Month: October 2007

DON’T GO IN THERE! when that happens, so Self? Let’s not go in there. Let’s go call Fred.” I pulled the garage door closed and high-stepped it into the house, locking the door behind me. And I picked up the phone and called Fred. It was busy, so I hung up, watched the garage door for a few minutes, then tried calling again. Busy. And I ranted to the cats that IT’S ONLY EVER WHEN I FUCKING NEED HIM THAT HE’S ON THE PHONE, IF I WAS CALLING TO ASK HIM A STUPID QUESTION, HE’D PICK UP THE PHONE IMMEDIATELY, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, ARRRRRGH!, and the cats scattered. So I sat down and sent him an email asking if he’d worked out in the garage that morning. It would be unusual for him to work out in the garage then not lock the door behind him before coming back inside, because he not only locks the lock on the doorknob, he always locks the deadbolt as well, which always makes it a big pain in the ass for me to get into the garage in the morning, because my key doesn’t work well with the deadbolt. I figured, since he sits and reads his email when he’s on the phone with me, he might do the same with other people, so I sat and hit “refresh” three hundred times, and tried calling him again and got a busy signal, and so finally I sent him another email saying Since you’ll apparently be on the phone forgoddamnfuckingever, did you work out this morning? Did you leave the door ajar? Or do I need to worry about someone being in the goddamn garage? and then I sent him a text message saying “Check your email, pls.”, and then I picked up the phone again to try calling him, and the phone rang, and it was him. I explained what had happened, and he said “Take a gun.” Not “Don’t go in there!”, not “Call the police!”, not “Ask the guy next door to come look in the garage for you!”, no. He just wanted to make sure I took the gun with me when I went to see if anything had been stolen from the garage. So I went and got the gun from the bedroom (my gun, we call it.) and we had discussion about whether there was a safety on this gun (there is not), and then I took him with me via the phone while I went into the garage. I was a little shaky as I looked around the first floor of the garage, then I said “I have a gun and I’m coming up there!” and I went upstairs. And there was nothin’. No one was there, no vagabond laying asleep amongst our crap, no thief waiting to steal our 15 year-old vcr or exercise tapes or elliptical trainer, not even a troublesome squirrel. Not a damn thing. I was almost disappointed that I didn’t get to shoot anyone. This morning, I went upstairs to hang out with the kittens before I had to take them to the pet store. When I opened the door, kittens came shooting through the crack, and I bent down to halt them in their tracks, and I failed to take into account that there was a doorknob, and I hit that doorknob with the browbone over my right eye so hard I saw stars. I bellowed and staggered around, and then remembered that there were kittens on the loose, and I chased one down in the bathroom (they run out of the kitten room and directly into the bathroom every single time, I don’t know why) and the other in guest bedroom, and I carried them back into the kitten room, sternly telling them how very bad they were. I hung out with them for a few minutes, and then it dawned on me that there were only two brown tabbies in view rather than the usual three, so I went back out into the hallway and started looking. I saw no brown tabby anywhere upstairs, and so I went back into the kitten room to look, and still a brown tabby was missing. I finally heard the far-off sound of an irate Stinkerbelle, and when I followed the sound, I saw a little brown tabby running around happily, surrounded by every permanent resident in the house. Stinkerbelle looked very angry (I guess he’d gotten too close to her), but the other cats just looked puzzled, like they weren’t quite sure what they were looking at. I rescued the kitten, took him upstairs into the kitten room, and the kittens started acting like jerks, racing around, jumping on me, biting at me, just generally being pains, so I said “OKAY, I think I’m ready for you to go, brats!”, so I packed them up and drove them to the pet store. I gave them all the usual hugs and kisses, told them to get themselves adopted before Monday, and left. They watched me leave like, “Yeah, whatever. Buh-BYE, lady!”, and settled down for naps. Ingrates. *********************************** The kittens are at the pet store, as I mentioned, and so here are the last of their pictures. “I got the box and it’s all mine now, HA-HA!” Did I mention that they really like this thing? I can’t stand how gorgeous Billy Bumbler is. And what a sweetheart – the happiest, most laid-back cat, ever. I swear he looked like he was wandering around in a drugged-out daze most of the time. There it goes! Susannah in motion. Tommy liked this thing too, and thinks it’s unfair that those stupid kittens got to have it! *********************************** “Harrumph.”

