Month: April 2010

Paula’s walking in honor of Jane‘s Jugs on Mother’s Day to raise money for breast cancer services. Get your butt over yonder and sponsor her!

(I made that graphic at the top with my own two hands. Awfully talented, aren’t I?)

You know your day’s going to be kind of weird when you’re washing the blood off a rooster (“a bloody cock”, if you must) before 9 am. Apparently two roosters decided it was time to BRING IT ON, and they both ended up pretty damn bloody from the chest up. As far as we could tell, all the blood was coming from around their combs. Fred held them one at a time, while I poured warm water in a stream over the bloody areas and swiped with a wet cloth to get rid of the worst of the blood.

Then I had to open this bottle of purple inky stuff. I would tell you what the hell the stuff is called, but I don’t know, and Fred’s not present at the moment, so just believe me when I tell you it’s like purple dye. You know the dye packs they put in the decoy pack of money at banks, that they stick in your bag of money when you rob a bank, and then you walk through the door and the sensor starts the timer in the pack of dye, and at some predetermined time, when you’re away from the bank and can’t angrily stomp back through the door and start shooting people, it explodes, dying the money and everything else in the area? That’s what it looks like.

Oh. According to Wikipedia, the dye pack is red. You’d think I’d know that, given that I was a bank teller at one point in my very distant past.

Anyway, this bottle of stuff is like purple dye. IS MY POINT. And we use it on the chickens when they get bloody spots on their combs because chickens, when they see blood on another chicken, respond by pecking at the blood. Which causes more blood. It’s a bloody cycle, is what it is. (Also, it helps the wound to heal because it’s got some kind of medication in it. I’m sorry to be so specific.) So Fred held the roosters while I opened the purple dye and dabbed it on the bloody spots. When you cover bloody spots, the other chickens say “IS THAT BLOOD? Oh, no. It’s purple. Clearly NOT blood, so I’ll move along and not peck at it. Bug-AWK!”

The first rooster was pretty good about the washing and the dying, but the second rooster was pretty twitchy and while I was dabbing the dye on his comb, he shook his head, and the shit went everywhere, and so now there are purple spots of dye all over the jacket I was wearing (it was a crappy jacket Fred got at Walmart, so no big deal) and all over my hands. I spent the rest of the day worrying that when I went out in public people were going to be all “SHE HAS PURPLE DYE ON HER HANDS CLEARLY SHE ROBBED A BANK”, but since I was wrong about the bank dye packs being purple, they were probably only thinking “SHE HAS PURPLE DYE ON HER HANDS CLEARLY SHE’S BEEN HANDLING BLOODY COCKS.”

We finished with the rooster and freed them, and petted the dogs, and then came back to the house.

I sat down at my computer to do something, and then became aware that my hand smelled like wet dog (from the petting of George and Gracie, obv)(first I was all “Ugh. Apparently wet roosters smell like wet dog”, then I remembered I’d had wet hands when I patted the dogs. Duh.), so I got up and went into the kitchen to wash my hands. I turned on the faucet, and no water came out. Not even the sound of water TRYING to come out. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” I said to Fred.

“What?”

“WE HAVE NO WATER,” I said. I went into the bathroom, then into the other bathroom and checked those faucets just to be sure the problem wasn’t with the kitchen faucet specifically. We had no water anywhere.

“Huh,” Fred said disinterestedly.

“You’re not NEARLY disturbed enough by this,” I told him.

“I’m sure they’re working on a broken water main,” he said.

I stomped out to the garage to get a jug of water (I have about 20 jugs of water in the garage for JUST such an occasion) and then made Fred pour water over my hands while I washed them.

(He did eventually call the water company, and just as he’d predicted, they were working on a broken water main just up the road from us.)

“This is happening FAR TOO FUCKING OFTEN,” I fumed.

“It’s only the second time it’s happened since we moved in,” Fred said.

“LIKE I SAID.”

Fred just came in. Blue Kote Wound Care is what that purple stuff is. In case you were wondering what to do next time you’re faced with a bloody cock.

