Oh, readers.
Readers, readers, readers. You disappoint me, greatly. You make me tearful and sad. I made a bet with Fred, and y’all let me down.
Last week I posted:
Y’all said: NOTHING, because you totally missed:
Hmph.
And I also posted:
Y’all said: NOTHING (though probably you were thinking Oh look, an exciting picture of Robyn’s hospital room. Could she BE any more boring?), because you totally missed:
And then I posted:
You: Nada.
And lastly:
You: Zzzzzzzzzzzz
Hmph.
HMPH I SAY.
Considering how, back in October, I posted a pic of my canning cabinet, and y’all were like “ZOINKS! IS THAT A BABY CHICK IN THAT JAR?! ARE YOU CANNING BABY CHICKS?! WHAT KIND OF MONSTER ARE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU?!” in about ten seconds flat, I expected more from you.
(The pic in question: )
I told Fred before I posted those pictures last week, that I was sure by comment #3, someone would be all “Um. Is that that doll you showed us a few weeks ago, peeking creepily from one side of the picture, or have I just gone insane?”, but nada.
Nothing.
No one noticed!
Ah well. I have to admit to you that we giggled like the great big dorks we are when we were setting up those pictures, so it was worth it, even though no one else got the joke.
I had an appointment with my gynecologist yesterday (thus the lack of update), and it was the first time I’d driven since surgery. The driving went fine, and the appointment went fine, too. She was just checking my incision and checking in with me to see how I’m feeling. I got another four weeks’ worth of estrogen patches. So far, the estrogen patches seem to be working okay, but I think it’s too early to declare that we’ve found my dosage. Who knows what my body’s going to be pulling in the next few months?
I have developed, due to the surgery, a lovely little pot belly. She told me that eventually it would go away. IT BETTER, is all I’m saying. I didn’t pay for that damn lower body lift to end up with a pot belly, damnit.
These days, I’m spending my days wearing a pair of pajama pants that are about two sizes too big, and a sweatshirt. The pajama pants are perfect, because they don’t put any pressure on my swollen guts. I can wear jeans for a little while, as long as I don’t tighten the belt all the way, but the instant I get home it’s back into the pajama pants for me. (I think the kids call them “sleep pants” these days.)
Sunday, I felt so good that Fred and I actually went up to the flea market in Tennessee and walked around for about an hour. Fred bought three $3 t-shirts, and I bought a box of Girl Scout Cookies. They were out of Samoas (DAMNIT), so I got the chocolate/ peanut butter ones.
There were a lot of puppies for sale at that flea market. I came thisclose to throwing a temper tantrum and demanding that Fred let me buy a tiny little Shih-Tzu/ Yorkie puppy, but then I came to my senses and remembered that we’re not dogs (in the house) people. And especially we’re not buying-dogs-at-the-flea-market people when so many dogs are languishing in shelters, needing homes.
S/He sure was a cutie, though.
I have been a TV-watching fool while I’m recovering from surgery. I actually ran out of stuff on the DVR, and had to flip wildly through the channels and set up to tape more stuff. I watched the biographies of Kristy McNichol and Carrie Underwood last week, and I still have Val Kilmer and Leonardo DiCaprio to watch. I started taping Ellen again, to add to my Dr. Phil and Oprah episodes (I don’t watch every episode of Oprah or of Dr. Phil – usually they have five minutes to catch my attention before I delete it).
I am caught up on Hoarders – I think I watched about ten episodes in the last week and a half. Are you watching Hoarders? You totally should, because it is an utterly fascinating show. The hoarders on that show seem to be divided into two camps – the people who hoard stuff but manage to get the garbage out of the house, and the people who have a house full of stuff AND garbage. I mean, seriously, the lady with the house full of adult diapers? What the holy hell must that house have smelled like? And the people with dead animals under piles of stuff? AGH.
These hoarders, god almighty, they ALWAYS seem to have cats. And they NEVER seem to clean UP after the cats. Okay, MAYBE I’m guilty of not cleaning up a pile of cat barf if I think Fred will see it and clean it up within an hour or so, but I don’t leave it there for DAYS MONTHS YEARS. And I would never ever leave a pile of crap laying on the floor for longer than it took me to stand over it in disbelief, swear a blue streak, and then find the cleaning stuff. If I catch even the slightest hint of cat pee, I’m a woman on a mission, walking around sniffing wildly, the spray in one hand and the cleaning rag in the other. Ask Fred – I must ask him a million times a week “DO YOU SMELL CAT PEE?” and “SMELL THAT CAT BED OVER THERE AND MAKE SURE IT DOESN’T HAVE PEE ON IT.”