* * * Previously 2006: He’s always a party pooper. 2005: If I hadn’ta covered my head with my hands, I might be DEAD right now! 2004: No entry. 2003: “No,” Fred said. “You’re the muffinhead. DID SHE STAND OVER YOU AND MAKE YOU INSTALL IT??” 2002: Spanky is the Lance Bass of our family. 2001: I guess if tomorrow’s Day Zero and Friday is Day One, that makes today Day Negative One. 2000: No entry.]]>

* * * I fucking HATE IT when my cell phone rings and I answer it, and there’s no one there because it was a machine who dialed the number to call me, and since I answered the call, they have to transfer the call to a real person, and there’s not always a real person immediately available, and it REALLY pisses me off, so I always hang up. Hope it wasn’t important. Also, yesterday my cell phone rang, and when I answered, a man with a thick Indian accent informed me that he needed to speak with “the person responsible for the company web page”, and when I said nothing, he repeated that he would like to speak with “the person responsible for the company web page”, and I thought of having to slog through a conversation with this man to explain to him that there IS no company attached to any of the three web pages I own, and I thought further about how with the language gap it would not be an easy conversation, and so rather than having to deal with the whole fucking mess, I just hung up on his ass. What I should have done was ask “Which web page, please?”, because since I recently paid for another couple of years for this page, chances are good the url and contact information rolled across some telemarketer’s desk, and it would be kind of funny to force a stranger to say “bitchypoo”. That, or register.com was going to harass me about paying for robynanderson.com, which is up for renewal in a few months, and register.com just adores harassing the motherfucking shit out of me for months before the site’s expiration date. I’m sure it’s not the last damn call I’ll be getting from them.

* * * Say goodbye to the kittens! The diarrhea is cured, the metronidazole has run its course, the eyes are healed, they’re ready to go forth and be adopted, and they better get their butts adopted before Monday, because I do NOT want to go in there and see them sitting all sad in their cage. A fellow volunteer bought this thing at Target, but her cats are too big for it, so she offered it to me. I have to say, it is a HUGE hit. I brought it into the house and left it in the hallway for a little while, and when I went to take it upstairs, Tommy was splayed across the top of it. When I took it into the kitten room, the kittens raced around like their tails were on fire, jumping onto it and then back off, racing around the room, climbing up the side, smacking at each other from various compartments inside it. They lurve it, and they of course knocked it over, so I solved that issue by putting the condo across part of the bottom so it would hold it in place, and it seems to work just fine. Crazy Eyes say, “I am a fearsome creature. Crazy Eyes say, “This are my bowl.” “MY bowl. Mine.” ::slurpslurp:: “MINE.” Crazy Eyes and Chompers McGee (aka Jake and Susannah) try to determine just who is the boss ’round these parts. Roland goes for the deep sniff. Susannah hiding under the bowl – fascinating to the other kittens, apparently. Susannah partakes of some fine kitty pot. * * * “ALLS I WANT IS A SNUGGLE! WHY WON’T YOU GIVE ME A SNUGGLE?!” “ZZZzzzzzzzz…” * * * Previously 2006: Frying pan in the front flower bed. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: She seems a little wishy-washy about it. I think she might secretly like the book. 2002: (He always calls when I’m in the shower or eating. I think he has a hidden camera somewhere in hopes of catching me with my non-existent luvah-on-the-side Juan.) 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry.]]>

New month, new logo! This one was created by the wonderful Kitty, who also created my Christmas logo last year. Thanks, Kitty – you rock! On a side note, Kitty is married to Tom Ryan, programmer extraordinaire, who created the code that runs the Kittenwar site. The Kittenwar book recently came out, and Kitty sent me a copy. I’m only about halfway through it, because I have to put it down and walk away after several pages or my teeth will rot right out of my head from the sheer cuteness of the book. I highly recommend Kittenwar, because it’s a book full of kitten pictures, and some very funny writing. How can you possibly go wrong with that? Answer: you cannot. Go buy it! Give it to your favorite cat lover for Christmas! Christmas is only like ten weeks away, you know. I bet my sister’s done with her Christmas shopping already. DAMN HER.