On Tuesday afternoon, Maura’s Mom stopped by to visit her. The visit went well.

THAT’S RIGHT, I SAID “MAURA’S MOM.”

No more details for now, though. I don’t want to jinx the adoption process! More details once she’s gone to her new home (which will be sometime after Sunday), I promise.

Rhyme, having just woken up, isn’t sure who or where he is.

Play time for Corbett and Bolitar.

Tommy was pretending not to notice Rhyme down there, and was twitching his tail juuuuust out of reach. It was driving Rhyme NUTS.

Recycling inspectors, asleep on the job!

Reacher, having gone into the trash searching for a crumpled up piece of tissue or paper towel, comes out disappointed.

Newt, in the Newt Cave. He seems a little concerned that Maura’s going to come along and kick him out, doesn’t he?

Previously
2009: “This will not DO,” she says, tsking, and immediately begins arranging her eggs in the preferred pattern.
2008: I thought you guys would want to know.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: So, Fred has now been officially neutered.
2004: All I have to say about the kayak is this: those fuckers are HARD to get out of!
2003: Except that best laid plans and all that jazz.
2002: I love old houses with deep porches.
2001: No entry.
2000: Even now, Fred and I talk about that, and we refer to it as my “Walking the gauntlet.”

Thanks, you guys, for your frugal site suggestions. I love it that there are so many blogs and forums out there devoted to saving money. Like a couple of you mentioned, I’m really most interested in saving money on the cleaning and paper products that I use regularly – and if I can save a few bucks on decent litter, I am THERE.

I’m in the process of updating my links page, but it’ll be a while (I’m trying to convince Fred to write me a simple little links organizer that will sit on our server – along the lines of Blogrolling.com, but it would pull from our own server instead of from Blogrolling’s). Once it’s updated, though, I’ll have a little section of just the money-saving blogs/ forums so y’all can check ’em out, too!

Tell me, sweet darling readers, if this makes sense to you. You and your husband or significant other get into the car to drive to town to, for instance, take the recycling back to the recycling center. As you are on your way to the recycling center, you both decide to swing by the grocery store because Diet Pepsi is on sale, buy one get one free (which adds up to 75 cents per bottle, and that is an EXCELLENT FREAKIN’ PRICE). You drop your stuff off at the recycling center, go to the grocery store, and you realize something.

“Hey,” you say to your husband or significant other. “Since the pet store is right here, I’m going to run over and check on their price on that cat food I was looking at.”

And he gives you the look. He doesn’t say anything, but you KNOW he’s thinking “Every time we go out to do an errand, she has to ADD ERRANDS on to what we’re doing!”

Seriously. If we’re out doing errands, and I think of another errand that needs to be done, what does it hurt if we do that additional errand? Would it make sense to ONLY do the errands we set out to do, come home, and then go out at a later time to get the additional errand done SO WE CAN WASTE GAS AND KILL THE PLANET? What the fuck?

And this is apparently a widespread “problem” – Fred told me that he and a coworker once bonded over the way their wives would “add errands” on.

I ask again: what the fuck?

I watched the Octo-Mom on Oprah yesterday (it was on last week, I DVR’d it. I DVR all episodes of Oprah and then decide which ones to watch based on the description. I end up deleting about 9/10ths of them, and then fast-forward through most of the ones I end up watching).

I didn’t watch the entire interview between Oprah and Octo-Mom, because her voice (and those great big fake hooting belly-laughs) were annoying the shit out of me, but holy CRAP is that woman in over her head. She appears to routinely get only about three hours of sleep per night, and that lack of sleep probably explains (1) why she would ever think that anyone on earth would EVER believe she’s never had any kind of plastic surgery (how are those great big plastic lips treating you, Octo-Mom?) and (2) that she has no idea who Angelina Jolie is.

Please.

It was interesting to see 24 hours in her life, though.