The problem is that anything with the slightest chemical smell to it can initially smell like cat pee to me. There are these cord protectors that are, “infused” with a citrus scent, to deter cats (and other small animals) from chewing on them. To me, these cord protectors do NOT smell like citrus. They smell like cat pee with the slightest side of ass, at least the first whiff does. All the cords in the foster room are covered by the protectors, and most of the cords in my room are, and so are the cords in the guest bedroom. Any place where kittens might chew on cords, are these cord protectors. So I spend a LOT of time walking around my house going “OH. Is that CAT PEE?!”, sniffing wildly, and then determining that it’s the cord protectors I’m smelling.
Um. Look at me, I got distracted there. That was NOT where I meant to go when I started talking about the hoarders.
Where I meant to go, was to tell y’all that there hasn’t been one single episode of Hoarders where I haven’t spotted at least one Amazon box, and at least one Target bag. Every single episode. If I were the drinking sort, I’d make up a drinking game where you did a shot every time you spotted a Target bag or Amazon box. Then you could do a shot every time someone hovered tearfully over a piece of garbage and ended up deciding to keep it. And a shot every time someone’s family member got fed up and stomped off.
Actually, a better game would be one where every time you spotted a Target bag/ Amazon box, you pause the show and go find something to toss in the trash. Your house would be clean in no time!
Truly, I do not know how the therapists and organizers deal with this shit. The first time my client was all dithery about whether or not to keep the stack of classified ads from 1998 or the pile of unopened Target bags that were brought directly home from the store and tossed in a corner of the room, I’d be snatching that shit from their hands and screaming “GET OVER IT!” in their faces. I get really impatient while I’m watching the show. I mean, are you KIDDING ME, you have a pile of bags from the store chest-high, that you never touched once you brought them home, and somehow you’re SO attached to this shit that the idea of seeing it thrown out pushes you to the point of a nervous breakdown? SERIOUSLY?
I also – JUST MY OPINION – think that when your house is so stuffed with crap that your partner has fallen down the stairs and broken her leg because of it, and your response is to get overwhelmed and declare that you’re not getting rid of anything at all, that is incredibly fucking selfish on your part, and FUCK YOUR DISEASE.
See? I’d be a horrible therapist.
I’ve also powered my way through one and a half seasons of Californication, and I have to admit to you that I am loving that damn show. I’ve never really watched David Duchovny in anything, but I like him in this show, and I LOVE the holy hell out of Marcy. She’s like a tiny, younger, funny Demi Moore. Truly, the only character who annoys me is Mia and even she’s starting to grow on me.
The second disc for Season 2 is on the way from Netflix, and I’ll likely get it watched in an afternoon. THEN what the hell am I going to watch?
Suggestions?
Thanks for all your comments regarding Hoyt. Someone is seriously interested in adopting him, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed that that works out. Y’all keep your fingers crossed, too, and I’ll be sure to let y’all know more when there’s more to know. 🙂
Lena posted in her blog that her son – who lives in Jacksonville, Florida – found this poor, malnourished pit bull. Look at the pictures of that poor dog, is he not the most pitiful thing?
Wes is pretty sure that his homeowner’s policy won’t allow him to keep a pit bull, so he needs help – if you’re in the Jacksonville area and you’re willing to foster or adopt this sweet boy or know someone who will, contact Wes (email address is toward the bottom of this page).
Has everyone read about little Myron, Sue’s sweet foster boy?
Bad news: Myron tested positive for Feline Leukemia.
Good news: Sue found a great shelter with a small Feline Leukemia ward, willing to take him!
I love Myron because he reminds me more than a little of my sweet Mikey (who is now Aaron & Marian’s beloved Topher). I think it is absolutely awesome that there’s a facility willing to take sweet Myron.
You can make a donation to Purrfect Pals here.
(And keep your fingers crossed that the lottery ticket we bought yesterday wins. How amazing would it be to have a small facility devoted to taking care of special needs cats? I’d love to be able to do that!)
Hey, look who we’ve got pictures of!
That’s sweet Clairee.
And Drum and Clairee!
They are reportedly very happy in their new home, and their new parents adore them and are glad they adopted both of them. I mean, seriously – have you ever seen such happy monkeys?
“Do I need to come over there and smack you around a little, perhaps?”
Previously
2009: They are weird-looking and obnoxious.
2008: No entry.
2007: Seriously, I might be a bit lackadaisical in my housekeeping, but I wouldn’t let CAT POO sit around on the floor, let alone let it show up in a picture!
2006: Second of all, we both hate our voices and to release them forth into the world would be a cruelty beyond measure.
2005: Impromptu day off.
2004: I’m going to save a fortune on tampons, that’s for sure.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: Damn that Sam’s.
2000: Heartless bastard.