Cetta, I haven’t a clue how the hell I got my music and videos from my iPod to my computer. I plugged the iPod in, iTunes said “There’s shit on here that isn’t in your library. You want to reformat your iPod or transfer the stuff on your iPod to iTunes or what?” and I said “Please transfer all the stuff on my iPod, thanks.” and it did!
I recommend plugging in your iPod, and if iTunes suddenly starts reformatting your iPod, scream and yank out the cord. That’s what I’d do!
(Also, swearing a lot helps, too. True story!)
I have, in fact, watched Sister Wives. I found it interesting (I especially found the part where they showed a diagram of where each wife’s house is in the house as a whole interesting) and they certainly manage to make it sound like a reasonable way to live, with the wives supporting each other and helping out and all that. Almost seems like a valid life choice, really (isn’t it big of me to allow that other people might have their own lives that they choose to live differently than I live mine?).
But it fell apart when they showed Kody kissing one wife and then another and then the third. Not that he kissed them one right after the other, they were different houses and different times, but I just don’t get it. I guess I’m a weird and selfish bitch, but the idea of my husband spending one night in my bed and then the next two nights in his other wives’ beds, gives me the ookies.
(I much prefer it that he spends every night in his OWN bed, of course! Har! Har!)
I’m a generous person, but there are certain things I prefer not to share, thanks. When wife #3 (Christine, maybe?) said something like “Gosh darnit, they better!” about her husband having sex with his other wives, I cringed a tiny bit.
I think it’s no surprise that all three wives grew up in polygamous families (I don’t know if wife-to-be #4 did or not – they didn’t mention it either way, did they?). Did anyone else notice that wife #3 is less than thrilled about the idea of adding #4?
I’m not particularly fond of Kody, he strikes me as kind of annoying to be around, though probably he’s not quite so annoyingly rah-rah all the time in real life.
I’ll keep watching, of course, because I want to see what happens and it’s hard to look away!
Good lord, do I feel scattered today. I was a jam-making fool yesterday, and I have several batches to make today as well. In the midst of all the jam-making, I had to stop and go to Madison for my six-month dental appointment, then stop and buy a few groceries, then it was back to more jam-making.
I’m trying a fancy new trick this time around when I make my jams – I’m actually WRITING DOWN what the hell I’m doing, how much pectin I’m using, how much sugar, all that, in hopes of actually getting some consistency going in my jam, so that if you order a jar of, say, peach-habanero jam and then order another jar in six months, you’ll get about the same heat and flavor.
We’ll see how long I keep that up – or rather, how much attention I pay to my notes. I made a batch of apricot-habanero jam yesterday morning, and wrote myself a note that “apricots come to a boil quickly, keep an eye on them and stir frequently!” A few hours later I decided to make a second batch of jam (I used dehydrated apricots, rehydrated them overnight, which gave me enough for two batches of jam) and when I saw my admonishment to keep an eye on the apricots, I rolled my eyes and said “Yeah, like THAT bitch has any idea what she’s talking about.”
As a result of Afternoon Robyn thinking she knew better than Morning Robyn, I scorched the fucking shit out of the apricots and had to give ’em to the pigs.
Stupid fucking know-it-all Afternoon Robyn.
Is 43 the age when all men become obsessed with looking at the fucking weather map, or is it just MY husband? Numerous times a day we discuss what the weather has done and what the weather will do, and how we’re “just on the edge of this band. While it comes in useful, because he knows at any moment in time what the weather is expected to do, it is MOTHERFUCKING ANNOYING because he insists that I come look at the goddamn weather map.
I DO NOT WANT TO LOOK AT THE WEATHER MAP. I just want to know if it’s going to RAIN, or if it’s going to be SUNNY or whatever. Sunday I was ready to grab the nearest cat and smack him upside the head with it because I wanted to know if it was going to rain and he badgered me until I came over and stood next to his chair and pretended to look at the goddamn weather map.
Next he’s going to start spending all his time looking up his family tree, isn’t he? Isn’t that what old southern men do? (Judging by the fact that I have a bound book of my family tree written by my paternal grandfather on the bookcase right next to a notebook of Fred’s family tree compiled by his father, I’m thinking all signs point to “yes”.)
Apropos of nothing he says his name is William but I’m sure it’s Bill or Billy or Mac or Buddy but he’s plain ugly to me, once upon a time I used the Ouija Board (does one “use” the Ouija Board or does one “play” with the Ouija Board, or what?) with some friends – I was 13 or 14 – and the Ouija Board informed me that in a past life, I was Betsy Ross.
I must have used up all my sewing skillz back then, ’cause I sure didn’t bring them through to this life.
As the time draws ever closer for Reacher and Corbett, Melodie, Moxie, Martin, and Dodger to go to Petsmart (they go Friday morning), I’m remembering to take time to just enjoy having them around. I love the fact that they’ve become such good friends with each other (Martin, especially, loves to tussle with Reacher) and with Jake and Elwood. We’ve got a great bunch here, and I like to watch them play.
(Then I snatch them up and kiss them until they get disgusted and stalk away from me with their ears back. Nothing cuter than a disgusted cat, unless it’s a hissing kitten.)
Corbett got his claw caught in the dishtowel, and Martin’s mocking him.
“NOM. Kitten paws are the tastiest!”
Bath time (is it ever NOT bath time?).
Snack time is over, and a marauding band of kittens go from plate to plate to make sure not one single morsel of food was left behind.
“What, lady? Go away. We’re talking about you.”
The eyes just kill me.
Newt is such a quiet, unobtrusive presence. He likes to sleep in out of the way places where no one will bother him. Lately, if he’s not sleeping on the cat tree, he’s sleeping under the dresser in the guest bedroom. Usually I don’t even realize he’s there until he strolls out into view, stretches, and heads off to the food bowl.
You know, I keep feeling like there’s something I’ve forgotten to tell you. I can’t quite put my finger on it…
Oh, right! The new guys. Meet ’em.
You didn’t think I was going to let all my kittens go off to Petsmart without some emergency kittens in place, did you?
WHAT IF I NEEDED A SCREECHY LITTLE KITTEN TO SNUGGLE?!
More about them tomorrow (by which time we might even have names for them!).
(Name suggestions more than welcome – they’re both boys. Names I considered and then discarded: McGarrett and Danno (Danno had already been used), Castor and Pollux (Castor had been used), Hurley and Charlie (Charlie had been used). Fred’s not loving Riggins and Saracen. We’re stumped.)
Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: Everyone, go forth and give me a “hubba hubba” in your blogs!
2006: YOU’RE WELCOME.
2005: Phear my l33t fotograffic skillz.
2004: Dear Stephen King: Stop defending what you did, and just write the goddamn story.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.