Maura is really coming out of her shell since we’ve allowed her the run of the house. She actually has her favorite spots in the house – in the picture above, she’s laying in the sun in the kitchen. She also likes to hang out on my desk, sometimes she lays by the back door, and in the afternoons she can be found laying in the cat bed on the chair next to my bed. She has her playful moments, and she’s starting to be more interested in the kittens than annoyed by them, especially when the kittens are playing with each other.

Yesterday, she was laying in the kitchen and Rhyme and Bolitar were play-fighting. She reached out and smacked at Rhyme’s tail as it whipped by. He turned and hissed at her, and she just looked at him like “What’s YOUR problem, kid?”

She sure is a sweet girl.

Corbett and Reacher, watching Kara in the back yard.

Fond of the office supplies, these kittens.

Better call the dishwasher repair guy. It appears we’ve got an infestation of kittens again. ::sigh:: WHERE do they come from??

I love how Rhyme is all “I WILL KEELL YOU!” and Reacher’s like “What’s going on over there?”

Rhyme: “I WILL BITE YOUR FACE OFF!”
Reacher: “Is it snack time yet, you think?”

“Trying to SLEEP here, lady.”

Previously
2009: Yes, I APOLOGIZED to her for not keeping my account. I guess that showed THEM.
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: I have no skillz, but I’m a quick learner!
2005: Spot let out a sad, drawn-out demon-from-hell sound.
2004: Meme-licious.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: I live to please you, my beloved readers.

Yesterday I told Shelly (whose husband found work after 10 months, yay!) that I’m trying to embrace my inner frugal bitch.

I don’t think I’m being particularly successful at it, though.

Don’t get me wrong, all the extra spending has gone out the window. We don’t spend a penny without discussing it first and trying to figure out a way to get whatever it is we need to buy for less money. (And I’m constantly kicking myself for all the pointless spending we did in the past. Yes, we have savings and we’ll be okay for a good while – but imagine how much we’d have if we hadn’t been such bad, horrible, no-good impulse buyers!)

Every week I go through the Publix, Walmart, Target, and Piggly Wiggly* flyers to see if there’s anything on sale that we regularly use. I clip coupons, and I try to figure out the way to get the best deals on stuff. Thus far, my best deal was a few weeks ago, on Arm & Hammer kitty litter at Target. Between the sale price and the coupons I had, I paid $8.99 per 40-pound box. GO, ME.

My gripe is that you know those women who get $600 of groceries for $1.39 that you hear so much about? Those women are buying a lot of processed boxed stuff we just don’t use in our daily lives. So you have to wade through a bunch of crap to get to the good deals, is what I’m saying. Yes, 6 boxes of Hamburger Helper for 50 cents (if you have this coupon and that coupon, and only these flavors, and don’t forget to run through the graveyard and howl at the moon before you go to the store between 10:59 and 11:01 on the third Wednesday of months with “r” in the name) is a great deal – if you eat Hamburger Helper. We don’t.

But anyway, I go through the flyers, and then on Saturday mornings I hit Publix with my printed-out list of stuff on sale. This past Saturday, I had a pretty short list. So I got what I needed in the produce aisle, and I headed for the bread aisle to take advantage of some mini-bagels that were on sale, buy one get one free. (It would be more frugal to make my own bagels, I KNOW, but the one time I made bagels in the past, I was underwhelmed. What’s the point of making your own when they make you sad and wish for the store-bought version?)

I located the bagels I wanted, and I was just going to buy one pack (because when they say “buy one, get one free” what they mean is “each one is half price” – that might not hold true at all stores, I’m sure at some stores you have to buy both to get the “buy one, get one” deal, but not at Publix), and I stopped and thought “I wonder how much I’m saving here?” Publix is super-helpful and on the sales sign, it tells you how much you’re saving. So, according to the sign, by buying two packs, you’d be saving $2.59. IE, the regular price of the packs is $2.59 each.

Are you following me, here? Because I’m a little confused myself. Keep reading, I promise I have a point.

So I thought to myself “Oh, so these packs of mini-bagels are usually $2.59 each.”

