Month: December 2009

Last night I was on Amazon browsing around (I check the Kindle store just about every day to see if there’s anything new I can download for free BECAUSE I AM FRUGAL (ha ha HA)) and I came across Pioneer Woman’s book, and I went to see if it was available in the Kindle version mostly because I was just curious.

It’s not, in case you were wondering.

“That’s kind of odd,” I said out loud to Fred. “Pioneer Woman’s book isn’t available in the Kindle version.”

“Huh,” he said. There was a silence. “Does she have a Kindle?”

I turned and stared at him. “I don’t KNOW,” I said. He was already laughing. “Does PAULA DEEN have a Kindle? How would I know? What kind of fucked-up question is THAT?”

Apparently when I’d said that it was odd that it’s not available in the Kindle version, he’d gotten the impression I thought it was odd because she’s a big fan of the Kindle or something. I only thought it was odd because I thought ALL books are available in the Kindle version these days.

I guess not.

So, my gynecologist called me on Monday to let me know she’d gotten the copies of the lab results from my hematologist, the ones she requested after my appointment with her last week. As it turns out, the lab results don’t show any reason for my NEVER-ENDING GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING SPOTTING.

I’m pretty sure that that’s a no-shitter, right there. I could have TOLD her she wasn’t going to find anything in the lab tests to explain the bleeding that never ends, yes it goes on and ON my friends. So she told me my lab tests were normal.

And I thought to myself “Well, no shit, Sherlock.”

Then she went on to say “So did you want to just wait for a while and see what happens, or….?”

I got a little snappish. “I’m on my third day of heavy spotting, so I think I’d like to DO SOMETHING.”

“Would you like to come into the office and discuss your options?” she offered.

“God YES,” I said. “Please, can we drag this fucking shit on and on as long as humanly possible? Maybe we could discuss my goddamn EVER-BLEEDING UTERUS for the next year and a half before we do anything, you think? Oh, I know, let’s just see if, after a year and a half of spotting that wasn’t stopped by pumping useless hormones into my body in the form of birth control pills, let’s just see if maybe my uterus will stop for a moment and think ‘You know, I’m tired of this bleeding shit. Maybe I’ll just stop for a while!’, because that has worked SO VERY WELL thus far! Uterii are known for being ultra-reasonable, after all. Maybe I should take my uterus to a uterus therapist and it can discuss its childhood trauma! HOW ABOUT YOU CHECK THE RECORDS WHERE YOU WROTE DOWN THAT I AM SICK AND TIRED OF THIS FUCKING SHIT AND READY TO GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD.”

Or maybe I just sighed and said “Okay.”

She put me on the phone with her secretary or receptionist or some stranger passing by, who the fuck knows WHO she passed the phone to, and I made an appointment for “after the holidays” of course, I’m only shocked the secretary/ receptionist/ random stranger didn’t suggest waiting until March, just for shits and giggles. So I have an appointment very early on the 30th.

If at this appointment that nurse tries to get me to pee in a jar YET AGAIN, I will refuse. Did I mention that, that when I went in for my ultrasound last week, the nurse was all “go pee in a jar!” and when I came out the other nurse was all “Oh, you didn’t need to do that for an ULTRASOUND”, as if I should have known?

The gynecologist will come in and say “So, what would you like to do?”, I guarantee it, and I will say “Is a hysterectomy out of the question at this point?” and if she says it is, I will say “Then let’s schedule an endometrial ablation and CAN WE FUCKING GET MOVING ON THIS?!”

Dear Uterus:

Me.

Last night Fred and I were getting ready for bed, and I said “We should have a baby.”

He said “I had a vasectomy.”

I said “No shit. We could just get it reversed!”

He said “Can you imagine how much that would cost?”

I said “If I were pregnant, THE GODDAMN BLEEDING WOULD STOP FOR 9 MONTHS.”

He said “And then you’d give birth, and the bleeding would start again.”

I said “Then we just get pregnant again, DUH.”

He said “Wow, you’d really be emotional and annoyed with me all the time if you were pregnant!” He paused. “‘Emotional’ isn’t really the word I want. What word is it that I’m thinking of….”