* * * PostSecret + LOLCats = Very fucking funny. * * * Yesterday I was standing in front of the house watering the bushes in the front flower bed. At the beginning of the summer I was diligent about watering the flower beds and the potted plants on the porch every other day. That was only fun for the first few months, though, and it’s gotten to the point where I slack until I see that the Million Bells in their hanging baskets are wilty and limp and all “Oh! For a drink of water! My Lawd, why have you forsaken me?”, then I go out and water everything and then ignore it all for several days. So I’d watered everything on the front porch and was standing in front of the flower beds watering the bushes one by one (and reflecting that we really needed to have a sprinkler or drip hose for the front flower beds, because standing there and drenching the bushes is boring as shit), and I heard Fred walk around the side of the house toward me. “Hey,” he said, and then yelled “Oh! Watch out!” I turned to see something very big flying at me. For an instant I thought it was a hummingbird, but it wasn’t shaped right and I couldn’t tell WHAT the fuck it was – it looked kind of prehistoric, like a little raptor flying at me – so I screamed in an alarmed hooting manner, and I ran across the lawn, and Fred stood and laughed and laughed like the motherfucker he is. When I determined that I was safe, I yelled “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” It appears that on his journey through the garden, after he’d pulled up the cucumber plants (and we giggled at how all the poor people would be starving without all three of those worm-laden cucumbers to sustain them), he spotted a praying mantis, and he thought I’d like to see it, and so he encouraged the praying mantis to climb onto his hand, which it did, and then he walked around to show me. Except that seeing me so enraged the praying mantis that it took flight and flew at my head. Luckily I am quick and nimble and avoided having it land on my head and suck out my brains (not that there’s a lot there to sustain a praying mantis) and it flew off to parts unknown. I’m an idiot, because until yesterday I had NO FUCKING CLUE that praying mantises could fly. “I guess I’m lucky you didn’t run out into traffic to get away from the scary praying mantis,” Fred said, laughing. Which is when I killed him and donated his body to the local food bank. * * * Saturday, as I was canning my second batch of jalapeño jelly of the day, I was listening to the radio. (I’d been listening to Keith and the Girl podcasts all day, but I was caught up and had to resort to the radio. I hate when that happens.) I generally listen to the country station, and I was only half-listening while I poured jelly into jars and screwed tops on. Then Steve Warriner’s I’m Already Taken came on, and I had to run across the room to turn it off, because that’s the creepiest goddamn song and should be subtitled The Ballad of Oedipus. First verse, little boy in third grade decides he’s in love with a little girl, and she’s all “Step off, sucka. I’m taken! Wait your turn!” Second verse, Junior High. He decides again that he’s in love with her, tells her, and she’s all “GodDAMN, sucka. Did I mention you snooze, you lose?” Third verse, they’re all grown up, and he outwaited all the other boys and the crack addiction, the stint through rehab, the relapse, the second relapse, the getting out of the car without wearing underwear and the inability to keep her knees together, okay now she’s totally sober, sometimes she likes go out dirty dancing with the girls, but he turns a blind eye to that, and then they have a little boy who – like his mother as a child – is blond. She’s putting the little boy to bed one night – “last night”, as a matter of fact – and as he (“I”) is lurking in the hallway while she tucks the little boy in bed because (as established in verses one and two) he’s a creepy stalker who’s afraid she’ll bolt at the first opportunity, he hears the little boy say “Mommy, will you marry me?” What does “Mommy” say? Why, Mommy says I’m already taken/ You spoke up too late/ I love your daddy son/ So you’ll just have to wait. And… I… huh? He.. he spoke up too late? When, exactly was he supposed to propose to Mommy? Before she met Daddy and they had the whole crack-addict-relapse-rehab-crotch-flashing drama and then he was conceived? Was he supposed to send an angel emissary down to tap on Mommy’s shoulder and say “Hey, look. This kid you’re going to give birth to – he’s going to want to marry you, so kick Daddy to the curb, wouldya?” And… you’ll just have to wait? Um, WHAT? What the fuck? Could it be that there were better things to say to the child than, basically, “You snooze, you lose. Once Daddy’s dead, I’ll be HAPPY to marry you, Oedipus. Night-night!”