I like and hang those and the ones I was given. I don’t use tinsel or a garland, just lights and ornaments. 11. Snow! Love it or Dread it? I’d love it if we got a couple of inches on Christmas every year. I don’t really dread snow anymore, because it never sticks around. 12. Can you ice skate? Once upon a time I could; I haven’t tried in years and years. I imagine I could if I had to. 13. Do you remember your favorite gift? Spanky! 14. What’s the most important thing about the Holidays for you? Spending time with family, relaxing, and adding to my book collection! 15. What is your favorite Holiday Dessert? I always have to have at least a taste of pumpkin pie. 16. What is your favorite holiday tradition? There was a time when I lived in Maine that we’d have Chinese food for dinner on Christmas Eve, hang out, and then open one present. I liked that. Nowadays, I like spending Christmas Eve with Fred’s family and then having Christmas day to ourselves. 17. What tops your tree? Uh. I can’t for the life of me remember. A plastic star, maybe? What I’d really like to have is a cat tree topper that isn’t ugly or froufy. If anyone’s seen a cute one, point me toward it. 18. Which do you prefer giving or getting? I love it when I get the perfect gift for someone and seeing their face when they open it. I’m partial to getting, though. I’m not a saint! 19. What is your favorite Christmas Song? This year it’s O Holy Night. A perennial favorite is Little Drummer Boy, because it makes me tear up (hush up, Nance. Heh!). 20. Candy Canes! Yuck or Yum? They’re pretty to decorate with and I’ll usually eat one each holiday season (or part of one), but I’m not addicted to them or anything. * * * I’m largely done with my Christmas shopping; I’ve bought for my side of the family, and Fred’s putting off buying for his side, plus I need to figure out what to get the spud (I asked her “What do you want for Christmas?” and she said “I don’t know”, which is always helpful), but the stuff that needs to be shipped to Maine has been ordered, and some of it has even arrived. Last night I fell asleep thinking about the presents that I needed to wrap, and ended up dreaming of my grandmother. Specifically that I got a call from my mother telling me that my grandmother was improving a great deal, that she was more lucid than she’d been in years, and that the doctors were certain she’d be able to go home in a matter of days. I woke up in a panic, thinking “I didn’t get anything for Gram for Christmas!”, and I thought “What did I get for her last year?”, and it took almost a full minute of hard thinking before I realized I hadn’t gotten anything for her last year and why. That’s really a bitch of a way to start the day. * * *

I might have to start a new series called “Miz Poo gets a snootful.” because that cat sniffs EVERYTHING. She’s always got her head up someone’s ass, sniffing wildly while they stand there with a great big cartoon question mark over their head. And what’s worse is that after she sniffs their ass, nine times out of ten, she hisses and smacks them. She is just evil, evil, evil. (Which is probably why I love her so.)

Who needs a tissue? All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2005: “Au contraire,” said the ringleader. “We found a SESAME SEED!” 2004: I give it two weeks before someone barfs on the new comforter. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: “What will I do now that I don’t have to clean dust off my ball?” 2000: I’ll just not think about that. 1999: When she came to a stop, she sat up and swayed back and forth, blinking sleepily up at me.]]>

11/29/06

All this talk about iTunes has me thinking about getting an MP3 player. I hate buying CDs since there is usually a couple of songs I really want and the price! So, I went on eBay and boy o boy I got confused. I was wondering if you or your lovely readers have any opinion on iPod vs. cheaper MP3 players. Is the iPod worth the extra money because of better sound or durability? Anyone who has a different, cheaper MP3 player – any suggestions as to brand thats worked out for you? Feel free to leave a comment on the subject!

* * * I am currently reading Case Histories, by Kate Atkinson, and liking it a lot. I was worried that I wouldn’t enjoy it all that much because the entire reason I bought it is that I saw it in the store, picked it up to look at it, and saw that there was a blurb on the front from Stephen King, who said that it’s the best book not of the month, not of the year, but of the entire decade. That’s an awful lot for a little book to live up to. And I’ve found over the years that books that Stephen King really likes, I’ll buy at his recommendation (not that he’s calling me up and saying “Robyn! OMG! You’ve GOTTA read this book, it’s amazing! LOL!” you understand, just that I’ve read his recommendation somewhere and decided to buy the book solely because of that) and read and when I’m done I’ll think “What the hell was he going on about? It wasn’t that great…” But I continue to buy the books he recommends because I’m helpless not to (it’s a sickness, I think. I’m a book hoarder! Just ask Nance!) even though I’ve come to realize that just because I like – even LOVE – a writer’s work, I’m not necessarily going to like the same books he or she likes. Jennifer Weiner loved Mrs. Kimble a few years ago, so I bought it and read it, and was kind of like “Yeah, it was okayyyy, but nothing to rave about.” But I can guarantee that next time she talks about how good a book was, I’ll be adding it to my wish list as fast as I can click over to Amazon. Anyway – I’m liking Case Histories, though it took me a while to get into it. * * * On my way into Huntsville last week for my thyroid uptake scan (which, as you may recall from yesterday’s entry, will probably lead to having my entire neck removed. MY ENTIRE NECK.), I passed a vet clinic on Governor’s Drive. On the sign outside, it said “Ticks and fleas can spread disease. We do laser surgery.” And I marveled at the idea that there is now apparently a laser surgery that vets can do that will take care of ticks and fleas. I wondered whether it just kills the ticks and fleas that a pet has on its person, or if it would repel ticks and fleas for a period of time, or how exactly did that work? They can do the most amazing things these days, can’t they? And then when I was having my thyroid uptake scan done, it dawned on me that the “Ticks and fleas can spread disease” and the “We do laser surgery” were probably unrelated to one another. D’oh! * * * On the way to… somewhere. At some point. Probably in the past, I’m guessing. I don’t know, I’m fast on my way to elderly and can’t remember when or where or how it was that I was driving down the highway, but I was. Driving down the highway. On my way to somewhere important, I’m sure. Anyway, in front of me was a big dump truck, and there was a huge sign on the back of the dump part exhorting me to stay a certain distance away from the dump truck because (I assume) when it’s loaded full of crap, something might fall out of the back part and hit my windshield and break it, and shards of glass might fly into my eyes and blind me, and I might spin out of control and fly over the embankment (there’s always an embankment in the most convenient places, isn’t there?), so I might just want to stay back a bit, mmmkay? So I stayed back far enough that I felt safe that anything flying out the back of the dump truck would just drop in front of me rather than hit my windshield (but after it hit the road in front of me, it’d crush the front of my car when I hit it, causing me to come to a sudden stop, causing my seatbelt to tighten, causing my windpipe to be crushed, causing instantaneous death, but hey. Better to die instantly than to be blind, behind the wheel of a car, headed for an embankment you can’t see but can sense is there, right?). And the dump truck was going straight and I was taking an exit and I took one last wary glance at the dump truck and saw that it had a bumper sticker that said “We are NOT responsible for broken windshields.” Oh REALLY? Is that how it works? Because you have the bumper sticker disavowing all responsibility for the broken windshield, you therefore are NOT responsible? So if you sloppily loaded big concrete chunks into your dump truck and drove too fast and hit a bump and a concrete chunk flew out of the back of your dump truck and hit my windshield, thereby breaking it, and I took you to court to get the money to have my windshield fixed (and the brown stain removed from my seat), all your lawyer would have to do is say “Your Honor, I’d like to produce Exhibit A, a picture of the back of the dump truck. As you can see, the bumper sticker CLEARLY states that Bob Driver is NOT responsible for broken windshields!” and the judge would bang his gavel and say “Case dismissed!”? I had no idea before now that bumper stickers are legal documents. Think of the fun you can have! I think I’ll get me a bumper sticker that says “You are legally required to pull over and hand over your keys, sign over your registration to me, and give me $500 in cash”, then position myself in front of a Porsche. I’ll let you know how that goes. * * *