“Volatile?” I suggested.

He laughed and said that that was a good descriptive word.

Ultimately, we decided not to have a baby. I know you’re shocked (and no, I wasn’t serious about it.)

Speaking of, I recently ran across the entry I wrote in 1999 wherein I said that the night before, Fred and I had decided I’d go off the pill “in March” and begin trying to have a baby.

Hahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

I reminded him of that, and then said “Just think! We could have a NINE YEAR OLD right now!”

We both shuddered and thanked our lucky stars that we do not.

Which is not to insult YOUR nine year-old, I’m sure s/he is a brilliant and charming child who everyone gazes upon with great affection. In fact, nine is about the age when they start to really get interesting, if I recall correctly, but man. I am really, really glad that I don’t have a nine year old.

(Now watch. Who wants to bet I come up pregnant in the next week? I’m warning you, uterus: DON’T TEST ME. I have a rusty fork and I know how to use it!)

Yesterday afternoon I had the occasion to say to Fred, “There appears to be an eyeball on the floor*.”

And immediately I was reminded of when I was young – maybe 7 or 8 – and we lived in Guam. My father went deep-sea fishing with a bunch of other guys, and they caught a lot of big fish, and brought them home to clean them in someone’s driveway (or so I recall), and my sister was for some reason struck with the desire to have an eyeball from one of the fish.

I can’t tell you what kind of fish these were, but they were BIG, that’s all I know.

So after Debbie said about 100 times that she wanted a fish eyeball, one of the guys dug the eyeball out of one of the fish and flipped it at her, and she ran off screaming.

I guess she didn’t want that fish eyeball as much as she thought!

*Not a REAL eyeball, freak. What goes ON in your house, anyway? It was a googly eye from a cat toy.

This is the little bathroom off the computer room. Every single kitten adores hanging out in there (in part, I suspect, because it’s very warm in there most of the time), and Veruca and Violet especially love to go in there, push the trash basket over, and play in an on it. Needless to say, I don’t use it for trash.

“Lady, it has not escaped my notice that when you’re around, chickens fall from the sky. I’ve got my eye on you.”

One thing about the Wonkas, I don’t think I’ve mentioned, is that they all have very long tails to go along with their very big ears. I should measure their overall length and then the length of their tails and then measure all the other cats in the house the same way so I can back up my long-tail assertion with cold, hard facts.

Tell me she can’t flap those things and fly away.
“What big ears you have, Veruca!”
“The better to ignore you with, my dear.”

Gussy McFlooferton, at your service.

Is that not the smuggest little face? Like “I KNOW Miz Poo hates kittens, ask me if I care.”

A spray o’ Cookie whiskers.

Sheriff Mama (aka “Kara”) keeps an eye out in case someone needs a butt-kicking.

Previously
2008: It is NOT raining!
2007: I would never condone entering a grocery store and opening fire with a machine gun, but I certainly understand the impulse.
2006: I think that we all know that it’s more likely that Sugarbutt will whisk Miz Poo into a perky waltz about the living room before I actually get off my dead ass and sand down the trim so that I don’t have to look at the drippy bits.
2005: No entry.
2004: He yawned his ears right off his head.
2003: “Well,” he said, all smug and certain of his facts. “If you didn’t have DIARRHEA, then it was NOT the flu! It’s just a cold!”
2002: But is Christmas shopping ever really done?
2001: The usual excitement
2000: Grandma’s other concerns were whether the fire was going out (it wasn’t) and how much Fred and Becky were eating.
1999: When did Toronto become part of the United States, again?

Challenger’s House is having a raffle! Check out the great prizes above. The drawing will be on Sun December 20th. Tickets are $5 for 1 or $10 for 3 – you can call Challenger’s House (256.420.5995) and buy your raffle tickets that way.

The money, of course, goes to a very good cause!

Much in the way all the food blogs were annoying me by featuring pumpkin-based recipes in November, they seem to be featuring gingerbread-based recipes this month and GUESS WHO DOESN’T LIKE GINGERBREAD?

(I swear to you, I am NOT a picky eater!)

At least I’m slowly catching up on my blog reading – if I click on a food blog entry and see that the title involves gingerbread, I just click “mark as read” and keep on rollin’.

