Things on my recent List of Annoyances.
1. The company that provides our phone service and internet. I’m pretty sure they’re trying to make me have an aneurysm. SLOW SLOW SLOW FUCKING SLOW. Every single day I can be found in front of my computer screaming “EVERY DAY! EVERY FUCKING DAY! GODDAMN YOU TO FUCKING HELL EVERY FUCKING DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” And what’s worse is that we thought we were SO FUCKING SMART, that we decided to host our own server, and with the slowness and the always going down, guess what? Every time the internet goes down ALL OUR FUCKING SITES GO DOWN TOOOOOO.
Fred was instructed to find us a new host while I was on vacation, but didn’t even pretend to look. Fucker.
So tell me about your host, but only if you think they are the BEST! HOST! EVARRRRRR! (Or, you know, if you’d like to bitch about your host, too, go for it. You know I feel your pain!)
2. Fred
a. Laying in bed the other night.
Me: So, I was listening to Bob and Sheri, and this female rocket scientist called in, and she said that she was ditched in the middle of a blind date. It was going well ’til the guy found out she was a rocket scientist, then he went to the bathroom and never came back.
Fred: Huh.
Me: What is it? Do guys not like smart women?
Fred: (long pause as he considers the question) I don’t know.
It took him a long moment and a “Hmph!” from me before he realized what he’d said and started laughing.
b. I want a netbook. I WANT A NETBOOK. Lugging the laptop to Maine and back reiterated to me that I WANT A FUCKING NETBOOK. I know I bought one from Woot last year and it didn’t work out. I know I only travel a few times a year and hardly ever use the laptop while I’m at home, but did I mention? I WANT A NETBOOK.
I cannot get Fred to even feign any kind of interest in my need for a netbook.
“You’re not even feigning interest in my desire for a netbook!” I whined the other day.
“That’s because I’m not interested,” he said.
“I WANT A NETBOOK!”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t HAVE a netbook,” he said. “I just don’t know anything about them and I’m not interested.”
I sent him an email that said I’m thinking that when it’s time to buy a netbook, we should go for either the Dell Mini or the Toshiba Mini – I’m thinking the latter. They both got pretty good ratings on Amazon, the Toshiba’s ratings are slightly higher, and I’m leery of Dell.
His response? Okay.
Is it too much to ask that he pretend to be interested in the topic? Apparently so. HMPH.
You guys love me, right? What kind of netbooks do you recommend? I’m leaning toward the Toshiba, but I’m open to suggestions.
3. We were watching Friday Night Lights the other night, and there was some important play or another going on, one that could take them to… the semifinals? State? Something like that? But anyway, this play was going on and the camera panned to the sidelines, where several of the players were standing watching the play with sweaty intensity.
“Huh,” I said. “That looks like an important play.”
“Yeah….?” Fred said.
“So why are QB1 and the running back and the greasy Tim Riggins* standing on the sidelines?”
“Because defense is on the field,” Fred said.
“So?”
“Because it’s a defense play, not an offense play.”
It took a long time before I understood. Apparently in football, a team does not have its offense and its defense on the field at the same time.
I am 42 years old. I have watched (though not particularly paid attention to) many football games. Both my brothers played football when they were small. I was a CHEERLEADER when I was 8. WE’VE GOT SPIRIT, YES WE DO, WE’VE GOT SPIRIT, HOW ‘BOUT YOU??? Also when I was 8, I declared that I was going to be the first woman playing football in the NFL.*
(You see how that worked out.)
How did it escape my notice for all these years that a team’s defense and offense are not on the field at the same time?
Days later, this still BLOWS MY MIND. I keep trying to find the loophole. In the car yesterday, I said to Fred “But if one team’s offense fumbles the ball, the other team’s defense could take the ball and run it to the goal, right? THEN AREN’T THEY ACTING IN AN OFFENSIVE MANNER, MAKING THEM THE OFFENSE?”
Yeah. He seemed unimpressed with my argument. I can’t imagine why.
*I jest. Tim Riggins seems to have taken a shower over the summer.
**Can you imagine? Coach would be all “Anderson, it’s time for you to take the field and lead us to victory!” and I’d be all “But the defense isn’t on the field yet, Coach!” I DODGED A BULLET THERE!
4a. Arbitron, a marketing research company, called the house in mid-June. I squinted at the caller id, and doesn’t “Arbitron” sound like it could be a company that hires software engineers? Well, it sounded like it to me, so I answered the phone in hopes that someone might be calling Fred for an interview. (This was before he got the job where he is now, and is deliriously happy, might I add.) Anyway, I answered it and the woman told me that they wanted to conduct a radio survey in my area, blah blah blah, would I be willing to keep a diary of the radio stations I listen to?
Because I was feeling charitable, I agreed, and then we hung up the phone. The next day, Arbitron called again to let me know my radio diaries (I agreed that Fred would keep one, too) were on the way. A few days later, I got a letter from them with a crisp dollar bill in it, letting me know that, hey, my diaries are on the way! A week later, the diaries, each with a crisp dollar bill, arrived. Arbitron called to let me know that I should have my diaries. They took to calling every single goddamn motherfucking day. I stopped answering the phone. They called twice a day, hanging up on the answering machine each time.
I filled out the goddamn diaries (and we got yet another crisp dollar bill in a letter letting us know that the diary-keeping period was over and we should send the diaries back) and I sent them back but CHRIST ALMIGHTY, let me tell you what. Next time Arbitron needs me to fill out a diary detailing my radio listening patterns (and I spend maybe 20 minutes a day TOTAL listening to the radio, unless I’m going somewhere), they are SHIT OUT OF LUCK. Talk about your needy motherfuckers.
b. UAH, Fred’s alma mater, wants to put together an alumni directory. They desperately want Fred’s contact information. Fred is uninterested. Every 10 days or so, we get a postcard in the mail letting us know (in case we’ve forgotten in the past 10 days) that the deadline is approaching, and they want to be sure Fred’s information is correct. Fred doesn’t call them. I don’t call them FOR him. It sounds like UAH is shit outta luck. Maybe they could get together with Arbitron and start up a needy relationship where they call and write each other constantly.