Sugarbutt watches Spot and Tommy finish off the nightly snack.

Such a pretty boy.

“When I thinks about how much I hates you, it makes me make this face. It hurts, how much I hates you. PHYSICALLY PAINFUL.” All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2005: Perhaps I’ll make it my New Year’s Resolution to not fill my house with crap in 2006. 2004: Ever had one of those days when you just can’t remember the name of anything? 2003: No entry. 2002: I keep wanting to use the phrase “Sweet crappin’ Jesus!”, and just haven’t determined the right moment to do so. Maybe in the middle of sex? 2001: Her name is Brady James. 2000: If I knew whodunnit, I’d beat that $300 right out of his ass, the little bastard. 1999: They all tend to sound alike, you see, and hearing basically the same sound over and over ain’t the thrill at 31 that it is at 11.]]>

11/28/06

* * * Miz Catie has opened herself a store – go check it out! I actually squealed out loud when I saw she was offering kitty ornaments. Go! Shop! Buy!

* * * So Thanksgiving, I don’t think I mentioned, went quite well. We went over to Fred’s sister’s house, and their father and stepmother met us there, and we ate. This was the first year that the spud was the only kid around (Fred’s sister’s kids were having dinner at their other grandmother’s house) and she got to sit at the “big” table with us. Fred made a coconut cake (like this, only updated a little, so the frosting is made with cream cheese; I’ll update the recipe at some point in the future) and we brought a pumpkin pie. Fred’s sister’s husband made a dish of brussels sprouts and chestnuts, and though I can’t swear I’ve never had chestnuts in the past, this is the first time I know of that I’ve had them, and I thought they were FABULOUS. So we were sitting at the dinner table, and Fred’s sister’s husband started telling a story. Now, I think I’ve mentioned in the past that he’s French, and I think I’ve also mentioned that people with very thick accents make me feel stupid because sometimes I can’t understand them. Sometimes I can and sometimes I can’t and I doubt it’s got anything to do with them; I think it’s me. Anyway, he started telling a story and I thought to myself I do not understand one single word this man is saying. I wonder if anyone else understands him? And I looked around the table and saw a couple of looks on a couple of faces that indicated that perhaps I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t understand him. And then everyone but me burst into laughter. I guess I was the only one who couldn’t understand him. Then later, Fred couldn’t remember the story, so there’s apparently a REALLY FUNNY STORY floating around, and I don’t get to know what it was. DAMNIT. * * * So the story on the thyroid uptake scan is that the nurse at my doctor’s office called and said “We got the results from your thyroid uptake scan, and Dr. MyDoctor wants you to come in for some more labs.” And then she told me that the first available appointment Dr. MyDoctor had was next Monday morning. At my doctor’s office, if they want you to come in to have labwork done, you don’t generally need to see the doctor. But now I have an appointment to see my doctor. Where she will tell me that my thyroid is rotting away from some kind of toxic toxicity and they’ll need to remove my entire neck. Just when I was getting a neck back! I never HAD a neck before, and now they’re going to have to REMOVE it. And with MY luck, they’ll need – for medical reasons, of course – to graft it onto my ass. And you can all call me “Asshead” (LIKE YOU ALREADY DO), and be technically correct. Seriously, though, I’m thinking that if I was going to need my entire neck – MY ENTIRE NECK – removed, they would have squeezed me in before next Monday. I’m thinking the thyroid uptake scan showed nothing, or was inconclusive. WHATEVER. I’m over this medical shit. Stupid thyroid. * * * Oh yeah, and I promised I’d show y’all what I wore to Thanksgiving. This is it:

Fred said “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to seeing you in jeans” multiple times. I adore the holy hell out of that top, not least because it’s a size XL and I could probably fit into a size L. I got it at Cracker Barrel, and don’t none of y’all make fun of the fact that it’s got chickadees on it. It was comfy and warm, it fit, and Fred’s stepmother told me I looked nice.

What I DIDN’T wear to Thanksgiving. * * * Those of you who listen to Keith and the Girl, if they announce me as the winner of one of the KATG Nanos (check out my MySpace!) in the near future, let me know, will you? I’m about two weeks behind in my listening and if I won one of the Nanos (which I seriously doubt will happen) and didn’t know about it, I’d be severely ticked off at myself for getting so behind in my listening. * * * I went to the iTunes store to look for Christmas music the other day (I recently downloaded “River”, sung by Sarah McLachlin, to go with the version done by Robert Downey, Jr, and also downloaded the Michael Ball version while I was there) and I saw that Chris Isaak had a Christmas album out, and I went over to click on the album so I could see what songs he had on it, and GODDAMN if I didn’t accidentally click on “Buy album” instead, and that’s how I ended up with Chris Isaak’s Christmas album, even though I didn’t really want but one or two songs from it, DAMNIT. Now I’m down to a $5.50 credit on iTunes, which means that I’ve made a $50 iTunes gift card last all year long, which I think is really good. Tell me what Christmas songs I should download, and make it something good. I’ve only got $5.50 to spend, and I need to round out my Christmas song collection! * * *

“The stinkin’ little kittens are GONE! Woohoo!!!”

“Praise de lawd!”

Sugarbutt adores curling up in this basket. * * * Previously 2005: “Well, GODDAMN,” I said. “NOT NOW, I won’t! I was GOING to, but now that I know you’d be sitting there all horrified about me reclining my seat in front of your parents, all worried that they’d be thinking ‘Good christ, look at her over there, so fucking LAZY she can’t expend the ENERGY to sit upright!’, I won’t! I wouldn’t DREAM of reclining on my OWN couch in my OWN home, I would HATE to embarrass you!” 2004: What If? 2003: Fred’s sister nodded. “That’s what I figured.” 2002: I forgot that teenagers are, on the whole (though yours may be different, or at least pulling the wool over your eyes) bone idle. 2001: McAfee rocks. 2000: Recent purchases. 1999: I informed him that there was no way he was getting out of taking me to the emergency room for this.]]>

11/27/06

I’m a bit of a pyromaniac (really, who isn’t?), so my eyes twirled and glittered like Beavis’, and I had to restrain the urge to yell “Fire! Fire! Fire!”