I think I’ve mentioned before that I have a large number of Gmail addresses. One of them, which I thought to sign up for back when Gmail first came around, is robyn.anderson at Gmail.

(You may certainly feel free to email me there, but I check that email perhaps once a month, so don’t expect a speedy reply, if I ever send one.)

Every once in a while, some other Robyn Anderson has a moment of dumbassery and gives out my email address as hers. I had a flurry of emails last Fall from the classmates of a Robyn Anderson in Canada who was apparently a college student majoring in early education. I got copies of their projects, I got copied on discussions about study groups. It took about a month before it got through to all her classmates that I was not the Robyn Anderson they sought.

I have gotten statements from American Airlines regarding some Robyn Anderson in Texas and her frequent flier miles. I was able to LOG ON as her, but there was nothing very interesting going on, and I marked those emails as spam so I don’t see them any longer.

A couple of weeks ago, I got the following email:

Hi, sweetie–here is the phone number in our room: (deleted), room 1005. Hope you have a great week! Love you. Mom

If I didn’t LOATHE talking on the phone so very much, I might have called her, this other Robyn Anderson’s mother, and asked her to convey to her daughter that if she’s going to give out her email address, she needs to DOUBLE CHECK the fucking email address and make sure it’s the right one she’s giving out.

(Or maybe I’d call and say “Mom? It’s Robyn. I’m PREGNANT!” or “Mom? It’s Robyn. I just won the lottery!” or “Mom? It’s Robyn. I have 20 cats in my house right now!”)

I didn’t, though. I simply said I’m glad you made it, but you’re not my mother. 🙂

I think what I’m saying is that we Robyn Andersons? We’re a ditzy bunch.

Yesterday, between making more crates for storage (I am a crate-making fool, indeed I am), I cleaned the garage (or rather, organized the piles of crap out there) and boiled chickens.

We are trying to get a handle on the chicken population – which is to say, we’re trying to reduce the number of chickens we have, and I personally would like it if we only had one chicken yard rather than the two we currently have. Fred, on the other hand, seems determined to make shutting up the chickens at night a 2-hour job. He was set on building another (small) coop and putting it in the back yard for the, as we call them, “misfits.” The “misfits” included Charlie with her crippled-up feet, the Crested Polish chickens, and the Silkies. Then he wanted to turn the blue coop (which is the smaller coop, if you’ve lost track) into the Black Copper Marans yard, to keep them separate from the other chickens, so we could sell their eggs since their fertile eggs sell for more than plain old mutt chicken eggs do.

Then, of course, we have the big-ass coop out in the back forty.

Currently, we have something like 40 chickens out in the back forty and another…20? Maybe? in the blue coop. We’re eventually going to go to an all Light Brahmas flock, because they get to be pretty big birds, and they are fairly tasty as well as pretty good layers (from what we can tell).

All this babbling is just to tell you that Fred processed 13 chickens on Sunday and I decided to can them. Of course, before I can can the meat, I have to cook it and then debone the chicken, and I prefer to cook the meat by boiling them, and 13 chickens is a lot to boil, so I spent all day boiling two chickens at a time in the kitchen. It took about two hours for each set of chickens (one in my huge pot, one in the dutch oven) to be done, so I’d take them out of the boiling water, put them in a bowl, and set the bowl in the fridge to cool so I could eventually debone them. Today, I’ll doing the actual canning.

My god, am I completely fascinating you, or what?

So mid-afternoon, I was standing in the kitchen, about to fish a chicken out of one of the pots, and Hydrox came lumbering in. The kittens like to come into the kitchen when I’m in there to howl at me because MY GOD THEY ARE ALWAYS STARVING WHY MUST I STARVE THEM TO DEATH? I circumvent the howling most mornings by giving them a bowl of chicken broth, and it generally takes them all day to finish off half a pint of chicken broth. They come in, start to howl, get sidetracked by the bowl of broth, and by the time they think to howl again, I’m out of the kitchen and there’s no one to howl at.

(This is my own homemade and canned chicken broth – it is literally water that a chicken has been boiled in, no salt added, no veggies added, just chickeny-tasting water. Except for Miz Poo, every cat in the house enjoys a slurp or two as the day goes on.)