This is where my frugal train ran off the tracks. My gaze wandered from the sale mini-bagels, and I saw a pack of mini-bagels by another company, and I thought “I wonder how much those are?” Those mini-bagels were 2 packs for $5. Which works out to (put your calculator away, I figured it out for you!) $2.50 each. “Hmm,” I thought, in my great big stupid head. “$2.50 is less than $2.59! I could save 9 cents if I buy those OTHER mini-bagels instead!”

And I did.

When I got home, I was all “Blah blah blah saved nine cents!”

Fred gave me the look of Something Isn’t Right Here and pointed at the mini-bagels I’d bought. “Those were less than HALF the price of the sale bagels?”

I didn’t understand the question, so I insisted “Yes!”

It took about fifteen minutes for me to figure out what the fuck I’d done. What an idiot. I was SO PROUD of myself for saving nine cents (it’s not the nine cents itself, you understand, it was the PRINCIPLE of saving nine cents!) that what I actually did was spend $1.20 MORE.

I’m going to nickel and dime us into the poor house, aren’t I?

*Yes, I said I’d never shop there again. But sweet potatoes, 39 cents a pound! Publix was selling them for 89 cents a pound! Come on, how can I pass that up?!

On Sundays, I generally try to make a big meal. Sometimes a roast, sometimes steak – some kind of meat, is what I’m saying. I always make several side dishes out of stuff I have in the freezer or (as is the case lately) some sort of roasted or mashed potatoes, because I got a huge-ass bag of potatoes for $2.75 a few weeks ago.

Yesterday, I decided to try a recipe that called for putting sliced onions and apples in a baking dish, pork chops on top, and baking it for three hours, ultimately ending with pork chops with caramelized onions and apples. While the pork chop dish was baking, I made parmesan garlic mashed potatoes, vegetable medley (summer squash and zucchini, stir-fried with onions, garlic, and dehydrated cherry tomatoes), and even a few pieces of garlic bread (I’d made Amish bread earlier in the day). Everything was really good – except the pork chop dish. The apple and onion slices had gone beyond caramelizing and were burnt, and the pork chops were dry.

At least the side dishes were good. SIGH.

Speaking of pork (see above, pork chops), we’ll be getting two more pigs pretty soon. The pig man** just has to corral them, then he’ll give Fred a call to let him know they’re ready to go. They won’t be the tiny, cute pigs we’ve gotten in the past – these are already about 50 pounds. We waited too long to get pigs, and he sold all the tiny ones to other people, damnit.

Oh well – next year we’ll know better and get our asses in gear sooner, right?

(NOT.)

We actually talked about getting pigs several weeks ago – probably back when the pig man actually had adorable, tiny baby pigs – but Fred wasn’t sure who’d take the other pig (when it was grown and ready to be processed, that is). He thought his sister wanted one, but it turned out she didn’t. And then he thought someone who’d previously bought a pig from us wanted one, and it turned out she didn’t, either. We had just about decided to go ahead and get two pigs and worry about who’d take the second one later, when Fred got an email out of the blue from someone he used to work with who was interested in getting one.

So I guess one day this week we’ll be headed out to the pig man’s farm to get us some pigs!

** The pig man’s nickname is “Egg”, and I can’t help it, every time I mention him to Fred, I accidentally call him “The egg man” instead of “The pig man”, and it annoys Fred like you wouldn’t believe.

“How YOU doin’?”

You can’t really tell from the picture, but Corbett was vigorously licking that ear in front of his face. Doesn’t he look pleased with himself?

“I. HAZ. A. COMPLAINT! I’m wide awake and everyone else is sleeping, then when I’m sleeping, everyone else is wide awake, and THIS WILL NOT DO.”

Bolitar, sound asleep.

I can’t help it, this picture makes me laugh and laugh. Reacher is just so CASUAL about it, all “Yep, here I am, laying directly atop Bolitar’s head. What of it?”

Oh, how Stinkerbelle ADORES her Tommy.