We left the house around 4 on Friday – earlier than usual – because I had to box up the foster kittens and take them to the pet store. I didn’t want to, but it was that or adopt them, and like I’ve said in the recent past, ten cats running around the house is just too freakin’ many cats. Christina and Izzie adjusted pretty well to being put in a cage (though Christina gave me the “What the-? Lady, get over here and get me out of here!” look), but Meredith Grey didn’t care for the new situation at ALL, and immediately went to hide in the litter box. O’Malley seemed pretty calm, just stood and looked around at all the people walking by his cage. I know they’ll go to a good home, I know they’ll go to a good home, I know they’ll go to a good home… I thought this was supposed to be easier, the more I did it! (As of this morning, Christina and Izzie had been adopted, both by the same person, and O’Malley and Meredith Grey are still at the pet store. Naturally, I let them out to play first, and gave them lots of lurve.) Saturday we got up and going early, stopped for breakfast on the way to the house, and then when we got to the house, Fred headed back to the back fourty to start the BIG fire. There’s a big-ass pile of crap that was there when we bought the house, and we’ve hated seeing it back there and planned to burn it at some point. After our successful burning of the day before, Fred decided that the time had come.

I watched him start it burning and helpfully added a few things to the pile, then went off to do my own thing. My own thing, I’d decided the night before, was going to be to finish clearing out the ditch FINALLY, even if it took all day. It took close to all day, because this is what it looked like before:

For a couple of hours I went along the ditch, using the hedge trimmer to cut down the overgrown weeds and grass on the sides and bottom of the ditch then switching to the chainsaw to cut down the bigger bushes and saplings. Things were going well until I hit a particularly thick section of weeds while using the hedgehog and I came across the metal frame that had been holding the political sign I’d thrown away earlier, and it bent the goddamn motherfucking FUCKING FUCKING FUCKING blade of the hedge trimmer.

(Third from the top, on the left) I trudged out to the burn pile where Fred was reorganizing things, moving wood from one section to another, trying to get everything burned up. “Can you talk me through fixing this?” I asked, because I had bent the hedge trimmer blade before, and he’d had to take it apart somehow and hammer it straight. He talked for about three minutes straight about how it was going to take a couple of hours and I had to use the (something) to do the (something) and the (something something something something) and I finally just shook my head and walked away, saying “Nevermind.” I was going to give up and just say FUCK IT THE FUCKING DITCH CAN JUST FUCKING STAY OVERGROWN ASK ME IF I GIVE A FUCKING FUCK, but after a break and some kitty-petting*, I got my second wind and said FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING DITCH, YOU WILL NOT CONQUER ME, I WILL CONQUER YOU AND I WILL KICK YOUR OVERGROWN FUCKING ASS. So I went back to the ditch, and I used the chainsaw to cut down the rest of the overgrown weeds and saplings and then used the push mower to cut the grass growing along the sides and I kicked that ditch’s ASS. And after I kicked that ditch’s ass, I raked all the weeds and leaves into five big piles, and I burned three of those piles. AND THAT WILL TEACH THAT FUCKING DITCH TO GET ALL OVERGROWN AGAIN, DAMNIT.

Then I spent the rest of the afternoon raking the side yard and the other end of the ditch (the already-cleared section), and ended up with several fairly large piles of leaves. At one point I went back to check on Fred’s fire, and he pointed to the middle of the burn pile. “I don’t think this is going to burn,” he said. “Why’s that?” I asked. “Because it’s DIRT,” he said. “You are SHITTING me,” I said, and shook my head and then we cursed the names of the family who’d sold us the Smallville house, as we are wont to do at least once every weekend. Not only was there a huge pile of dirt in the burn pile (they were the ones who’d told us that it WAS a burn pile, it’s not like they told us they were tossing garbage out in a pile with no intention of burning it), there was wire fencing, big pieces of tin, and various and sundry other things that – at least on OUR planet – aren’t known for burning easily. Or at all. We didn’t leave the house ’til 5:30 on Saturday (I usually prefer to leave by 5 at the latest), and when I got home I realized I smelled very strongly of smoke, so I hopped into the shower, put on my way-oversized sweatsuit, and spent the evening on the couch ignoring the movie Fred was watching (Slither) and reading. Sunday we left for Smallville fairly early again, and again spent most of the day burning shit, which is starting to be my favorite way to spend a day in Smallville. Fred got the big burn pile going again and I started burning the rest of the piles I’d made the day before. I think I had four piles going at once, but I was keeping a close eye on them, and had the hose close at hand, and they burned down nicely.

I spent the rest of the day doing various things – checking on Fred’s fire, raking leaves over by the house (and burning them), painting a door inside the house, and painting the cat house.

Okay, so it’s not the most gorgeous, professionally done house. Someone report us to Ty! Not badly built for a man who’d never built anything before AND didn’t have a table saw, and not badly painted for someone who’d never painted before we bought this house, I think. (It’s not the finished finished product, actually – I need to put a second coat on it, and sand down the edges of the roof.) It serves its purpose nicely, though, and Maxi and Newt seem to really like it. We left Smallville a little after 3:00, because we’d run out of things to do outside and we’d been working hard all weekend, so decided that we deserved a bit of a break. And that was our exciting weekend! *Not a euphemism for sex. * * * Oh, and the spud’s surgery went just fine on Wednesday. I finally understand why it is that Fred always laughs at me when I’m in Recovery and they bring him back to see me. Because I was sitting by the spud’s bed after she’d had surgery and I’d ask her a question and there’d be silence… silence… silence… silence… and I’d decide she’d gone to sleep when she’d answer my question. “Spud? Do you want some more apple juice?” Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. “Yeah….” She didn’t have much pain (in fact, I think she only took the one hydrocodone from the prescription the doctor gave us because both Fred and I told her she should before she went to sleep that night), and she was fine at Thanksgiving the next day, and what’d she do Friday? Went SHOPPING. I guess we’ll save that hydrocodone for a rainy day (ie: it’ll sit in the cupboard for a couple of years until I clean out the cupboard, note the date the prescription was filled, and toss it). * * *

Evil Momma Maxi kicks Newt’s butt. She does that a lot.

Fred has taken to calling Maxi “Mom Cullen” because she looks and sounds so much like Tommy.

***************************************

“Bob! Hey BOB! I hear you’re the guy to know!”

* * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: You were always what I needed. I thought you always would be. 2002: Then I snorted. “But *I* am not going to do ANYTHING with the turkey, ’cause it’s not MY job!” 2001: Thankyajeezus for hooking me up with a geek. 2000: I’m going crazy with wanting you, and crazier still to know that I can never have you. 1999: spud: Momma let her go into heat!]]>

11/22/06

THIS is what life was really like in the Kennedy household and in his and Carolyn’s marriage? And for the love of god, WHY do I always put those damn books on my wish list? WHYYYYY? I’m not even that Kennedy-obsessed, but I read the description and next thing I know, I’ve added to my too-damn-long wish list. It’s an illness, is what it is.

