Yesterday, I had an appointment for an ultrasound (so that, theoretically, my gynecologist can figure out why I’m spotting 8 – 10 days out of every freakin’ month). It was originally scheduled for the day before Thanksgiving, but they called and rescheduled. I knew, going into the appointment, that there was no way on earth I’d be in and out of there quickly, and I was not disappointed (or rather, I was disappointed to be right!). My appointment was at 10:15, and when I left it was 11:45.
The ultrasound showed nothing. The wall of my uterus was so thin that she couldn’t even see the fibroid that showed up during my ultrasound in June (my uterus has been dieting, apparently). She’s ordering copies of the lab work done by the hematologist who did (ordered) my iron infusion, she’s going to look those results over, and then call me.
It looks like we’re headed for an endometrial ablation at this point. We’ll see.
This fucking horseshit sure is moving at a fucking snail’s pace.
If I might inquire: what the holy fucking shit does “Jesus Gay” mean? It appears to be some sort of exclamation one uses to stress one’s point (“Jesus Gay is it cold out there!”), but for some reason I find it EXTREMELY irritating and thus please be warned that using it in my presence (or on your blog, which is where I’m stumbling across it) means you are giving me permission to hunt you down and smack you upside the head REALLY FUCKING HARD.
Other irritants:
1. The usage of “my man” instead of “Bob” (or whatever the fuck his name is). Yes, we know you have a man. Very impressive. Can we grow up now? Also, when you use lots of initials to refer to your children or coworkers or relatives, and they’re all so similar that I don’t have one fucking clue which one you’re talking about. Come up with a pseudonym and keep it simple. (Did I ever mention that 10 years ago (!) when I started my journal, I was going to use pseudonyms for Fred and the Spud and I, because OMG THE INTERNET STALKERS, but I couldn’t come up with ones that fit for Fred and I, so I gave up the idea. Clearly I kept the idea for the Spud, though!)
2. Bloggers constantly flogging their other blogs. (Like, I don’t know, ME and Love & Hisses?) I don’t want to go ELSEWHERE to read your shit, I want to read it IN ONE PLACE. (And thus just this second, I have decided to start posting my Wednesday all-cats posts here (and the weekend ones, too) as well as at Love & Hisses so you don’t HAVE to click over there. I didn’t really start Love & Hisses so you’d have to go elsewhere to read my shit, I started it so that those of you who like to show cat pictures to your kids wouldn’t have to wade through all the goddamn/ motherfuck/ horseshit/ fucking/ assface/ jumped-up-christ on a saltine cracker (etc.) talk. See? I can be thoughtful!)
3. When people go password protected and don’t leave a link to their email address or even a form to send a request, thus making it impossible for you to email them and ask for access. I GUESS I DIDN’T WANT TO READ YOUR BLOG ANYWAY, GODDAMNIT.
4. Those popup ads. Not the ones that pop up into another window (thanks to Firefox, I rarely ever see THOSE, thank god), but the ones that pop up and block the main part of the page, and you have to fucking FIND the “x” to close it, and then if you so much as look in the direction of where the ad came from, it pops up and does another song and dance, and honestly? Whoever thought that shit up should be crucified at dawn. Or sunset. I’m not picky. But DEATH TO THE CREATORS OF THAT HORSESHIT. Also, ads that have MUSIC or TALKING. I was on Dr. Phil’s page yesterday (shut up, I was looking for Alexandra’s blog) and there was this ad up at the top of the page with Hershey’s kisses, and if your mouse went anywhere in the upper right quadrant of the page, the GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING HERSHEY’S KISSES STARTED CLEARING THEIR THROATS IN PREPARATION FOR A GODDAMN HOLIDAY SONG. It pissed me off so much I yelled “OH DR. PHIL, I HAVE A SHOW IDEA FOR YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!”, and then I went and bought a couple of bags of Hershey’s kisses and ate the hell out of them to show them just who the boss is.
5. That you might think I’m talking about YOU. I am not talking about YOU, I’m talking about those OTHER annoying bloggers (unless you have those annoying ads on your site, then I am TALKING ABOUT YOU). You, I love because you obviously have excellent taste.
I’ve had to stop reading Under the Dome (the Stephen King novel) for the time being. It causes me great emotional pain to lug that fucking thing around (Dear Stephen King: You had to use 1,000 pages to say the same thing that I AM SURE could have been said in approximately 500? They really do NOT edit you in any way anymore, do they? Sincerely, Your Biggest Fan.). My Kindle should be here today, and the first thing I’m going to do with it is download the Kindle version of Under the Dome.
Stephen King better be getting kickbacks from Kindle, because I’m SURE I’m not the only one who was pushed into a Kindle purchase by the sheer weight of that book.
