Recently I was catching up on my blog reading. I am perpetually behind and usually have 500+ unread items in my Google Reader – sometimes it gets up over 1000 unread items (in which case Google Reader doesn’t even tell you how many unread items you have, just “1000+”) and then I delete the Tastespotting posts without reading them all (I do glance through the titles before I mark them as “read”) and usually that makes it drop back down below 1,000. Apparently 1,000 is the number that drives me crazy when it comes to Google Reader – what really sucks is that I tend to work my way down the list alphabetically, so if your blog title starts with one of the first few letters of the alphabet, I’m generally up to date on reading you. If, on the other hand, you are XKCD then I hope I haven’t missed anything in the past six weeks or so.
Well – that’s an exaggeration, actually. Sometimes I go to the end of the list and work my way back up. If you’re in the middle of the alphabet, god knows when I last read you.
Anyway. What was I saying?
Oh, right. So I was laying in bed last night catching up on blog reading (I love my laptop!), and I read this entry of Melting Mama’s, and I got kind of confused. Is it just me? I never thought that the Easter Bunny actually LAID those eggs s/he left behind, I thought s/he… Well, I don’t know where the hell I thought the Easter Bunny got the eggs and the candy, but I never thought they came OUT OF the Bunny.
Am I alone in this belief, or am I the only one on earth who didn’t know that the Easter Bunny laid ten million eggs (and candy items) before delivering them to the bad little heathens of the world?
Okay, people, you gotta help me out – does anyone know if there’s going to be another season of Work Out on Bravo? I have Googled high and low and I can’t seem to find any kind of concrete answer. I can’t find ANYTHING on the Bravo site, and the Work Out section of their site doesn’t appear to be working any more, and I MUST KNOW. Will I get to see a bunch of pretty trainers prancing around, flirting and sleeping with each other, and putting their clients through their paces, OR NOT?
Anyone know anything? Help?
So on Friday I bitched about people who put up way too fucking many pictures of the recipe they’re creating and posting. I said something along the lines of “I don’t need to see a picture of what the salt looks like, then a picture of the salt being measured, then a picture of your face as you ponder the salt, then a picture of the salt being added to the mixing bowl. A picture of the ingredients, the finished product, and then the recipe is JUST FINE.”
On Saturday Pioneer Woman wrote about how badly she wants to have chickens.
You know what happened next, right?
To my horror, Ashleas (please report to me so I can beat you soundly with a kitten) posted in the comments (kudos for being only the 5th person to post in her comments – she gets like 300 comments in the first ten minutes after she posts!) that some crazy bitch in Alabama (me) and her equally crazy husband (him) have 120 chickens, I write about it, and she enjoys reading about their antics.
So hundreds of people read that comment, flocked to my site, and were greeted by a profanity-filled diatribe about how I hate it when people take picture after picture of the cooking/ baking process.
For the record, I actually wasn’t talking about Pioneer Woman when I wrote that. I mean, it does annoy me, the myriad pictures of the cooking/ baking process, but it’s not like I don’t KNOW she does that in every single post on her Cooking site, and I usually just scroll directly to the bottom of the page to see the difficulty of the recipe if I’m interested in it. I’m not going to say who it was that caused the annoyance, someone whose blog I read (who does not read me – it’s NOT YOU) though if you’re dying to know email me and I’ll tell you. Trust me, though, it ain’t that exciting.
It took me about 2.3 seconds to decide to delete that section of Friday’s entry, because Pioneer Woman drives some serious traffic, and I really didn’t want any of her readers deciding I was talking about her and coming after me. She has a lot of devoted readers and as badass as I (like to think I) am, I can’t really fight off thousands of pissed-off women.
Okay, well, I COULD. But that’d just be showing off.
Naturally, because I said yesterday that the kittens have shown no interest in climbing over the gate keeping them in their room and the bathroom, Fred was walking down the hall and found that a curious little kitten was wandering down the stairs.
(He might not have noticed, except that Sugarbutt walked by the bottom of the stairs, turned and stared at the kitten, hissed, and ran away.)
It was Caleb, and I picked him up and went upstairs to see what was going on, and as I approached the top of the stairs, Beulah came over to look at me. As it turned out, all the kittens had climbed over the gate and were wandering around the upstairs.
So yesterday morning I put up the baby gates at the bottom of the stairs and let the kittens have the run of the entire upstairs. They LOVED it, of course. Kittens always love having new territory to conquer. They spent most of their time playing in my room, raced back and forth, and then curled up on my bed with me to take a nap.
Every now and then everyone but Beulah would come to the bottom of the stairs (the stairs are still a little too much for Miss Beulah) to see what they could see, and I’d hear a sad little “Why can’t we come out THERE?” meow.
All in time, little kittens. We’re going to keep them confined to the upstairs for a few more days, then see what it’s like to let them have the run of the house.
Like a circus, is what I expect it’ll be like!
More kitten pics over at L&H.
“Really? You’re going to kick me out of the upstairs so those rotten kittens can have room to run? I don’t think so.” (I did.)
Previously
2008: Places where the Feliway bottle is NOT
2007: No entry.
2006: God save me from the permed ‘fro.
2005: Why do I bother to make New Year’s resolutions, I ask you?
2004: Bastard.
2003: “That’s right, you LITTLE SHIT, get the hell out of here!” I yelled, stomping at him.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Not much of an entry.