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: An impromptu Saturday entry to share cool links with y’all.
2007: (What I wanted to say: YOUR MOTHER. Now go to bed!)
2006: So, in essence, the fucking DVR TATTLED on me.
2005: E’gar goes into the shop.
2004: I must be mumbling or something today. Everyone I’ve spoken to has looked at me like I’m speaking French and they can’t understand what the hell I’m saying.
2003: No entry.
2002: Blah blah blah.
2001: No entry.
2000: “Um… you mean, she lies on your butt to muffle your farts?” he ventured.

It’s been three weeks that Fred has been unemployed and searching for a job. Trust me – if there’s a company in all of Huntsville that’s hiring in the line of work that Fred does, they’ve got his resume. Tons and tons of resumes, the man has sent out (emailed out, I should say). And he’s been slowly going mad, because the phone is NOT ringing.

(You can only say “You’ll find a job!” and “It just takes time!” so many times before he tells you you’re full of shit, it turns out.)

Yesterday, after a morning of the phone not ringing, we left the house. I made him leave his cell phone at home (you know how back in the old days when you were allowed to smoke in restaurants, the surefire way to get the waitress to show up with your food or bill was to light up a cigarette? I figured the way to get a call to come in was to not be home to answer it. Didn’t work, but it was worth a try.), and we headed to Point Mallard to go for a meander along the walking path.

Of COURSE I took the camera.

It was nice to get out of the house for a few hours, even if there were no missed calls when we got home.

By the way, there’s a special place in hell for headhunters who email first thing Monday morning, ask for an updated resume and a call ASAP, don’t answer the phone for two days, and then tell you (when you actually reach them) that they don’t actually have a position in your area.

I recently read somewhere that people who have cats are 30% less likely to have heart attacks.

What they didn’t address in that article is whether people who have cats are 30% MORE likely to have a stroke after they step in a cold pile of cat vomit in the middle of the night. I’m going to guess the answer to that is YES.

There’s this commercial that plays on a local radio station that goes “Christian school care! School care…. instead of play care!”

And every single time they play it, I fully expect it to go “Christian school care! School care for Christians!”

Every time.

I went to replace my estrogen patch this morning after I got out of the shower, and found that the one I’d put on on Monday? Gone.

Who the hell knows when it came off, or where it is?

When I told Fred, he said “Maybe that’s why you’ve been especially Satanic lately.”

“HOW have I been Satanic?” I asked, sure he wasn’t going to be able to come up with an example. Because when put on the spot, he’s never able to back up these assertions and usually resorts to saying something lame like “You just are.”

“You were in the kitten room giving them their morning snack today,” he said. “And you were all “Ooh boo boo boo boo” with your sweet kitten-talking voice, and then all of a sudden you’re bellowing “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST GODDAMN IT!” and then the next second you were all “Oooh boo boo boo boo” in your kitten voice again.”

I sighed. “I sure am sick of dropping the cat food-covered spoon on the floor.”

He gave me the hairy eyeball.

“I see your point,” I admitted. Then I showed him the patch I’d just put on. “But I should be okay now!”

Yeah, we’ll see about THAT.

I went upstairs yesterday morning to put the barrier up across the hallway and let Maura out of her room. As I went up the stairs, all four Bookworms and Jake followed me. I tried to keep them on the other side of the barrier, but it was like holding back a tide of cute, and finally I threw up my hands and declared that I guessed it was time for Maura to have the run of the house.

It went pretty well. She had little patience for the other cats getting up in her face, but no one got pushy with her, and she spent most of her time walking around the house exploring.

Maura in the Maura Cave, in the corner of the kitchen.

Poor Stinkerbelle – at one point Maura was sitting in the front room, and Stinkerbelle caught sight of her and I don’t know if she just loves all black cats, or she thought Maura was Tommy, but she tried to go over to Maura. Maura growled at her. You could see the confusion on Stinkerbelle’s face when Maura growled at her, because Stinkerbelle’s usually the one growling at other cats. She kept trying to get close to Maura, and Maura kept growling, so eventually Stinkerbelle gave up and climbed up to the top of her bookcase and pondered this strange turn of events.