* * * The Nebshit Game! 1. What is your favorite food served at Thanksgiving dinner? It’s a tie between the sweet potato casserole (which we’re bringing this year) and the cranberry sauce. What can I say? I like the sweet stuff! 2. Do you call it stuffing or dressing? I think there’s actually a difference between stuffing and dressing – the dressing I’ve had in the south is vastly different than the stuffing I had in Maine. I much prefer stuffing to dressing, but shhh. Don’t tell Fred! 3. What time do you normally eat the big meal? I think around noon or a little later. I’d prefer to do it around two or three in the afternoon, but no one asks me. 4. Do you have it at your house or go somewhere else? This year we’re going to Fred’s sister’s house – we’ve done that for the past several years. Next year, we’re doing it at our house, since we’ll be in the Smallville house. 5. Do you dress up or decorate the table in a special way? I wore the same blue turtleneck sweater several years in a row. It’s too big for me now, so I’ll be wearing the off-white fleece sweater I bought at Cracker Barrel. I’ll try to get a picture of it for y’all. * * * I was up way too freakin’ early yesterday morning, because I had to drive to the other side of Huntsville to the Medical Mall (it’s an old mall they turned into a medical center. It’s kind of neat, actually.) for my thyroid uptake scan. You may recall that I had an ultrasound of my thyroid over the summer, and eventually plodded along to the conclusion that they wanted to have a thyroid uptake scan done because… who the fuck knows? I didn’t ask. That’s going to be on my tombstone, I’m sure. She didn’t ask. I suspect the results will be “Uh.. yep. She has a multi-nodular goiter and should be on thyroid hormones.” which I’ve known pretty much since I was about thirteen. Anyway, I got to the Medical Mall about fifteen minutes before they’d told me to be there. I checked in at the information desk, sat in the Imaging Center waiting room for half an hour or so (not that I’m complaining – I got quite a bit of reading done), and then the tech (I assume she was some kind of tech. Who the fuck knows? I just do what I’m told. She didn’t ask, and she just did as she was told.)) came out, handed me a glass tube and a cup of water. In the glass tube was a pill. I took the pill with a mouthful of water, and then found to my displeasure that I was supposed to leave and come back at 2:30. The scan would take about half an hour, and THEN I was going to have to come back this morning for something that would take about five minutes. Oh, by the way – while I was sitting in the waiting room and man and his wife were on the other side of the room, facing me, and I glanced up in time to see him take a swig of barium and I was instantly transported back to when I had my MRI and I had to drink TWO big-ass containers of barium, and I was reminded of how barium tastes exactly like (I imagine) liquid plastic crossed with boiled asshole with a soupcon of dirty feet sprinkled in, and I GAGGED, and then coughed loudly to cover the gag (I don’t think anyone in the waiting room was fooled), and had to move to the other end of the waiting room so he and his barium weren’t in my line of sight. Barium scars a motherfucker for life. Ugh. Three trips to the other side of Huntsville in the space of 24 hours. JOY. I left, stopping at the pet store on the way home so I could buy more useless crap that we don’t need, along with a heated cat bed to put in the cat house Fred is making for Maxi and Newt, who we’re referring to as our “country cats” these days. (Side note: Those of you who read Fred’s entry for yesterday will note that he made a joke about the saltiness of our country cats. This harkens back to when Nance and Rick were here and we took them to our favorite little country restaurant. On the menu was listed “city ham”, and since we didn’t know the difference between city ham and country ham, we asked the waitress. She eyed us for a moment and then said “Country ham is saltier.” She paused for a moment, considering, and opened her mouth. We all leaned forward, waiting for the nugget of wisdom she was about to impart, and she repeated “Country ham is saltier.” and looked at us, satisfied that she’d answered THAT question to the full extent of her ability. On Saturday when Fred referred to Maxi and Newt as our “country cats”, I said “I wonder if they’re saltier than our city cats?” Fred is a THIEF who never EVER credits me for anything, the bastard.) At home I ate breakfast, cleared some crap off my desk, and then watched TV while leafing through various and sundry magazines. I left the house a little before 2:00, and was back at the Medical Mall with plenty of time to spare. The tech took me back almost exactly at 2:00, had me lay on the table while she did what I assume was the thyroid uptake scan (again, didn’t ask. I assumed she knew what she was doing.) It was very similar to the MRI I had done… whenever the hell I had that done. I don’t even remember what the hell I had the MRI done FOR, for crying out loud. Anyway, it did take about half an hour, and she let me go with a reminder to come back in the morning at 8:45. I’m sure they’ll be wanting to take my thyroid out next. Are there any organs they’re planning to leave intact, ya think? I have a uterus I’m willing to sell to the highest bidder! * * * Oh, and not only do I get to go back to the other side of Huntsville this morning, but later this morning I get to take the spud to the surgery center for a Pilonidal Cystectomy. The day before Thanksgiving. Lucky kid. * * * The foster kittens love love LOVE hanging out in the spud’s room. I don’t know if it’s ’cause there’s more fun junk to play with or because it’s warmer in there than in the rest of the house or what, but nine times out of ten if I go looking for them I’ll find at least two if not all four of them lolling about on the floor. The thing that’s wrecking my nerves about these kittens is that the girls are all very hissy. They’ll walk around and hiss and growl and hiss and growl, and between them, Sugarbutt, and Mister Boogers, someone’s always hissing and/ or growling and it’s very distracting and makes me want to scream. Good for them they’re so cute, I s’pose.

On ur desk slurping ur water (and about to take flight).

Sunshine gives Meredith Grey the Crazy Eyes.

O’Malley is snuggled up to The Daddy and feeling quite smug about it.

“That is MY DADDY! Get away from him!” (Sugarbutt, not a kitten fan.) More kitty pics here. * * * Previously 2005: But I could manage a paper cut/ in the name of love 2004: “Oh, my heart,” I moaned. 2003: This perpetually surprised look of Michael Jackson’s makes me laugh until I wheeze. 2002: “YES, JESUS CHRIST! I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS GOING TO BE SUCH A FRIGGIN’ BIG DEAL!” I bellowed. “I NEEDED TO BE AT MY COMPUTER, BECAUSE THAT’S WHERE THE PHONE NUMBER WAS! JESUS!” 2001: No entry. 2000: I’ve visited Wal-Mart three times in the last five days. I think they’re about to name a parking space after me. 1999: F: In Michigan, you can take this bottle to the recycling center and get ten cents for it.]]>

11/21/06

This bus wasn’t from the Spud’s school, and we don’t know any of the kids who were on the bus. Keep those poor kids and their families in your thoughts, if you would, though.