I bet the Kindle version of that damn book won’t crack my sternum the way I can sense the hardcover version wants to.
Stupid heavy-ass books.
It is cold and it is rainy and it is gray and ugly outside. I hate the weather this time of year. I told Fred that if we didn’t have so many kittens running around, I would have made a fire in the big fireplace by now. He said “They’re not going to JUMP in the fire! Give them some credit!”
I’d give them credit, except they have marshmallow fluff for brains. I have had to stop Orange and Blue from leaping into the fiery-hot oven at least twice each. Every time I do laundry, I’m paranoid that one of them has jumped into the dryer while my back was turned. On Sunday, I had just seen one of them hanging out by the dryer, and then after I’d put the clothes that were in the washer in the dryer he was nowhere to be seen, and I was worried that he’d jumped into the dryer while I wasn’t looking. So I pulled all the clothes out, to be sure there was no kitten in there. Then I started the dryer, walked away, and became concerned that somehow I’d overlooked a kitten among the wet clothes even though I’d pulled them all OUT of the dryer, so I stopped the dryer, pulled everything out, double-checked, started the dryer… And then went through the house counting Cookies (and Wonkas, while I was at it), just to be safe.
Damn kittens are stressing me OUT. But then they climb all over me, purring like crazy little Fluffheads, and the stress goes away.
Sometimes when I walk through the house, a herd of cats in front of me, fighting with each other, trying to trip me up, rubbing against each other and me and the walls, I sing a little ditty. It goes like this:
Too many kitties up in my shit. Too many kitties up in my shit. TOO MANY KITTIES UP IN MY SHIT.
Sounds like a hit, no?
We have hit the point in time (and it happens with every litter, no matter how old they are, no matter how many of them there are) where I can’t do anything without having to shuffle along for fear of stepping on a cat. If I’m doing something in the kitchen, they sit there and scream at me about how they’re starving to death. Orange, the hungriest of the hungries (which makes it ironic that she’s the lightest of the Cookies – she’s at just under two pounds; Hydrox, on the other hand, is now three pounds. He’s going to hit double digits before Orange makes two pounds, I swear!) has learned to climb up me. She gets as far as my waist, and then she hangs there, howling angrily about her starvation.
Someone’s always growling at someone else. Jake and Elwood don’t understand that Violet and Veruca do not care to have them too close, and some evenings it seems that I hear a hellcat scream from every corner of the house. Those Wonka girls have some LUNGS on them.
The Wonkas have sneezed a few times, but don’t seem to really be developing colds (fingers crossed!). A couple of the Cookies have slight colds, but it’s been a few days, and they don’t seem to be turning into anything too bad. I had thought that I’d get them fixed this week, but it looks like it’ll have to wait ’til next week. Which is probably for the best – that way, Orange can pack on a few more ounces.
The Cookies seem to really like the bigger cats. Jake and Elwood don’t mind when the little ones snuggle up with them.
Of the Wonkas, Mike’s the only one who doesn’t much seem to mind when someone who is NOT of his litter snuggles up with him. The girls will hiss and growl and complain, but if Jake and Elwood are persistent enough, they’ll eventually give in. But they’re not HAPPY about it.
Mike was sleeping in the cat bed on Fred’s desk, when Blue came up to Fred asking for some love. Fred held her for a few minutes, then put her in the bed with Mike. They both sat there for a minute, like “What is THIS happy horsepucky?”….
…and then this happened.
Hydrox will snuggle up with anyone, anywhere, anytime. He’s not picky.
Jake got too close to Gus, and this was the result. Gus is NOT up for snuggling with anyone, anywhere, anyEVER. Unless they’re from his litter. He’s picky about who he snuggles with.
Keebler found yet another stack of cat beds, climbed inside, and declared it good.
Violet and Veruca are all “Do you SEE what we have to put up with?!”
Mike would like to know why Elwood thinks it’s okay to snooze in the foster room. Elwood and Jake LOVE to hang out up there. So does Stinkerbelle, for that matter.
Check out the size of those ears!
Front to back: Veruca, Violet, Mike, Gus, and Miz Poo.
Spanky in a box!
Previously
2008: ::DESPAIR::
2007: Stinkerbelle: “I have put my stamp of love upon him, and now I shall lay here and seethe with hatred for those hussies who think they can have him. THEY CANNOT.”
2006: Newton (full name: Newton “Newtie” McNewterton, the salty country kitty) is pretty, yet aloof. It drives the wimmins CRAYZEE.
2005: “Us”? Who’s this “us” kemosabe?
2004: I suppose I need to actually start buying lottery tickets to make these dreams come true.
2003: And also because you Canadians are so cool that I want to canoodle with each and every one of you.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: God bless the internet and online merchants, god bless their little black hearts.
1999: More Christmas talk.