Anyway, Hydrox came in to see if howling at me would net him any kind of food, and as he walked toward me, already howling, I fished the chicken out of the pot with two big serving spoons, and then I lost my grip on the chicken, and that damn chicken landed on the floor.

Hydrox stopped and stared, and I swear to you, I have never before seen a kitten’s face light up like that. It was as though every dream he’d ever had was suddenly coming true, and his stubby little legs were a BLUR as he tried his hardest to get to that chicken before I could grab it.

Luckily, I was faster than he was, but he was still kind of lucky because a few small pieces of chicken fell off as I lifted the carcass off the floor, and I let him have them.

And if you don’t think he spent the rest of the day following me around hoping that another chicken would magically fall from the sky, you know nothin’ about nothin’.

The Cookies have recovered from their traumatic night at the vet’s and are alternately running around like their tails are on fire, and collapsing in heaps of sleepy cuteness.

I bought this toy, which you hang from a door, at Petsmart last weekend. It’s hanging on the closet door in the Cookie room (during the day, all the cats wander in and out of that room), and every once in a while I hear the sound of leaping kittens as they rediscover the toy hanging there.

Pouty Miss Pink.

This “being cute” business is exhausting work.

Violet and Gus.

Veruca and the hugest ears in the house.

Gus finds it important for all household members to be clean. Except those stinky little kittens; he figures they can take care of themselves.

Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring
Banana phone
Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring
Banana phone
I’ve got this feeling, so appealing,
for us to get together and sing. Sing!

Previously
2008: Yes, we only currently have about three beds for each cat. What’s your point?
2007: He really is a pretty chicken, and I look forward to seeing what his babies look like.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: Fred leaned down and SNIFFED MEESTER BOOGERS’ ASS AGAIN.
2003: And then we got to stand around while the woman, clearly not the sort who can walk and chew gum at the same time, fumbled with her credit card, NEVER ONCE PAUSING IN HER INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT CONVERSATION.
2002: Tell me, for I am clueless when it comes to these things.
2001: Like I said, if you’re going to mix lights, go all the way, people.
2000: No entry.

I spent most of yesterday cleaning the house. Without those five little Cookies running around, I managed to get quite a bit done. I hadn’t cleaned the bathrooms in forever and a day (which really can’t be blamed on the Cookies, because I can close the bathroom doors to clean, and in fact I did so that the Wonkas wouldn’t come in and get in the way), so I got those done, got the Cookie room scrubbed, the litter boxes changed and cleaned, the entire house dusted, and the entire house vacuumed.

I started around 11:00, and when Fred got home at 3:30, I was still going strong. I got everything done that I wanted to get done, except for washing the floors. They’re pretty grungy throughout the house, but I ran out of steam (and had to get dinner started) at 4:00, so the floors will have to wait for another day.

It’s nice to have the house clean, at least for a little while. After he took his shower last night, Fred said “My shower was more sparkly than Edward Cullen in the sunlight at high noon!”

HA.

It was quite lovely and mild out yesterday, and we even got some afternoon sun! I know it won’t last (the mildness, at least), but it was nice while we had it.

We have, lately, had an issue with cats on the right side of my desk moving around so much in their sleep that the bed slides over to the edge of the desk. I don’t always realize it’s happening, so about once a day one kitten or another has fallen (in the bed, often while sound asleep) off the side of my desk. They usually land behind the computer, and then either hunch there, scared, or go running off to hide.

I’ve been trying to figure out what I could do to stop the falling (taking the bed off that side of the desk doesn’t work – they still sleep there whether there’s a bed or not, and they still fall over the side). Finally, I decided that I could use the rack the printer was sitting on, move it over next to my desk – it’s the same height as my desk – then just get something else to put the printer on.

Then, of course, I had to think about it for a while longer before we actually did anything about it. I looked at printer stands, which are too damn expensive, and other pieces of furniture, and then last weekend when Fred and I were at Lowe’s, we found another rack that we decided would work perfectly.