* * * Reader Aly pointed out that BobPod needs a Christmas present. It’s adorable, but BobPod is NOT getting a $100+ present this year. He’ll be lucky if he gets a $5 silicon cover. His needs are few – the occasional recharge, a regular update, a warm pocket in which to rest – and I think he’s spoiled quite enough already. * * * I came to the conclusion yesterday while the foster kitties were out running around and making Mister Boogers and Sugarbutt hiss hysterically, that I can handle six cats running around the house all the time. But ten? No. Ten is TOO GODDAMN MANY. Especially when you’re trying to spend the morning making dinner for the next couple of nights, and cats are gathered around you, begging for just one little piece of chicken, lady! O’Malley (who Fred is already calling “George”) is far and away the friendliest of the foster kitties. He’ll follow you around, howl up at you, and rub against your legs. They’re all cute, but Fred is most taken with George. “Do you want to trade in Spot, or Miz Poo?” Fred asked yesterday. “Neither.” “Well, we can’t have SEVEN cats!” Right. Because six is perfectly normal, but SEVEN would be lunacy. * * * Speaking of cats, Fred has come to the conclusion that Maxi and Newt have decided that they belong to us. I was changing clothes in the kitchen of the Smallville house (what? Where do YOU change your clothes? The bedroom? BORING.) before we left on Sunday, and he came in, all excited. “They’re home!” he said. “Who is?” “Our kitties!” “What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked, wondering if perhaps Mister Boogers and Spanky had hiked to Smallville to see just what the hell we were doing that was taking us away from home so many hours of so many days, and causing us to smell of strange pussy when we got home. “Come see!” he said, and I pulled on my shirt and followed him to the front of the house. He opened the door and walked onto the front porch. “They brought us a present!” he said proudly, gesturing toward one corner of the porch. Next to the door, Maxi and Newt chowed hungrily on the plate of canned cat food I’d put out for them a few minutes earlier (we give them a can of cat food before we leave for the evening because we DO NOT want them to starve to death in the 20 to 48 hours until we’re there again). In the corner of the porch was a dead rat. “Ohhhh, lovely,” I groaned. Now that they prefer the food and lodging on our front porch to that of the people down the street, this means they’ll be bringing all kinds of love offerings for us and leaving them on the porch for us. Did I mention that my sister’s cats left an EYEBALL from god knows what kind of animal for her on her front porch a few weeks ago? I suppose that in the future when I write about the sixteen rats, three birds, and twelve crickets Maxi and Newt bring us in the space of a few hours, y’all will just say “That’s what happens when you live in the country!”, won’t you? * * * Speaking of cats (and apparently this entry’s going to be All! Cats!, you lucky people), when we got home from Smallville on Saturday, I had a bag of dirty clothes to wash (we keep clothes out there to wear while we’re working on the house so we don’t get our regular clothes nasty), and one of Fred’s shirts smelled strongly of cedar. Tommy broke into the bag so he could pull out the offending item of clothing and rub all over it. Does anyone else’s cat get high off the smell of cedar? * * * I recently made two new recipes that we liked enough to keep: Chicken and Black Bean Chilaquiles Stove Top Easy Chicken Bake Fred liked the Chilaquiles more than I did, and I liked the Chicken Bake more than he did. Both are definitely worth keeping, though. * * * I watched the episode of Oprah where she was on the set of Grey’s Anatomy, and there were parties going on at bars in Chicago, Seattle, and New York, which was part of the show. After I watched the show, I called Fred. “I’m feeling very jealous and bitter right now,” I told him. “Why’s that?” “Because fucking OPRAH had a show with the cast of Grey’s Anatomy* and there were parties in Chicago, New York, and Seattle, hosted by Gayle, Lisa Ling, and Nate, and everyone who was at the parties got FREE VIDEO iPODS from Best Buy!” “Huh.” “Those fuckers! Where the fuck is MY free video iPod?” “You don’t need a video iPod,” Fred said. “YES I DO. I need to keep up with Grey’s Anatomy just as much as those fuckers in New York, Seattle and Chicago do! What, just because I’m in the SOUTH means I don’t need one of them thar newfangled EEElectronic DEvices? Fuckers.” “They’re bastards,” Fred said, clearly hoping to get off the phone. “I hate Oprah**,” I said. “I’m sure you do.” *Not enough TR Knight. The WHOLE SHOW should have been a George-centric show. **Except I don’t really. Damn her. WHERE is my video iPod, Oprah? Where’s the love? I want to lay in bed and fall asleep to the sounds of George’s excellent one-liners! How come I don’t get to hear George say “I can’t hear you when his hand is on your boob” as I fall asleep, giggling quietly? I HATE YOU, OPRAH. Except I don’t. DAMN YOU. * * *

Christina does her flying nun impression.

O’Malley in mid-complaint. More kitty pics, here. * * *

She sees what you’re doing, and insists that you stop IMMEDIATELY. Pervert. * * * Previously 2005: Every time I contemplate reading those books, I get a “Good god, I DON’T WANNA!” sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, which to me is a sign that, y’know, I DON’T WANNA and YOU CAN’T MAKE ME. 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: Fuck him, too. 2001: It don’t get any better than that, nosir. 2000: I see enough nasty stuff in my life. 1999: No entry.]]>

