Poor Miz Poo. A few weeks ago I discovered that she’d been biting at the fur on her stomach, and I never noticed until I realized that she had what appeared to be a shaved spot from her “waist” (yeah, yeah, cats don’t have waists, YOU KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT) down and she had a small rash. Then I checked her lip and realized that it was starting to swell. I put it off for a little while ’cause I always hope she’ll get better on her own, but she didn’t stop worrying at the skin on her stomach and when the sound of constant licking got to me, I finally took her to the vet.
Which is when the vet looked at Miz Poo’s records and we found that the last time Miz Poo needed a steroid shot (for her lip) was in June of 2007. We were both amazed – for a while there, it seemed Miz Poo was going every three months – and it would be really nice if she didn’t need another shot for another 15 months.
She got her shot of steroids, which will hopefully clear up her lip and her rashy belly, but if it’s not completely cleared up in three weeks, she’ll go back for a second shot.
After we left the vet’s office I ended up running some errands, which thrilled Miz Poo to no end, which she proved by snoozing through the entire process. We stopped by a donation bin between the vet’s office and Madison (I donated bags of stuff to a local women and children’s shelter), I ran into the grocery store in Madison to get my thyroid medication (I need to start having my prescriptions filled closer to home, but I keep hoping they’ll get that damn Publix they’re building ten minutes up the road finished so I can start going there), I ran by the post office to check my mail, drove through the credit union drive-up, and then I was thinking about stopping at Lowe’s to get some new doormats for the back door, but I decided I’d put the poor cat through quite enough for one morning, so we came home.
When Fred got home from work, I did what I’ve been putting off for ages – I got the window cleaner, rags, paper towels, and the vacuum cleaner, and I went outside and cleaned the inside of both our cars. Mine has had about fifteen pounds of corn on the driver’s side floor since we went to the safari adventure place last month and the camel was all
“I SEE YOU HAS CORN GIVE TO ME NOM NOM NOM”
and corn was spilled.
Fred’s car, oh my god. That was one dusty-ass messy-ass nasty-ass fucking car, and though it took me forever I got his car in decent shape. I stopped at one point to ask him “When you get change back, do you just toss it over your shoulder into the back of the car, or what?”, because I must have found fifteen dollars in change scattered all over hell and creation.
After I was done with the cars, I swept out the half of the garage not taken over by the brooder, and I wiped the dust and dirt and thousands upon thousands of spider webs and cobwebs off the exercise equipment, freezer, bookcase, etc. All of this took about two hours, so it was a lucky thing we were having leftovers for dinner instead of my having to cook.
I still need to do some more cleaning in the garage – I hate to have it such a mess – so maybe I’ll do that later today.
Or maybe I’ll just be a lazy ass and watch TV and read all day long. That seems more likely, really.
So last week, I stopped by Target after I went to the pet store, and I browsed a little, and then I bought a couple of shirts I thought I’d like and was pretty sure would fit me. All of the shirts I currently own are t-shirts, and it would be nice to be able to go out into public in something that doesn’t have a snarky saying or a picture of a cat on the front of it.
I put on the first shirt, a size medium, and I thought it fit okay, maybe a little tight, but then I looked at myself in the mirror, and then I summoned Fred to take a picture, and before he took the picture, I said “Does this shirt make my boobs look… LOW?”
He laughed and said “I didn’t think so ’til you said that!”
And then I took the shirt off and tried on the second shirt, which was a button-up in size large. BY THE EXACT SAME COMPANY WHICH MADE SHIRT NUMBER ONE.
A wee bit small, I’d say.
So both shirts went back to Target, and I have made up my mind that one day soon I’m going to take the frickin’ day and I’m going to go to Target or the mall or whatever and instead of buying clothes without trying them on first I’m going to TRY THE FRICKIN’ CLOTHES ON BEFORE I BUY THEM.
God. I’m 40 years old. You’d think I’d have LEARNED this sort of thing by now.
I do not know what on earth I was saying to Fred or why I was looking over at the dresser while I was tugging on the front of my shirt while I said whatever it was, but the look on my face in this picture cracks me UP. I’m sure I was saying something particularly assy or mocking Fred for mocking me.
“So I says to him, I says, look, you. If I want to play with that rattly mouse, YOU are not going to stop me, mister, and you can go het on someone else. Your het does not scare me. AT ALL. And he pretended not to care, but I think we know he cares. HE CARES. I think he was crying a little.”
Miss Momma on the front porch. This is her welcoming look.
Previously
2007: Who needs a stinkin’ appendix, anyway?
2006: No entry.
2005: (I shot a man in Texas, just to watch him die.)
2004: No entry.
2003: So basically I paid twice as much for a keyboard as I would have on my own for no good reason, all thanks to that Staples employee, may he rot in hell.
2002: I hope that leaf doesn’t give me a damn yeast infection.
2001: No entry.
2000: I’m not sure what happened next. I believe I blacked out.