This is kind of how it looked at that side of the desk before I moved the rack over. You can’t see it, but the computer was sitting on the floor next to the desk, the shredder (always turned off unless I’m in the process of using it, worry not) was sitting next to that, and the recycling bin was sitting in front of the trash can (which was sitting in front of the computer).

(Gus and Jake)

With the new rack put together, I moved the original rack over next to the desk, put the computer and shredder on the bottom shelf and a couple of cat beds on top of it, and put the printer rack next to that.

Two years ago, I had two cat beds in the computer room – one on either side of my desk. Then I moved the big oak filing cabinet to the left side of my desk and put a cat bed there. Now I’ve got the rack so that cats won’t fall off the desk, and to be honest, if I wanted to, I could move the printer down to the middle level and put the box of paper and the scanner on the bottom level, move the top shelf down, and put a cat bed there.

I suspect it’s only a matter of time!

Remember Caleb, from The Seven?

He’s all grown up!

His mom says: Thought you might like to see how beautiful John has become! He is a wonderfully intelligent cat. Every morning we play a hunting game. I hide kitty treats around the room and he enjoys the hunt! It is a challenge to find new places to hide the treats. I sit and enjoy my morning coffee while the mighty hunter brings home the kibble! Thanks again to his foster family!
Merry Christmas!

Doesn’t he look like he could be related to our Jake and Elwood?

My house was super quiet last night. I called the vet in the late afternoon to see if the Cookies were done with their surgeries and ready to come home. I waited on hold for a few minutes, then found out that they weren’t all done yet, and I’d have to wait closer to 6:00 to pick them up.

I really hate bringing them home when they’re still groggy from the surgery, because they stumble around and look so confused. I opted to leave them at the vet’s overnight, and I’ll be leaving in a few minutes to go pick them up. I expect they’ll be mostly recovered, and ready to run around like their butts are on fire!

When I dropped them off yesterday morning, I got confused and almost renamed the Cookies! We were weighing them and then putting collars on them with their names, and after she’d taken two of them off to the cage in the other room, I looked down at the two Meezer cookies left in the carrier, and I said “I have no idea who these two are. Who do we have collars left for?” She said “TimTam and Milano?” and I had to think for a LONG time before I realized that I’d told her Pink’s real name is Lorna Doone when OF COURSE Pink’s real name is Milano (Orange is Lorna Doone), so she had to go get Pink so we could rectify the situation.

Speaking of their weights, Hydrox weighed the most, at 3.5 pounds. The closest Meezer was Keebler, who weighed in at 2.7 pounds! There was another foster mom there dropping off her babies (hi Cydney!), and she couldn’t believe how heavy he was. He is going to be one huge cat!

Look at Orange looking at me, all “WHAT did you say about my mother?! I will kick your BUTT!”

Miz Poo’s all “FINE, let the BABY have the heated bed, I’ll just lay here in the PRETTY bed! And she can’t have it!”

If that look on her face doesn’t say “smug”, I don’t know what does.

“Hellooooooo, laydeez!”

I sure do love his gorgeous stripes!

Cookies, Cookies, everywhere!

I love it when one of them hooks her chin over the other one. They just look so content.

Spanky say, relax.

Previously
2008: It’s not been a good time to be a finger on the hand of Robyn And3rson lately.
2007: When one has to peck the ground for bugs and worms, one gets mud on one’s beak.
2006: So that’s the story of my search for the perfect bra, and how I found it.
2005: I probably have a brain tumor.
2004: I swear, my Grinchly heart grew three sizes right then and there.
2003: A tree with glass ornaments? In a house with five cats?
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: I told Fred we should hire her out to the local police agencies and she could tell them when someone looks like a “drug person.”
1999: Fred and I came to an agreement last night. The end of March, I’m going off the birth control, and we’re going to start trying to get pregnant. (HahahahahahaHAHA! My, how times have changed!)

If you’re a lover of the habanero jams and hot sauces, please be aware that I have now used up all the habaneros we had saved in the freezer, and what’s listed on the jam page is what’s available. Once all that stuff is gone, there will be no more available until next Fall at the very earliest.