Reacher is obsessed – OBSESSED! – with the trash can.

He likes to hang out in the trash can, sniff around at the pieces of crumpled paper towel, and then climb out with one of them in his mouth. Then he bats it across the room, uncrumples it, and leaves it there.

Reacher, hiding beside the refrigerator. A stampede of big cats went through the kitchen, which scared him, and he went to his safe place.

All four of the Bookworms were sleeping in one bed. Jake got up on my desk, surveyed the situation… and then climbed into the cat bed and laid down on top of them. Three of them scattered, but Bolitar just stayed where he was.

The Bookworms are all obsessed with my recycling container. They love to climb in there, sleep, look around, bat at magazine covers, and then climb back out. I don’t get the obsession, but they aren’t the first kittens to do that. I’m sure they won’t be the last, either!

Newt, coming to see if perhaps it’s snack time.

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: What the fucking fuck was going on, apparently, is that my motherboard was fried.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: Annoying.
2003: Holy FUCK, look what JUST wandered across my front yard!
2002: The big flies make a very satisfying THWOOMP! sound as they fly down the attachment tube.
2001: No entry.
2000: Aren’t they, um, AMERICANS?

The Bookworms were clearly ready to curl up for a nap, but Newt and Miz Poo had control of the cat beds. Check out the baleful looks on their little faces! (And the smug look on Newt’s face in that first picture is cracking me UP.)

They opted for the Ham-Mick.

That’s Corbett in the front, Bolitar in the back. This picture makes me laugh because it looks like Corbett is half the size of Bolitar (he’s definitely smaller, but not THAT much smaller), and Bolitar looks like he’s all head.

Note that while Miz Poo was sleeping, Bolitar climbed into the bed with her. She doesn’t scare him! What happens when Miz Poo wakes up and finds a kitten in the bed with her? You’d think she’d hiss and growl and smack, but she usually just sits there and looks completely disgusted before she gets up and stomps off.

Jake sniffs Bolitar.

And then Bolitar and Reacher form a two-pronged attack. Bolitar’s in hand-to-hand combat, and Reacher’s got Jake’s tail.

What a smug little face.

Though I have no pictures of Maura to share today, the news is that she got the all-clear from the vet! So we’re starting the slow progress of releasing her into General Population. When I got home with her yesterday, Fred put the blockade up across the upstairs hallway, and opened the foster cat room, which gave Maura access to the bathroom and my room. At some point Jake forced his way past the blockade, so when we went upstairs to go to bed, Jake was sitting in the hallway and Maura was hanging out under my bed.

We’ll let her have the run of the upstairs for a couple of days, then take down the blockade and see how she does with the run of the house. I expect she’ll be fine. She’s a laid-back cat, but she can stand up for herself (which we’ve seen in action when Jake gets too much in her face), so if anyone tries to pick on her, they’ll find out she’s no pushover.

I found this movie on my Flip Video over the weekend, and it made me laugh. I’m pretty sure the Cookie in the video was Keebler (even though you hear me gasp and say “MISSY!”).

Cats and kittens who scoot are the BANE OF MY EXISTENCE, because that is SO GROSS. I mean, they’re using your rug (or, in this case, the cat bed) as their TOILET PAPER and how nasty is that? On the other hand, it’s pretty funny to see. So while I’m mad and horrified and gasping and saying “MISSY!”, I’m also laughing. SIGH. They’re not even subtle about it! Which is probably a good thing, because when I see it happening, I grab the bottle of watered-down bleach and clean the spot where they scooted. Or in this case, I grabbed the cat bed and tossed it in the washer.

Cats are so nasty.

“I disapprove of scooting. And kittens. Also, war.”