? Creepy song. Pretty music, but creepy just the same. * * * (flickr) Canned this weekend: two batches of jalapeño jelly (22 jars, I think). The first batch, I used twice as many jalapeños as the recipe called for, at Fred’s suggestion. The second batch, I did normally. When they were done, I opened one of the jars of double-jalapeño jelly and made Fred try it out, and he said it tasted perhaps more tart than the other stuff, but not hot at all. I gave it a try, and he was right – there might have been the very, very slightest suggestion of some heat, but I’m a great big wimp when it comes to spicy stuff and ultra-sensitive (I’m a delicate flower!) to it, so probably your average person wouldn’t have noticed anything. I also canned the habanero hot sauce I made for him a few weeks ago (I think I mentioned that it was super-hot and very thick, and realized after some looking around that it needed vinegar added to it; once I did that, Fred pronounced it perfect) and the habanero hot sauce he made himself last week (it starts with a can of peaches and he thinks it’s The Shit). He ordered a set of 5-oz Woozy bottles for the hot sauce, and so I canned it all – and 12 bottles was exactly right for the amount of hot sauce we had. Did I mention that he’s the only one in the house who uses hot sauce? Anyway, jalapeno jelly: canned. Habanero hot sauce: canned. Cucumber plants: pulled up. Corn: harvested and pulled up. The only things growing in the garden right now are okra (I can’t believe it’s still producing), black-eyed peas, and peppers. I actually did all my canning on Saturday and had time Sunday to balance the checkbook, run to the health food store for powdered Slippery Elm Bark (and catnip), grab some groceries, and do all the laundry so we started the week with closets and drawers full of clean clothes. ‘Twas a good weekend. * * * The kittens continue to do well. Since I was at the health food store yesterday and they sell herbs in bulk, I bought a bag of organic catnip and scattered some on the floor of the kitten room. I got no pictures, but rest assured: those kittens enjoyed themselves a good long sniff of catnip, and then raced around like their tails were on fire. The powdered Slippery Elm Bark I bought at the health food store was to hopefully help stem the tide of diarrhea. They’re still on metronidazole and FortiFlora, but the litterbox situation improved slightly and then got no better. I’ve tried Slippery Elm Bark in the past with good results, so I’m giving it a try with these guys. Obviously if nothing improves, I’ll lug another fecal sample to the vet, because that’s just how I roll. Crazy Eyes, he claims the box for his own self. Crazy Eyes struggles with a wee case of claustrophobia. Crazy Eyes say, “If you’re going to just leave that tail sitting right there, I’m going to have to grab at it with my needle-sharp claws. Tails require grabbing, so grab I shall.” Crazy Eyes say, “Keep it moving, move along. Nothing to see here!” “Hellew.” Crazy Eyes plays dead. “If I don’t look, you’re not there.” These kittens spend 24 hours a day chasing and biting each others’ tails. ********************************* Da Poo. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: I could have done a faster job with a measuring spoon and my ass. 2003: She was stymied by her big butt, which wouldn’t fit under the shed. 2002: Here’s my question: It’s open 24-hours, so why the FUCKITY FUCK FUCK can’t they stock in the wee hours of the morning when NO ONE IS THERE? 2001: It’s funny how two people can look at the same thing and see it differently, isn’t it? 2000: No entry.]]>