So, I went for my mammogram on Friday. I wasn’t particularly dreading it, because it’s a bit uncomfortable, but nothing too bad, and I was mostly interested in getting it over with so I could go on with my day and get my errands run. The place where I go gets you in and out pretty quickly – my appointment for the mammogram was at 7:30, so I showed up at 7:15 as directed, and I only sat in the waiting room for about ten minutes before they called me back. And then I only had to sit in the second waiting room for about five minutes, if that, before the tech (I have no clue what her actual job title was) called me back.

As she was positioning my right breast on the pad, she said “You’ve lost a lot of weight!”

“Yes I have,” I said. “I had weight loss surgery in 2006.”

“I’d love to have weight loss surgery,” she said. “But I’d have to gain weight to qualify for it. But that might be fun, just eat whatever I want and gain all that weight so I could have the surgery!”

I smiled.

We chatted as the mammogram continued, and once it was over, she told me I was all set.

“You had surgery in 2006… so, have you lost weight in the past year that would make a difference since your last mammogram?” she said.

“No, maybe a few pounds, but nothing big,” I said. My weight generally stays within a four-pound range, and has for the last two years. She jotted a note.

As I walked out of the room, she cheerily said “Well, keep going! You’re looking good!”

“Thanks!” I said, and headed for the dressing room to change back into my clothes.

I was halfway through getting dressed when what she’d said hit me, and I sputtered indignantly.

I wanted to go back to the room where she was and knock on the door and yell “WHAT THE FUCK, LADY?! ‘KEEP GOING’?! Where the fuck am I supposed to GO?! I’m not gonna ‘KEEP GOING’ because I’m THERE. I’ve ARRIVED at where I want to be!”

But I didn’t because I would have sounded like an idiot. I’m sure she meant to be all positive and encouraging, but man. When someone who’s seen you naked from the waist up implies that you’re still a fat fattypants DESPITE THE LOSS OF ALMOST 200 POUNDS FROM YOUR HIGHEST WEIGHT, it tends to take the wind out of your sails, you know?

So it’s ironic that when I got home, Annette had left a comment telling me that I was looking skinny in the picture I’d posted of myself in the kitchen with 130 cats.

TAKE THAT, MAMMOGRAM TECH LADY!

(For the record, I was not really upset by what she’d said, because I know she meant to be encouraging. It reminds me of when Fred had lost 150ish pounds and went for a massage. He looked REALLY good and did NOT need to lose any more weight, but she, too, told him to “keep going”. WTF with these people and the “keep going”?!)

I have put up zilch in the way of Christmas decorations this year and don’t intend to, because the idea of fishing kittens out of the Christmas tree a zillion times a day and hearing ornaments bounce all over the house makes me tired.

HOWEVER, I have recently learned that they make half trees that you can hang on the wall and put lights and ornaments on. I’m missing having a Christmas tree this year, so you better believe I’ll be getting one of those half trees for next year!

Also, speaking of Christmas, I’ve decided that I’m going to spend the next year hand-making Christmas cards to send out. So next year, the great Bitchypoo Christmas Card exchange will be back, because I have to admit that I’ve really missed it this year!

I’ll be leaving in a little while to take the Cookies for their spaying and neutering. Right now they’re closed in their room, probably hungry (I took their food away at bedtime last night), and I’ll be flinging the door open in a few minutes, snatching them up, tossing them in the carrier, and hopefully I’ll have them at the vet before they know something’s up.

I’ll spend the day getting their room and litter boxes scrubbed down, and when they come home tonight, they’ll have a nice clean room to recover in.

Saturday night, after we’d put the Cookies and the Wonkas in their respective rooms, we were laying in bed, and suddenly one of the Wonkas started banging on their door. I figured they’d stop, but after it had gone on for several minutes, I suggested that we just let them stay out for the night. Fred agreed, so I let them out, and it worked out pretty well.

Gus is a very polite sleeper – he curled up against me and went right to sleep. Mike, on the other hand, would have slept on my face if I’d let him. He ended up flopped across my neck for most of the night, and I woke up several times to find him purring very loudly, gently kneading my arm. He stayed with me all night until Fred got up, and then he followed Fred downstairs. I also woke a few times to find Veruca and/ or Violet perched atop me. They’re super light girls, though, so it certainly wasn’t annoying or painful.

