Yesterday on Dinosaurs Can’t Eat Pizza, Nance posted a recipe for Red Onion Marmalade (sounds weird, I know, but I had some on a wrap when I visited last Fall, and it was SO good!), and later today the post for Daddy’s Coconut Cake (which we both made) will be up!
I had my hair cut last week. I kept the overall length, but had some shorter layers cut in and also went back to bangs. I am just not comfortable without bangs, I just don’t look right to myself without them. When I got home, I looked in the mirror and then decidd that I now have a Laura Petrie flip. I took a few pictures to document it.
(Laura Petrie was the role Mary Tyler Moore played in The Dick van Dyke show, btw, here’s a link to a blurry picture of her then. Hey, did you hear he just got married at like 105? Good for him!)
It probably goes without saying, but y’all should know that when I style my hair myself, it looks nothing like that because I get borrrrrrrrrred blow-drying my hair, and I like blow-dry it so that my hair parts in the right place, and then I wander off and let my hair air-dry.
Saturday was a good day, a day in which I got plenty accomplished (FINALLY cleaned the bathrooms, started more tomato plants, um… took a nap), and then at bedtime, it all went to shit.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that Fred and I lay in bed and talk for half an hour or so before he toddles off to his own room and I either read or play games on my iPod or watch TV or whatever until I’m tired. So we talked for half an hour and then he got up to leave, and I grabbed the top pillow he’d been using and flipped it so that when I was ready for sleep, I could roll over and flop my arm across the pillow.
Which is when I fucking discovered that the fucking pillow had fucking been peed upon.
Oh, good fucking CHRIST do I hate the fucking hell out of my cats sometimes. We’d been laying there with cat urine not so far from our faces, and neither of us noticed it at all. What kind of nasty-ass LIFE do we lead, may I ask?
I don’t even remember the last time a cat peed on my bed, because they fucking KNOW better. I was ready to just toss all their fucking asses into the back yard and let them live out there, I hated them so much. Instead, I stomped around and sprayed everything within sight with Nose Offense and then wiped it up, and I was remaking my bed when I found that there was also cat spray on the footboard of the bed, and I got to clean THAT up, too.
OH WAS I PEEVED.
Once the bed was made, I brought all the bedding downstairs and left it near the washer, and I said accusingly to Sheriff Kara, “How is it YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?” (poor Sheriff Kara), and I put the pillows in the trash (nope, not even going to try washing the fucking things, because I ADORE WASTING MONEY), and I stomped back upstairs.
AND THEN I SHUT MY BEDROOM DOOR SO THAT NO CATS COULD COME IN, and I sternly resolved that NO CAT would EVER cross the threshhold of my bedroom again EVER. (Of course, when I woke up I decided that they’d get ONE MORE CHANCE because that’s the kind of wishy washy hardass I am.)
I slept like shit, and when I woke up, I found that I’d slept funny and my back hurt like a motherfucker.
LOVELY.
AND. THEN.
The goddamn motherfucking piece of shit dryer broke. It’s been limping along like the piece of shit it is, and yesterday, when I had 300 pounds of cat-pee laundry to do, the fucking thing shit the bed. Luckily it was a somewhat decent day out, so I could wash a small load of laundry and hang it out to dry (so that Fred wouldn’t have to go to work naked this morning), but then we got to go up to Lowe’s and blow money on a dryer that is probably also a piece of shit. Isn’t it wonderful that these days it’s often cheaper to buy a new dryer than have the old one fixed? (And the old one was going to cost a motherfucking fortune to fix, someone came out and looked at it.)
On the good side, Fred got the old dryer moved out to the back yard (the new one’s coming later this morning; thank god for free delivery) and so I was able to clean the spot where the dryer goes, and then Fred moved the washer out of the way so I could clean there, too. It’s desperately been needing to be cleaned, but it’s such a pain in the ass to move everything out that I haven’t bothered with it. Now it’s clean for another year!
We had pizza (made on flatbread that I bought at the grocery store last week) for lunch, and it made me all bloaty and feeling gross all afternoon.
It was just, you know, one of THOSE days. I hated everything and everyone and everycat and I went to bed all grumpy like.
Today better not SUCK like yesterday did, or so help me I’m running away.
On Friday, we weighed the kittens and took pictures of each!
Darwin is the smallest at 13 1/2 ounces.
Logie continues to be the largest at 1 pound and 7/8 ounces.
Newbery weighed in at 14 3/4 ounces.
And Razzie’s at 13 5/8 ounces.
For future reference (although I’m sure I’ll never remember this), it’s apparently at the 3 1/2 week mark when the kittens lose their fear and start seriously venturing forth from their safe place. Now when I go into the room, I speak to Emmy (I always speak to her as I’m coming through the door so she’ll know I’m coming; the other day I walked through the door without speaking, and she hissed at me!) and the kittens talk back to me.
I was hanging out with Emmy and the kittens yesterday, and all four of the babies came out of the box while Emmy snoozed in the box. Newbery came hauling butt out of the box, stumbled drunkenly toward the corner of the room where the litter box is, then changed direction and came over to me, sniffed my foot wildly, and then climbed up in my lap.
Newbery and Logie appear to be pretty fearless, though Razzie and Darwin aren’t far behind!
Belly up to the milk bar, kiddies.
They are such BRATS these days. They’re always smacking at Emmy, biting her on the face, and she totally puts up with it.
Time to eat again!
“Please, lord, don’t let those brats wake up. Mama needs a break.”
Zzzzzzzzzzz
I wish I could sleep on a bed of kittens. I bet that would be super comfy! Well. Except for the claws.
Oh, the little bitty FACES kill me dead. Also, the spotted belly.
“Maaaaamaaaaaaaaa! We is hungry!”
Smug little brat.
Remember last week when I said that Kara always looks concerned and a bit stressed? Well, I was wrong.
Apparently there are actually times when she’s relaxed and happy looking, and those times are when she’s being held like a baby. Is she not the most gorgeous girl?
Previously
2011: No entry.
2010: I just literally laughed about the poop spoon until I cried.
2009: I am the High Priestess of Litter Box Scooping, Pig Treat Making, and Kitten Butt Wiping.
2008: It took me a few weeks, but I finally finished The Washingtonienne and today I am announcing that bitchypoo.com, in conjunction with vituperation.com, is awarding The Washingtonienne the title of The Most Vapid Book of This Century.
2007: I was filled with a black hatred for the goddamn lights and my goddamn husband and every goddamn thing that ever was.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: Another reason I love the man: he makes me laugh every day.
2003: I’ll tell you what, he’s lucky I didn’t go get the cleaver and chop that fucking finger right the fuck off.
2002: My mind is blank…
2001: It’s just the little things that get to me, y’know?
2000: Married people! Having sex in the middle of the day! What IS this world coming to?