11/20/06

Edited to add: This bus wasn’t from the Spud’s school, and I don’t think we know any of the kids who were on the bus. Keep those poor kids and their families in your thoughts, if you would, though.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who’s donated so far! The rest of you – get to donating! Whatcha waiting for? You can donate to the shelter directly via PayPal now, too. * * * Meme, stolen from LL. How many keys are on your keychain? Oh… four. Car key, PO Box key, key to this house, key to the Smallville house. What curse word do you use the most? Depends on the day. “Fuck” is a perennial favorite, and “goddamn” has been getting a lot of use lately. Do you own an iPod? Yes, a refurbished iPod Mini. His name is BobPod, and the entertainment he’s provided – in the form of Keith and the Girl podcasts – while I work on the Smallville house makes him well worth the money. What time is your alarm clock set for? It’s not; Fred is my alarm clock. How many suitcases do you own? I don’t know, and I’m too lazy to go upstairs and look. Somewhere between five and ten, I’d guess. Do you wear flip-flops even when it’s cold outside? I don’t wear flip-flops, period. I can’t stand things between my toes. Would you rather take the picture or be in the picture? Take the picture! What was the last movie you watched? We watched Accepted Friday night (stupid, predictable movie, but entertaining). Before that, I watched about 10 minutes of The Da Vinci Code and decided I didn’t like it. What CD is currently in your CD player? There Goes Your Heart, by Caprice (aka, Chemda from Keith and the Girl). I’ve been listening to it nonstop, because the FRIGGIN’ radio stations are playing CHRISTMAS SONGS, and I refuse to listen to Christmas music until the day after Thanksgiving. Has anyone told you a secret this week? Yes. What did you have for dinner last night? The Shoney’s salad bar and buffet. Eh. Do you wear hoodies often? I wear hoodies pretty much never. Can you whistle? Not worth a damn. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone? Either Fred or the spud, I don’t remember which. What is your favorite ride at an amusement park? The pirate ship! Do you think people talk about you behind your back? I think that if they do, they must be very, very bored. With the whole wide internet out there, they’re going to talk about me? They need a life. What area code are you in? 256. What is your biggest regret? I can’t say. Well, that’s wrong – I won’t say. What movie do you know every line to? None, but Clerks comes pretty close (Clerks 2 comes out next week! Woohoo!) When was your last plane ride? When I went to Maine in July. How many chairs are at your dining room table? Four, though we really only use three. Can you speak any languages other than English? Unfortunately, no. I’ve considered taking a Spanish class, though. What color are your bedroom walls? Grayish-blue. When was the last time you cried? I don’t remember – it’s been a while, I guess. Maybe when we were watching the end of Season 2 of Grey’s Anatomy and the thing with the guy happened and Izzie was there in her pretty pink dress. (I don’t want to spoil it for anyone who hasn’t seen it yet) Do you have a desktop computer or a laptop? Both, but the laptop doesn’t get much use, because it’s a huge, heavy beast of a laptop and I don’t like carrying it around. Which do you make: wishes or plans? I make plans that never come to fruition, which I think makes them wishes. Can you skip rocks? I haven’t tried in years, but last time I did, I was able to skip about every third or fourth rock. Who was your favorite teacher? Mr. Hall. He was fun-nay. What two personality traits attract you most? Sense of humor and the willingness to see humor in situations where others might not see it. What two personality traits do you most dislike? Lack of sense of humor, and… I don’t know. Are annoying habits a personality trait? Because people cracking their knuckles sends me into a blind rage. What is your mother’s hometown? Brunswick, Maine. How many hours of sleep do you need to function? I can get by for a week or so on five or six hours, but I really prefer to get 8 to 9. Do you eat breakfast daily? Almost every day, yes. Describe your typical weekday with three adjectives. Depends on the day. Some days are harried, hurried, rushed, and others are slow, relaxing, nap-filled. Did you ever get in trouble for talking in class? No. It would have been more likely that I’d get in trouble for NOT talking in class (ie, participating). What is your favorite fruit? It’s a tie between strawberries and blueberries. Do you believe in life on other planets? I do. Who was the last person to piss you off? I’m sure it was Fred. Lucky for HIM I get over being pissed off pretty quickly. What do you tell yourself when times get hard? “This won’t last.” Would you ever sky dive? Absolutely! Do you sleep on your side, tummy, or back? I sleep almost exclusively on my right side. I used to sleep on my stomach, only I CANNOT sleep on my stomach anymore because it makes my back hurt. I miss sleeping on my stomach. What character from a movie most reminds you of yourself? I’d like to say Randall from Clerks, but I think I’m probably more Dante. What movie character reminds YOU of me? (BE NICE!) Have you ever bid for something on ebay? All the time, though not much recently. Do you enjoy giving hugs? Depends on the person. Would you consider yourself to be fashionable? Hahahahahahahahahahaha! Ha! Heh! Uh. NO. Does it annoy you when someone says they’ll call but never do? No, I consider it a gift. What books, if any, have made you cry? God-Shaped Hole, for one. I cried at the end of Lisey’s Story. I tear up at the end of a lot of books because I don’t want them to be over. Do you think you’re attractive? ::blush:: SHUT UP. What are you allergic to? Nothing that I’m aware of. If you were born the opposite sex, what would your name have been? Oh, crap. I know the answer to this… I just can’t think of what it is. I’ll let y’all know if it comes to mind. * * * I left the Smallville house early on Friday so I could go to the shelter and pick up… our new fosters! See if you can guess which TV show our naming theme came from.

O’Malley. He’s like a miniature Sugarbutt, though friendlier. I think Fred might try to get me to give Sugarbutt up and keep O’Malley. Which is SO not happening, for the record.

Christina. I love her markings, and her bright pink nose.

Izzie. She has a cool orange ring around her tail.

Meredith Grey. She’s a total mix between Mr. Fancypants and Mister Boogers. Miz BoogerPants, maybe? All the cats are very, very sweet and friendly, and total love bugs. Their story is that they were strays who showed up at a woman’s house two months ago, and she’s been feeding them since. They were so clean and well cared-for that it’s possible the woman was letting them stay in her house, I don’t know. They’re somewhere between 4 and 5 months, and they’ll be going to the pet store on Friday, so they won’t be ours for long. You KNOW they’ll be showered with love as long as we have them, though! (A few more pictures of them are here) * * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: “I JUST SAID THAT!” 2002: At least it knocked Johnny Poopoopants out of the loop. 2001: How the hell can you cheat on Survivor, for the love o’ god? 2000: Oh, you’re giving us the COT free of charge? Well, let me do a friggin’ happy dance for that!” 1999: No, I’m the same old awful, lazy, horrid person I always was]]>

11/17/06

Thank you to everyone who’s donated so far! The rest of you – get to donating! Whatcha waiting for? You can donate to the shelter directly via PayPal now, too.