I love all the Wonkas, but I’ve got to admit that I’m going to miss Mike the most. Considering how hissy and spitty he was when he first came here, it continually amazes me how friendly and laid-back he is. Last night Fred picked Mike up with his hands under Mike’s armpits and then gently swung the lower half of Mike’s body forward (he said it was “The Mikey dance”), and Mike just kept on purring. It cracked me UP. Mike will just let you do anything to him, he’s happy no matter what’s going on. He prefers to be sitting in a lap or snuggled up against me when I’m at my computer – DEFINITELY a people cat, our Mikey.

I was going to say that Mike’s a ladies’ man, but since that’s Keebler right next to him, I guess I’d better say he’s a Meezers’ man.

Violet, sound asleep next to Keebler. I’m sure there was some hissing on her part before she gave up and went to sleep. She and Veruca always have to have their say when one of the little ones gets too close, but none of the other cats seem too alarmed or impressed by the growling.

Blue. I don’t know why I said Blue has those ear points like Keebler does, because she clearly doesn’t.

Miss Blue.

Gus, in the computer room, with the ear floof.

One evening last week, the Cookies had their vaccinations, and it knocked them for a loop the next day. They stayed in their room, in this bed, for the better part of the day. They finally found some energy around dinner time, but the house was certainly quiet without them running around making trouble!

Still sleepy.

Keebler (top) and Pink (bottom). Pink’s ear is bent over like that because she was in the process of shaking her head. Too bad it doesn’t stay like that; it’s particularly cute, isn’t it?

Sleepy Meezer.

Pretty Jake.

Previously
2008: No entry.
2007: Well, I don’t “always” say it. In fact, that would be the first time I’ve ever said it. But I’ll say it more in the future!
2006: “MY BABY IS IN PAIN, MAKE IT STOP!”
2005: I’m impressed with myself, if you couldn’t tell.
2004: It is in the 20s here today, IS IT OKAY FOR ME TO BE COLD NOW?
2003: (”Thanks, me! I’m so thoughtful!”)
2002: No entry.
2001: Trust me, it was far more horrifying-looking in person.
2000: Babbling.
1999: No entry.

If you check out my blog you will see some photos of deer in our neighborhood that have been horribly treated. Not only are these living animals these activities are illegal. Can you help me spread the word that these gentle creatures are not to be kept as pets or treated as targets for practice? I was hoping you might be able to help me spread the word. Thanks, Wendy

Tuesday it rained all day, and that night when Fred went off to bed, he called me into his room to look out the window. The entire back forty was covered in water, the garden was covered, the back yard was covered. As far as I could see, there was nothing but water.

Half worried that we were all going to float away (or at least that the chicken coops might), I went to bed.

Yesterday morning it was clear and bright and sunny, and the water had receded quite a bit.

Last night, the temperatures dropped into the 20s, and it’s supposed to be COLD AS SHIT for the foreseeable future. I’m actually not complaining, believe it or not, because I’d rather the ground get cold and hard so every time I go out to the back forty, I don’t sink into six inches of mud.

I finally got around to watching Hoarders. I know y’all mentioned it to me when it first came on, and I swear I thought we didn’t get A&E, so I made a mental note to watch an episode or two online. I never got around to it – mostly because I hate sitting and watching anything longer than a few minutes on the computer – and then last week I checked again, and lo and behold, we DO get A&E. I set up to tape, and have recorded a few episodes.

Tuesday, I decided I was going to have a lazy-ass day, so I snuggled up on the couch with a varying number of kittens, and watched TV.

SKIP THIS PART IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE MOST RECENT EPISODES OF BROTHERS AND SISTERS.

1. That whole shit with Nora and Simon and her ending up giving him money is so OBVIOUS AND HAM-HANDED that I’m embarrassed to watch that shit. I tell you what, if I ever end up a rich widow and start dating some guy who runs a “charitable organization” and needs “funding”, I will boot him out on his ass so fast he won’t know what hit him. DON’T BE A VICTIM, NORA. (That said, I’m sure it’ll end up being TOTALLY legit. Or whatever. I don’t care for this particular storyline, though Kitty stumbling across Nora and Simon in the shower cracked me UP.