5. “He actually swore yesterday,” Fred said, of a coworker.
“Really?” I said. “What did he say?”
“‘Shit.'”
Now goddamn it, I OBJECT. I will never fucking understand why “crap” is not a swear word, but “shit” is. THEY MEAN THE SAME GODDAMN THING. But “shit” is always bleeped out on TV and “crap” never is. NOT FAIR.
6. My hair. My HAIR. GOOD CHRIST ALMIGHTY ON A CRACKED PEPPER AND OLIVE OIL TRISCUIT WITH A BLOP OF ONION DIP ON TOP, my hair is driving me NUTS.
(Don’t be fooled. I took one step outside and it went POOF.)
I SUPPOSE, if you must be technical, it’s my own damn fault. Back when Fred first lost his job, I was in “I shall spend not one penny more than I absolutely must!” mode (pay no attention to those cat toys behind the curtain), and I cancelled my hair appointment the first week of April. Then Fred got a job, and I didn’t make an appointment. And my hair grew. Three months later, here we are: a big frizzy shapeless mass of what the fuck.
I have a hair appointment tomorrow, and that shit’s going to be chopped off, believe you me.
7. Cats. Seriously. See the next section for the “WHAT THE FUCK?” of THIS weekend.
I was preparing to get into the shower yesterday morning, and I heard Fred come upstairs and down the hallway. There was a pause, and then a knock.
I opened the door and said “What?”
Fred found himself a feral kitten. Going out into the back yard, he saw something dart from next to our fence to the massive boxwood bush a few feet away. The neighbor who was in his back yard practicing his fishing technique, told Fred that he thought it was a rabbit. Fred thought about just going out to do his chores, but his innate nosiness overcame him, and he went to investigate.
Hello, feral kitten.
He had to do some chasing before he caught the little guy, who fought and hissed and growled like a good little feral. Fred put him in a carrier and then came up to get me. I took my shower (come on, I had hair color on my head and needed to rinse it out!) and then went downstairs to check out the situation. In the carrier on the front porch was a little guy, voraciously eating the canned food Fred had given him.
He had fleas (I put Advantage on him), he’s got the big round belly that usually indicates worms, and he desperately needs a bath, but all in all he seems to be in pretty good shape. But this morning with the help of Gerber Chicken and Gravy (which is like crack to kittens), not only did he let me pet him, he stood on my leg and kneaded, and then he rolled over and presented the belly for rubbing.
At the moment he’s not in the house, but once he’s been tested (which he will be in a few hours), we’ll bring him in. Or maybe we won’t – the shelter manager might have a lead on a foster home for him. We’re not going to name him just yet – if he goes to another home, his new foster parents can name him. (Annnnnd, not ten seconds after I wrote that, Fred informed me that he’d like to raise this guy ’til he’s ready to be adopted. I… guess we have a new foster!)
He’s a boy, a brown and white tabby, and initially I thought he was 7 or 8 weeks old, but this morning I weighed him and he’s just over a pound, so maybe 5 weeks old? I don’t know, I’m terrible at aging kittens. In any case he eats well, he’s lively, and he even played with a toy mouse briefly this morning.
I suspect there’s a mother and/ or more feral kittens out there somewhere, but we both went all over the property yesterday morning looking, and found nothing at all. We’ll have to wait and see.
I guess this is the year of the stray for us!
Los Gatitos are doing well, their first weekend here. They spent a lot of time sleeping (they had their first vaccination Friday night, which always knocks them out for a day or two), and I could hear them up there playing, and they spent plenty of time keeping a wary eye on me. Sofia and Pancho were the first to break and come to me for petting.
This is Sofia. Don’t get too attached…
Sofia’s already been adopted!
She goes to her new home tomorrow.
This is Pancho. He’s the friendliest of the bunch. You walk into the room, and he comes over and falls at your feet. Silly boy. (His eyes are green.)
Evita’s a little shy, but give her some time. She’ll warm up, I’m sure of it.
People have asked whether any of these kittens are deaf. Initially we thought that Hermano (the blue-eyed boy) was because he wasn’t responding to any of the noises I was making. However, on Saturday he was sleeping, and I rattled a toy behind his head. He woke up and turned around to look, so he’s got at least some hearing.
The rest of them appear to hear just fine, too.
Bolitar and Elwood.
Bolitar. I love this guy; he cracks me up. He likes to get whiny and howl at me, and I say, in a mocking voice, “Wahhhh! I’m da babyyyyy!”, and he howls again.
He doesn’t mind being mocked.
Sleeping Reacher.
Four nights ago, I hit my limit. After being woken up every half hour by marauding Bookworms, I decided I’d HAD it. The next night, we put the Bookworms in the guest bedroom and shut the door. There were some puzzled meows, but they were quiet all night.
I got a great night’s sleep.
And now at night, the Bookworms go into the guest bedroom, and I sleep most of the night through without cats climbing all over me.
I find that when I get a good night’s sleep, I can put up with the daily cat-related annoyances a lot more calmly than I do when I’m sleep deprived. Go figure!
Elwood is going to be a big, big boy.
Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: Goddamn squirrels.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: OR I may have thought to myself, well, every author is entitled to a horrid piece of excrement or two.
2001: I’ve been packing in a desultory and lazy fashion this week, and have about half the upstairs done.
2000: I think if any of the kitties lose their mind and go on a human-throat-gnawing spree, it’ll be her.