Chicken and Spinach Adobo for dinner. I called Fred to dinner, he took a bite of chicken, and made a face.
“It tastes awful… chickeny,” he said.
This is a common complaint of his, one I’ve never quite understood. One of the reasons we stopped buying free-range chickens from the farm in Hartselle is because they tasted, according to him, “too chickeny.”
I guess he expected they’d taste like… what? Mint chocolate chip?
That’s why we only bought one dozen eggs from the same farm, because he didn’t like the taste. I don’t remember exactly how he put it, but I’m sure he thought the eggs were too eggy. This does not give me high hopes for when our bitchez start producing eggs.
Anyway, he took a bite, made a face, and commented on the chickeniness of the chicken I’d made for dinner. Which pissed me off, because I cannot FUCKING STAND IT when I make dinner – dinner I don’t particularly WANT to make, because I’d eat every single meal out, if given the choice – and he or the spud turn their nose up at it. It drives me flat-out fucking nuts. I think it’s RUDE.
“You’re so goddamn RUDE,” I said.
“Why?” he said. “I didn’t say you made it poorly, you can’t help if it tastes chickeny! It’s no reflection on your or your cooking!”
Still, I was mad.
“Because I made this fucking DINNER and you come in, take one bite, and make a face!” I snarled. “IT’S RUDE.”
“It’s not RUDE,” he protested. “It’s just the way it is! I’m still going to eat it! Look!” And he took another bite of the chicken.
And made a face at its chickeniness.
“It IS rude,” I said. “And I’m going to put a poll up on my site and invite everyone to vote, and they’ll tell you it’s rude, too!”
Fred grinned through a mouthful of chickeny chicken. “I thought you were going to say you were going to put a pole up my ass.”
“If you don’t stop making that face, I MIGHT.”
So, vote.
* * *
Saturday, after we’d been to see TransSNOREmers, we went to the grocery store to pick up a few things, then decided to go to Big Lots to see if they had any cheap-ass furniture we could use as a canning cupboard, at least temporarily, since all the stuff I’ve canned is starting to really take over the huge-ass mantel in the dining room.
We were looking for a parking spot, and Fred said something horribly politically incorrect. I don’t even remember what it was, only that it annoyed me, which is the only reason he ever says horrible things, to get a rise out of me.
“I’M GOING TO WRITE ABOUT THAT,” I said, annoyed. “I’m going to write that you said that, and my readers will rise up and you will be SORRY.”
He just smirked at me.
“If they knew half the awful shit you say just to be an ass, you’d be HUNG,” I said.
He grinned. “Oh, I already am!”
I walked right into THAT one.
* * *
To answer the question about Sugarbutt’s trip to the vet – I mentioned that I thought he had ringworm, because we discovered over the weekend (because it always ALWAYS has to happen on a holiday or over the weekend, doesn’t it?) a big raw spot on his neck.
Well.
It ain’t ringworm.
It’s a goddamn blahdy-blah ulcer, like the one that affects Miz Poo’s lip. Caused by allergies. I didn’t realize it until I was looking him over with the vet, but he has a couple of spots on his lip too.
DAMN IT.
She gave him a shot of steroids, and his neck is already looking about 10,000 times better. I hope it was a one-time thing, but I’m afraid it’s not. If he has an issue again, I’m going to ask if we can do an allergy test on him like we did on Miz Poo.
Like I said to the vet, why is it ALWAYS my favorite ones?
(She suggested I’m a carrier. Heh.)
* * *
Note that the damn chickens CERTAINLY make themselves at home when Fred lets them into the back yard every afternoon. We’ve got a Buff roosting on the side of the pot that holds the one roma tomato plant we’ve got – they also like to peck at the damn plant, and oddly enough (NOT) it has stopped producing tomatoes. There’s a Speckle on the table, rooting through the black beans Fred left there to dry, and on the chair is another Speckle, about to lay a big chickeny poop on that chair, I’m sure. You can check
the picture out on Flickr to see the damn chickens in better detail.
* * *
Tina Louise is now at the pet store. When I put her in the cage to check it out (and then took her out and cuddled her; I didn’t just throw her in the cage and take off, no – it was an hour-long extravaganza of coaching her to look cute and be friendly with a heaping helping of feeling guilty liberally sprinkled on top), she walked around the cage hissing, and when people walked by she’d hiss some more. She checked out her litter box and I was afraid she might decide to hide in there, but she didn’t – she came out and looked around some more, and finally I had to leave or else I’d clutch her to my bosom and run out of there and maybe hide her in the closet and keep her forever and ever.
The word from the adoption counselor (they do adoptions Tuesday evenings), someone was quite taken with her, but since they got to the store just before it closed, they were going to come back Friday and maybe adopt her or Eragon (the cat who was abandoned by the side of the road in a cat carrier in the middle of the summer in Alabama, grrrrr), or hopefully both.
Here’s hoping!
Break my heart, why dontcha?
* * *
Speaking of foster kitties, remember Jack Frost, one of the
Christmas kitties?
This is one of my favorite pictures I’ve ever taken. In fact, it’s the picture on my checks right now.
Well, he was returned to the shelter last week because his owners were moving and couldn’t or didn’t want to take him with them. (Grrrr.)
This is Jack Frost now. Fred says he has a Mister Boogers hatin’ look.
* * *
Sugarbutt, hiding in Fred’s bed. He does this whenever the doorbell rings or a stranger enters the house.
* * *
Previously
2006: I thought I was going to die from the sheer annoyance factor.
2005: But really, is there anything less threatening than giving someone the FINGER?
2004: No entry.
2003: Ever have one of those days, or is it just me?
2002: He can’t close a drawer all the way to save his life.
2001: What next, I ask you?
2000: Surely y’all know me better by now?]]>