Previously
2009: I wanted to station myself next to the display of bowls and if anyone looked particularly interested in buying the bowl, offering them $5 NOT to buy the goddamn thing.
2008: I KNEW SOMEONE HAD STOLEN MY FELIWAY! GIVE IT BACK!
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: I want to hear “Fine, thanks. Here’s your Supah-sized Diet Coke. Have a nice day!” Understood? I swear, I’m just going to STOP asking, that’s all.
2003: Some day I’ll create a housecleaning schedule and actually keep to it. Ha!
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: So, my last official day at work. Ho-hum.

Holy cow! Look at all those comments from yesterday!

I’m honestly surprised to find out how many of you came to my site via Fred’s OneFatMan site. Between Fred, Nance, and Jane, that seems to be where about 60% of you came from. Who knew?

(For the record, this is how Nance and I came to know each other: I emailed her at some point when she was (I think) going passworded, and begged for the password. She gave it to me, and apparently checked out my site, decided I was funny for WHITE TRASH, and kept reading. We started emailing back and forth at some point, and have been friends ever since. And this is how I came to know Jane: she emailed me to tell me that she’d gone to college with Jay Karnes (who played Dutch on The Shield), and with her signature included her url. I started reading, read all her archives, and have been reading her ever since! I know that the email from Jane must have come in early 2003, because I’ve only mentioned Jay Karnes once in all the years I’ve been writing. I have no idea when Nance and I started emailing, but it had to have been before 2003. So I’ve known Jane for 7 years, which is like 130 years in internet time, and Nance for longer than that. Holy crap, I’m thinking this whole “internet” thing is here to stay, ya think?)

This journal has been here since October 1999, and a large number of you have been around since then, or shortly after. Some of you remember when I had to beg and beg and beg to get Fred to allow me to adopt Miz Poo, and then I waffled about it – and then I brought her home! A lot of you remember when we only had five cats. Five! How the hell did we even know we HAD cats with such a small number of them??

OneFatBitchypoo started up on September 11, 2000, and I don’t remember exactly when the now-defunct OneFatMan started up, but it was before OneFatBitchypoo, I’m thinking OneFatMan was around for maybe 6 months before I jumped on the weight loss bandwagon.

(Here’s an anecdote that makes me laugh at what a dork I am: years ago someone linked to Fred’s OneFatMan site and then mentioned me in passing, saying basically “And his wife decided to copy him and start her own site as well!” and I was INCENSED and all “I HAVE HAD A JOURNAL SINCE OCTOBER 1999, IF ANYONE IS THE COPYCAT, IT IS HE, YOU MOTHERFUCKER.”)

So anyway, thank you, all of you, for reading, for continuing to read (whether you read religiously every day, or go away and come back and catch up on the goings-on), and for leaving such sweet comments. I LOVED your comments yesterday (I always love your comments!), and you guys are absolutely the best.

I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon, so you can depend on me for your morning dose of dorkitude and cat pictures for as long as these fingers can type!

Several months ago, I bought a new phone system at Target. It’s one base unit that plugs into the phone line, and then there are… uh… (had to do some mental addition there) five more units that don’t have to be plugged into a phone line, they just have to be synced with the main phone.

Which really isn’t very important to this story, I just like to go on and on and fill up your minds with useless bits of information. In ten years when I say “Okay, NOW! How long have you been reading me?”, someone will say “I don’t know how long it’s been, but you had just gotten your new phone system!”

Anyway, the new phone system is working pretty well, but what I didn’t know when I bought the phones is that each phone has a voice announcement thingy (I’m sorry to be so technical) and after the first ring, it will say “Call from -” and then read out the number, or the name of the person calling, or whatever. So if Nance were to call me (better not, Nance!), the voice announcement thingy would say “Call from Nebshit Nance!”, assuming that that’s how her number is listed in the phone book.

Over the weekend, Fred’s sister called, and I glanced at the caller ID and put the phone down, because Fred was out in the back forty, and I knew she wasn’t calling for me. (Don’t “tsk” at me, if someone’s calling for me, he doesn’t answer the phone either.)

Now, her name is listed with just her first initial and her last name, like such: “R Anderson.” (That’s her real first initial, but not her real last name, stalkers.)