* * * Every time I go to type in “livejournal”, it comes out as “liverjournal” instead. Now THAT would be a fascinating journal, wouldn’t it? 11/16/06 Today I processed some Tylenol. I told her she wasn’t supposed to be taking Tylenol because it makes Me work too hard and I am a fragile organ, but the bitch never listens to Me. I think I’ll turn dark-gray and make her start having diarrhea just to fuck with the bitch. * * * Questions and comments, answered: You know what I found the funniest thing about your day. That you actually RANG your husband from outside the house. LOL! What, I’m supposed to go inside and get him? That’s WAY too much effort for me! I’ve actually been known to call him on his cell phone when we’re both inside the house, me upstairs and he downstairs, just to ask him a question or remind him of something. * * * Here’s a random question (that you’ve probably addressed before, but in the years I’ve read, I don’t think I’ve seen): We know how you & The Spud came to AL to be with Fred, but I’m curious to know if Fred is originally from Alabama? And if so, does he speak with a southern twang? Obviously I’ve never spoken to him, but from his pictures he doesn’t look like someone who speaks with a drawl. Fred’s lived in Alabama his entire life, bouncing back and forth between Huntsville (where his Dad lives) and Decatur (where his Mom used to live). He does have a slight Southern accent, but he decided as a child that he didn’t want to have a strong drawl, so he trained himself to talk without one – or mostly without one, actually. * * * Do the kitties wander up and down the steps as the sun moves? That’d be too funny if they did. No, that’s too much effort for them. They’ll flop down in the biggest sun puddle and fall asleep, but if they wake up and are no longer in the sun, they’ll go climb in a cat bed or up onto my desk to fall back asleep. * * * Isn’t Lisb0n High School where Stephen King graduated? I played basketball in high school and remember traveling to LHS for games and seeing/hearing that somewhere. Yep, Stephen King is a Lisb0n High School graduate. In fact, several of my high school teachers went to school with him, and although probably none of them ever gave him a second look while they were actually IN high school with him, they’d talk about him to us like they were his best friends. * * * I like your new t-shirt but it seems to me that it would be more accurate if it said that the world was annoying YOU, one idiot at a time…. thus necessitating your move to the country, and the way you hate to stand in checkout lines, and all the other ways the public pisses you (and me) off. If I ever see a “World, you’re pissing me off, one dumbass at a time” t-shirt, I very well might have to buy it. * * * I think I mentioned that I listen to my iPod while I’m working at the Smallville house. I’m doing my best to get caught up on Keith and the Girl podcasts, though I seem to be falling further and further behind, despite the fact that I usually listen to several hours on Saturdays and Sundays. The Girl – Chemda – briefly had a song popular in the clubs a few years back. Her “club name” was Caprice, and at the end of one of the podcasts, they played her song. I liked it a lot, and immediately came home to download the song. Except it wasn’t available on iTunes, and I couldn’t find anyplace online to download it. Finally, I thought to look on eBay, and found the CD for sale with something like seven versions of the one song. I bought it for a couple of dollars, and when it arrived I immediately took it out to my car so I could listen to it while I was doing errands. I LOVE that freakin’ song. LOVE IT. I listen to at least one version every time I drive anywhere, and just can’t get enough of it. Another song brought to me by Keith and the Girl (one that’s actually available in the iTunes store) is Summertime, sung by Brother Love. That’s another one I’ve started to really like – every time I open iTunes, I listen to it at least once. (In fact, I just went and started it playing. And now I’m wondering why I have not one, not two, but THREE versions of Britney Spears’ Me Against the Music. What the hell?) Anyway, I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again – if you’re looking for an entertaining podcast, I recommend Keith and the Girl. * * * I’m so not looking forward to tomorrow. We’ve got a guy coming out to leave a dump truck in our driveway (I always mistype “driveway” as “driveaway” and have to go back and fix it. Grrrr.), and we’re going to spend the day loading up all the shit laying on the ~~driveaway~~ driveway into the dump truck, along with things like the carpets from the upstairs rooms and whatever bushes I can get cut down before the guy comes to take the dump truck to the dump. I suspect that, come Sunday morning, I’m going to be one hurting motherfucker. At least my hip is feeling better. It was feeling much better yesterday morning when I woke up, though it still hurt a little. I was pretty relieved, because I’d decided I had (a) Rapid Onset Hip Cancer, (b) Rapid Onset Hip Arthritis, or (c) A Broken Hip (broken in a way that apparently didn’t involve falling in any way). Apparently what it really was was (d) A Pulled Muscle, Dumbass. Who, me? A hypochondriac? Right. Like YOUR mind doesn’t immediately go to the Big C whenever you’re having the slightest bit of pain. Here’s Doctor Robyn’s list of diagnoses. Who needs to get dressed and go to the doctor’s office? Headache? Brain tumor. Blurred vision? Brain tumor. Diarrhea? Ass cancer. Constipation? Ass cancer. Tar-like poo? Ass cancer. Normal poo? Ass cancer. Back pain? Spinal cancer. Coughing? No, that’s not cat hair caught in your throat. That’s throat cancer. Wrist pain? Ankle pain? Leg or arm pain? Bone cancer. Aching tailbone? Tailbone cancer. Ringing in your ears? Ear cancer. Frizzy hair? Flat hair? Curly hair? Hair cancer. That’ll be a hundred dollars, please. Don’t make me send the bill collectors after you! * * *

With all the comfy cat beds spread throughout the house, why NOT sleep on a hard, cold mantel?

Brudderly love. All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2005: Cat hair on the seat of your pants! It’s the Next Big Thing! 2004: Do you suppose that cats realize that when we kiss them, it’s a sign of affection? 2003: NAS-TAY. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: Thanks, y’all, for your emails regarding hamster sex. 1999: So, I didn’t get the kitten.]]>

11/16/06

Thank you to everyone who’s donated so far! The rest of you – get to donating! Whatcha waiting for? You can donate to the shelter directly via PayPal now, too.

* * * Who knew y’all would get so excited about the whole thing/ think thing? Here’s another one for you – is it “toe the line” or “tow the line”? I haven’t googled it yet, but each kind of makes sense to me. I’ve always thought it was “toe the line”, but like I said – I haven’t googled it, so I’m not sure. Discuss. * * * Last night Fred and I were watching a showed we’d DVR’d called Space Station, which is the first live High Definition broadcast from space. When I say “we” were watching it, what I mean is that Fred was watching it and I was leafing through a magazine while glancing up at the TV every now and then. Finally my tailbone started hurting (the physical therapist can say whatever she wants; I still contend that it hurts when I’ve been sitting for too long because I don’t have as much padding back there as I used to) and my hip began aching, so I put down my magazine and tipped over onto my side to relieve the pain. The astronaut who was giving the tour of the space station pulled some.. something out of… somewhere, and the interviewer said “What did you say the temperature in the freezer is?”, and the astronaut said “About negative one hundred degrees. Celsius.” “What’s that in Fahrenheit?” I asked Fred, knowing that he’d know because he’s a geek extraordinaire. He thought for a moment. “Two hundred and twelve because” and then I don’t know what else he said, because I stopped listening since I didn’t really need an explanation behind the answer. “Wait,” I said. “Wasn’t there a book called Two Twelve Fahrenheit?” He guffawed. “Fahrenheit 451,” he corrected. “That’s the temperature at which my eyeballs explode from the hate rays you’re sending me right now*.” For the rest of the evening, he’d suddenly start giggling and then say “Two Twelve Fahrenheit!” He’s such a know-it-all motherfucker. *Or maybe he said something about paper burning. Who the fucks knows? * * * Currently reading: The Devil in the Junior League, by Linda Francis Lee. So far, it’s pretty good. Recently finished: Murder Plays House, by Ayelet Waldman. I think this was my favorite Mommy Track mystery so far. Finished before that: Motor Mouth, by Janet Evanovich. Eh. I just really don’t seem to care for this particular series. I love the Stephanie Plum series, but the Barnaby series just kind of bores me, I don’t know why. * * * Let’s playyyyyyyyyy… the Nebshit Game! 1. It’s November, 1982 – where are you and what are you doing? In November 1982 I was a Freshman in high school, so I was probably sitting on my ass in my bedroom not doing very much! 2. Who was your favorite singer/band from the 80’s? Bryan Adams. Ohhhhh, how I LURRRRVED Bryan Adams. I actually even saw him in concert with… Rick Springfield? Corey Hart? I don’t remember the headlining act, just that I was there for Bryan Adams. I loved Bryan Adams right up until he released Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman, and then I said “Eh. There’s gotta be something better out there…” 3. What was your favorite music video from the 80’s? Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, Cyndi Lauper. That Cyndi Lauper was adorable. 4. What was your favorite item of clothing from the 80’s? I didn’t have a single favorite piece of clothing, but for a while there I had shirts and matching socks in all the colors of the neon rainbow. I look back fondly upon those shirts for some reason. Also, I had a Billy Joel sweatshirt from a concert I attended. I wore that thing ’til it fell to pieces. 5. Did you have big hair and wear black eye-liner? Hell yeah I did. Here’s proof of the big hair, if not the black eyeliner:

* * *

“BOB! Hey, Bob! Where the hell’s my ‘nip? You promised I’d have it an hour ago!”

