5/1/06

new logo! This one created by the lovely and talented Gertie, and including all the kitties, which cracks me up. Thanks, Gertie!

* * * If you’re interested in seeing my progress pictures, you can see them over at OneFatBitchypoo. I actually did take a set of pictures in my underwear, but that’s for my (and Fred’s, obviously, since he took them!) eyes only. I’ve put up pictures of myself in my underwear before, back when I did Body for Life a few years ago, but I don’t think I’ll be doing that again anytime soon. The biggest shock to me wasn’t the difference in my size – though that was certainly nice to see – but how freakin’ TAN I’ve gotten over the past three months. I guess that’s what happens when you walk outside for half an hour to an hour several times a week, huh? * * * Bwah! take the virgin-whore dichotomy quiz.
and go to mewing.net. where we’re all studs. I do not, for the record, indiscriminately love all babies. They have to be related to me, or especially cute or funny. They have to EARN my love, is what I’m sayin’. Well, but, on the other hand, I also don’t automatically hate babies that I’m not related to or are ugly. I’m mostly neutral when it comes to babies I don’t know, unless they’re screaming in my ear or randomly puking on me from three feet away. (via Whitters) * * * There are very few songs where I know the entire song word for word. One of those songs is Friends in Low Places by Garth Brooks (shaddup, you), and the other is I’m on Fire, by Bruce Springsteen. Something about the way Bruce sings I’m on Fire makes me think of Elvis, so when I sing the song, I do it with an Elvis sneer. Anyway. I was laying on my bed the other morning after I’d exercised, trying to get up the energy to go take my shower and brush my teeth and all that VERY TIRING crap you have to do every day (well, you don’t GOTTA, but if you want to not drive people away with your stank and your rotting teeth, you probably should) and Tommy jumped up on the bed next to me and got an interested look on his face, as though he was thinking “Oh! Mom’s on the bed! Maybe she’ll scratch under this annoying and abusive electrical fence collar!”, so he waddled across the bed (seriously, folks, pictures don’t do justice to how tubby this cat is getting. Also, black is slimming.) and let me scratch his neck for a few minutes, then when he’d had enough he settled down on the piece of fleece blanket on the end of the bed (which is there specifically for cats, because god forbid the cats have to go further than three feet in any part of the house to find a comfy sleeping spot). He sat and gave me a Tommy Look o’ Love, and I sweet-talked him for a minute or two, then was struck with the compulsion to sing. “Hey little Tom, is yer Daddy home, did he go and leave you all alone, uhn-huhn, I got a bad desaaaaaaaahr, whoa-oh-oh, ahm on fire,” I sang, Elvis-ly. Tommy sat straight up and stared at me in alarm, horrified at the sounds emanating from my mouth, and then he turned around and flung himself off the end of the bed and ran away as fast as his little legs could carry him. And I didn’t see him again for hours and hours. Can’t say as I blame him. I couldn’t carry a tune if I had a bucket. * * * I spent a good part of the day Sunday getting caught up on all the Netflix movies I have in my possession. I didn’t expect to like any of them all that much, but I ended up liking ALL of them, surprisingly enough. Shopgirl, with Claire Danes and Steve Martin. It’s a quiet, kind of odd movie, just like the book. I liked it a little more than I liked the book, I think. In fact, I think it took me longer to watch the movie than it did to read the book. I recommend it. Match Point. Now, I’ve never EVER been much of a fan of Woody Allen – he creeps me out more than a little – and if I’d realized this was a Woody Allen movie I never would have put it on the Netflix queue, and once I started the movie and realized it was a Woody Allen movie, I decided I’d give it ten minutes to catch my interest. And surprisingly, it did. Another surprise, I’ve never been a Scarlett Johanssen fan – her face bugs me, and I’ve never thought she was much to look at – but I think that in this movie she was absolutely stunning and hot hot hot. My only gripe about the movie is that the opera soundtrack was too loud and overwhelmed the scenes it played over; I had a hard time concentrating on what was going on with the music blaring at me. An Unfinished Life. Jennifer Lopez, Robert Redford, Morgan Freeman. As Fred said (not that he watched it with me), any movie with Robert Redford and Morgan Freeman can’t be all bad. And it wasn’t, at all. I really liked the girl who played Griff (and no wonder she looked familiar – she was in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy). All in all, I enjoyed the movie, and I’ve gotta say it – I think Jennifer Lopez is underrated as an actress. * * * We’ve been working our way through Season 5 of CSI, and last week we were watching a show, and the victim was ready to be looked over by Dr. Robbins and one of the CSIs, I don’t remember which, and Dr. Robbins looked at the victim and said “Probably the most beautiful victim I’ve ever seen in here” and I was immediately creeped out. Fred couldn’t understand why, and I’m not sure I can explain it, but it’s surely got to do with the fact that should I die under suspicious circumstances and end up needing to be autopsied, I DON’T WANT THE CORONER RATING MY FUCKING LOOKS. I would much prefer it if the coroner quickly and efficiently did his (or her!) job, instead of standing over my bashed-in skull discussing my LOOKS. “Yeah, I’ve seen better, but I’ve seen worse. Flabby arms, legs… well, EVERYTHING, really, but you can see there’s muscle underneath! I’ll give her a 1.2 on the 10-scale because I’m feeling nice today.” And then, in the VERY NEXT show, the victim is laying on the autopsy table, and Dr. Robbins looks her over and says “Pretty girl,” and I had to yell “STOP IT!” at the TV, and it hasn’t happened again. CREEPY, man. Just creepy. * * * I canNOT even believe Miz Poo put up with this, but she did. I think maybe Tommy’s worming his way into her heart. Fred went to the flea market and came home with a new way to torture the cats. I should’ve been a cowcat I should’ve learned to rope and ride Wearing my six-shooter riding my pony on a cattle drive Stealing the young girlcat’s hearts Just like Gene and Roy Singing those campfire songs Oh I should’ve been a cowcat “I’m sitting in this bag until it goes away…” All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: Every time Madonna opens her self-important mouth these days, she just annoys the shit out of me. 2002: Thank god I vacuumed yesterday, so he won’t be eye-to-eye with a thousand rambling dust bunnies composed of cat fur. 2001: Who’s the dumbass now, huh? That’s right, me. 2000: I stood there and watched the bag go by, thinking to myself “How did he get it to keep going like that?” ]]>