The voice announcement thingy is only so smart, so when it saw that “R Anderson” was calling, it announced that there was a call from “Rrrrr Anderson.”

It was about the funniest fucking thing. It sounded like it was growling at me. And it repeated it as long as the phone rang! “Call from… Rrrrrr Anderson! Call from… Rrrrr Anderson!”

Now, we have an egg customer named Martha. She doesn’t identify herself as Martha, she identifies herself as “The lady in the van”, but she did leave a message once and mentioned that her name was Martha.

I think she calls from her cell phone when she calls, because just the number shows up, and the voice announcement thingy was announcing “Call from 256-555-1212”, and I’d think “That number sounds familiar, but I don’t know who it is, so I ain’t answerin’ it”, and then would ultimately find out that it was Martha. Finally, I went into the phone book section of the phone and added her number along with her name, so I’d know who the hell was calling.

Last night, she called, and the voice announcer kicked in before we could locate the phone. “Call from… Martha Eggs.”

I am far too amused by myself. But, come on. Martha Eggs! Ha!

I shall be leaving in a little while to drop Maura off at the vet so that they can get a fecal sample and either declare her all cured and ready to be released (slowly) into the general population, which is what I hope will happen – or that she’ll need another round of medication.

“They’re gonna take a sample of what from my where, now?”

The last few nights, when Fred and I have gone in to hang out with Maura before we go to bed, Fred has let Jake into the room. Oh, how Jake wants to be best friends with Maura in the WORST way. He tries to rub up against her, he tries to play with her. She’s a little put off by his friendly fervor, but she’ll sit and watch him play. She had to put him in his place a few times by raising a threatening paw. She was like “You’re in MY home, boy. Don’t make me mess you up!”

Fingers crossed that she can be released into the house to play with the other cats! I’ll let you know, of course.

I’m not quite sure what Corbett was doing here – looking at Jake or Elwood and trying to decide if he wanted to climb into the cat bed with him, I think.

Oh, do they love the cords hanging from the blinds over my desk.

They’ll bat at them for HOURS.

They bite on the ends of the cords.

Yet somehow, the cords always escape. Stupid cords.

Miz Poo, 10 years old. Still not a fan of kittens, but she hasn’t smacked one in the last ten minutes. I consider that progress!

Previously
2009: Two long rows of tomatoes for two people. That’s not too much, is it?
2008: No entry.
2007: “Baby, I think someone in my comments just called me a complete idiot.”
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: So, to sum up: for almost a year, they’ve spent time staring up their property line, ostentatiously walked up and down it, yet it’s never occurred to them to come knock on the door and say “Hi, blah blah our side of the property line, blah blah, stop? Thanks!”
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: “If we manufactured bon-bons, I would have sent you a package of those. Instead, this package should assuage the pain and horror of not working while you lay on the couch and watch Oprah and the soaps.”

Today, I slack. Scroll down for a cute kitten pic and short movie, and then answer these questions in the comments:

If you know, how’d you find this journal, and how long have you been reading?

I just ask because I’m curious. If you don’t know how you found me or how long you’ve been reading, that’s perfectly fine. God knows that I came across the majority of my favorite reads while I was flailing around the internet, and I have no concept of time, so I generally never know how long I’ve been reading someone!

The best part about fostering is when the kittens are released into general population. They invariably decide that my desk is the best place to sleep, and so there’s always a snoozing kitten or two within reach.

No complaints from me!

And now, a short movie.

Rhyme and Reacher discover that the best toy on earth is always juuuuust out of reach.

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: “I’m not looking smug, I’m looking RUEFUL,” I said.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: “Bessie, Jayson Blair is black.”
2003: No entry.
2002: I hate it when there’s a web page touting some wonderful product, but you CANNOT place an online order.
2001: SIR! RECRUIT BITCHYPOO IS DONE WITH HER ENTRY AND READY TO POST IT, SIR!
2000: we watched the ultra-crappy End of Days last night