“Don’t call me an addict, dude! I like a little catnip now and then! A snort or two to mellow me out, and then a snort or two to wake me up! That’s all! I’m not addicted! I can stop whenever I want!” * * * Previously 2005: Elizabeth Wurtzel strikes me as spectacularly self-absorbed (pot! kettle! black!) 2004: Stuff I’ve bought. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: “Hey!” I said, shaking the cage. “Stop that!” 1999: No entry.]]>

11/15/06

Thank you to everyone who’s donated so far – I have more than $500 in my PayPal account; I can’t wait to write that check to the shelter! The rest of you – get to donating! Whatcha waiting for? You can donate to the shelter directly via PayPal now, too.

* * * People, please. For the love of all that is holy, it is NOT “You’ve got another thing coming.” It’s “You’ve got another THINK coming.” THINK. NOT THING. Thank you. * * * Sometimes when we drive back from Smallville, we take a different, less country road, route. On the way, there’s a stand that sells apples. A few weeks ago we passed the sign that said “Fresh orchard apples” and I said to Fred, “Doesn’t that sound like a euphemism for cow shit?” and he laughed and agreed. Now I can’t pass that sign without thinking “I wonder how much they’d charge for a bushel of cow shit?” * * * I think I mentioned the other day that Fezzik, Westley, and Princess Buttercup had been adopted when I went to the pet store. Poor Inigo was in a cage all by himself, and when he saw me walk into the room, he started howling and pushing his little face against the cage. I usually start by cleaning out the cages on the bottom, letting the cats out of each cage as I get to it, so that when the most cats are out running around, I’ve got the bottom cages all cleaned and am working on the top cages, which they can’t run in and out of and get in my way. However. Inigo was one of my BAYBEES, so I wasn’t about to make him stay in his cage until I got done with the bottom cages. I opened the door to take him out, and he threw himself at me, purring, and let me hold him for the longest time before he demanded that I put him down so he could go play. I basically let him stay out and play the entire time I was at the pet store, and he played very nicely with the other cats. I thought about putting him in a cage with the kitten he seemed to be having the most fun playing with, but there were no big cages available, so I didn’t. The entire time I was cleaning, he’d play and play and play, and then come over and politely tap at my leg as if to say “Please, ma’am, may I have another?” and I’d pick him up and cuddle him for a few minutes. When it was time for me to leave, I popped him in his cage and booked it out of there before he could give me the betrayed look and howls of rage. It was actually easier for me to leave him than I thought it would be. Last year when I left Jodie and Rambo and had to come back the next day to clean, it was very difficult to leave them, because they – Jodie, especially – were so scared. The fact that Inigo was pretty much taking it in stride made it easier to leave him. I hope like hell he gets adopted before next Monday, though. * * * Note to myself: Do not give Miz Poo medicine on your desk. Because when she fights the medicine – and she WILL – it will go flying all over the damn place, and you will end up with little splatters of medicine all over your monitor, your desk, and your keyboard, and that medicine is some sticky-ass shit. (Mister Boogers, Spanky, Miz Poo, and now Sugarbutt appear to have developed Upper Respiratory Infections. According to the ~~know-it-all~~ front desk lady at the vet’s office, kittens can be carriers of Upper Respiratory Infections while not actually getting sick themselves. I think she just hates kittens and is a big fat LIAR.) * * * We went to the house last night, and I intended to get the rest of the switches and plugs in the upstairs changed out, but it was already too dark by the time we got there, so I’ll have to wait and do it this weekend. Fred spent a little time out on the roof of the house dealing with something that was causing a leak (I wasn’t listening all that closely when he explained it to me), and I started cleaning the paint spatters off the stairs. It took me an hour and a half to get down to the landing, and then Fred wanted to start rehanging the doors in the upstairs, so I never did get the lower half of the stairs cleaned. The cleaned stairs, by the way, look pretty damn good. We’d pretty much decided not to paint the stairs (since so many people in Fred’s comments were opposed to it) and thought we might stain them, but actually I think they look just fine the way they are, so we might just leave them alone. We started hanging doors upstairs, which quickly turned out to be a bit of a cluster fuck since we hadn’t made any attempt to keep the correct hinge with each door/ doorway. We got the door to one of the spud’s closets hung, but then it wouldn’t close, so we had to take it back down and start comparing hinges to find the right one for the door. We finally did, and Fred was so frustrated that he snapped “We are NOT taking ANY MORE doors down!” When I thought of how crappy the doors would look, he gave me a long-suffering look and said in his “Look how patient and long-suffering I am” voice, “I’ll paint them.” Yeah, well, I’ve seen the paint job he’s done on a door we left standing in place and I WAS NOT IMPRESSED. But I bit my tongue and said nothing. It is my considered opinion that I don’t pull my weight when it comes to renovating the house because I can’t cut or hang crown molding (though I can help hang it), I suck at painting, you DON’T want me to replace lights (trust me), and it’s taking me forever to replace the switches because it’s hard to get the wires out of the back of the switch thingy. I feel like I spend a lot of time wandering around, listening to my iPod and half-assedly swiping at things with a cleaning cloth, and doing dumbfuck things like slicing through the extension cord with the hedge trimmer. So when Fred says something that indicates that he thinks I’m not pulling my weight, it makes me squawk indignantly. As I mentioned, though, I bit my tongue and didn’t say anything, but a few minutes later when he was trying to put the screws in the bottom of the door to the spud’s room and he said, impatiently “Hold the door UP a little!”, because I’d held the door up a little and then apparently let it go back to where it was without realizing it, I squawked indignantly “I AM!” and he said “No you’re not, you let it go back too close to the wall!” and I squawked indignantly “NO I’M NOT!” and he laughed at me and I ~~killed him and buried him in the back forty~~ told him to shut up, and then felt better about it. Today, my hip is KILLING me. I have no idea what I did to it, but it hurts to lift my leg, and I’m walking with a limp. I’m sure it’s Fred’s fault. * * *

* * * Previously 2005: “Fascinating.” 2004: All your frog are belong to us. 2003: No entry. 2002: I am freezing to death. 2001: I think I need to get a life… 2000: In other words, Robyn is a total spaz about her eyes, comprende? 1999: On the way into work, and the whole time I worked today, I reconsidered that reconsideration.]]>