2. Why the fuck do people who have serious illnesses feel the need to hide shit from the people around them? I hate that shit.

3. Oh, and of COURSE Kitty’s got to collapse at Justin and Rebecca’s wedding. Did I mention “ham-handed” and “obvious”? Also, that blond wig has got to GO. I cannot believe Rebecca would ever want to marry into that crazy-ass

OKAY IT’S SAFE, BROTHERS AND SISTERS WATCHERS.

So then I watched three episodes of Hoarders. And why did two of them have to feature people who had DEAD CATS in their houses? I was watching the one with the elderly couple who had cats all through their house (they thought they had 20 or 25, but as it turned out, there were 70-something cats in the house, about half of them dead) and I was watching them walk around putting cat food on plates for cats in various parts of the house, and I had a mental image of myself EVERY FUCKING NIGHT standing in the kitchen with ten million cats dancing around me and squawking and whining about how starving they are, and how I’ve started putting Stinkerbelle’s nightly snack on the top of the canning cabinet because she’s all “I am hungry, but THEY’S TOO GODDAMN MANY CATS IN THERE” and then how I follow Spanky to another room because he’s all “I would enjoy a snack but THEY’S TOO GODDAMN MANY CATS IN THERE” and I leave the snack wherever he settles, and I was all “HELLO I AM SEEING MY FUTURE.”

When your cats are telling you that you’ve got too many cats? You might have too many cats.

(But does the fact that nine of them are transitory make a difference? And also, I don’t use paper plates? I use REAL plates. And then I wash them. Oh god help me, I’m a fucking lunatic, aren’t I? I’m going to go look under my bed and make sure there are no dead cats.)

The last one I watched, that I finished watching and then COINCIDENTALLY got up and started cleaning house, no correlation between the two, of course not, was the woman in Louisiana whose house was so bad that they devoted the entire show to her. Who had had no plumbing for six years, and the cleaning crew started cleaning her house, hit the bathroom and were all like “Um, FUCK NO THANK YOU, WE’LL WAIT OUT HERE.” They hauled something like 8,000 pounds of garbage out of her house.

Watching that shit makes me itchy, because OF COURSE I have hoarding tendencies. If one cat bed is good, sixteen is sixteen times better, right?

ARGH.

Seriously – if you’re not watching Hoarders, you’ve gotta give it an episode or two. Trust me.

My Kindle arrived on Tuesday. I gave it to Fred to play with, and downloaded Uncle Tom’s Cabin for him (because it’s free), and after about fifteen minutes of him using the Kindle, he came in and gave it back to me and declared that he doesn’t like it.

MORE KINDLE FOR ME, THEN.

(Still can’t believe I have to wait ’til Christmas Eve to get Under the Dome on my Kindle. FUCKERS.)

I haven’t downloaded any books yet, mostly because I’m kind of stocked up on real books, and I ain’t gonna go pay for the same book again. I’m sure I’ll find something I want immediately, it’ll just take me time to figure out what.

Oh, and for the record? I REALLY like the Kindle.

Anyone know what this bug might be?

Miss Pink.

I know not why, but every kitten in the house adores playing in the can where I toss all my junk mail and magazines to recycle.

Keebler, pondering.

I don’t know why Elwood’s got that grumpy look on his face – he LOVES to snuggle with the little ones, and it’s not like they’re crowding him.

Five Cookies in one bed (you’ll note that Miss Orange almost always has her eyes on me. She’s a lovah, that one.)

The many faces of Mike Teevee.

MY GOD I JUST LOVE HIS SWEET LITTLE FACE.

Newt, in the back yard. Not lookin’ for trouble – but somehow, trouble always finds him.

Previously
2008: I AM BESIDE MYSELF WITH EXCITEMENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
2007: It’s a pisser that the things that are the least fun – cleaning, laundry – are a neverending cycle.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: I want to marry you, Consumer Reports.
2003: The Bean’s nickname for today is “Stanley Rotten.”
2002: Xmas meme.
2001: And then Miz Poo SMACKS him again.
2000: No entry.
1999: I’m just saying.

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.