* * *
There are many reasons I love my husband – his intelligence, his sense of humor, his hard work, his love of animals, his nice butt (it’s so cute and round and squeezable) – but the thing that makes me look at him with Eyes of Love is his brilliance with computers. That laptop I bought last month and which made me tear my hair out and threaten to sell it on eBay? After hours of hard work on his part, he’s made it work the way it should, so now the wireless network stuff works, I can watch movies on it, and it runs like the wind (a slow middle-of-summer hot and sticky wind, maybe, but it’s much, much improved).
If it weren’t for him, I can promise you this – I’d still be surfing the internet on the $50 286 I bought from Liz’s husband, using a BBS to get online, and never having a clue what web pages look like.
I don’t say it often enough, but I think it every day – thank god (and the internet) that man came into my life.
* * *
It appears as though the house next door has sold. Fred came in from the garden yesterday and said “Someone’s been looking at the house for quite a while.” I went and looked out the kitchen window to see what I could see, and the man who owns the house next door was standing on the porch next to his wife, and they were talking to a man and woman.
“Are they old?” I asked Fred, since I couldn’t see their faces. We’ve been hoping that an older couple would move in next door. A QUIET older couple.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
I peered through the kitchen window some more, then went up to the front room – where there’s a recliner next to the window – and sat down and watched them talk.
I’m such a Gladys Kravitz, I swear to god.
The man appeared to be in his late 40s or early 50s, and the woman appeared to be around our age if not a little younger.
“Is she pregnant?” I asked Fred.
“I don’t know. Yeah, she kind of looks it, doesn’t she?”
I watched some more. “Pregnant or fat, I can’t tell.”
(I’m allowed to say that, since it wasn’t so terribly long ago that I was mistaken as pregnant.)
I watched some more, and they kept standing there and talking. TalkingTalkingTalking. Finally, the woman walked across the front yard.
“She’s walking across the front yard toward the sign!” I said.
And then she pulled up the “for sale” sign and put it behind the house. The two men shook hands, and soon after, they left.
Looks like we’re going to have new neighbors. I hope they’re nice neighbors. I hope they’re quiet neighbors. I hope they’re neighbors who respect property lines. I hope they like cats, since Newt and Maxi like to hang out under their deck. I hope they’re friendly and nice, but not so friendly they get all up in our shit. (The Gladys Kravitz in me hopes they give me something interesting to watch when I’m standing in the kitchen doing dishes.)
When they’ve moved in, I’ll make cookies and take them over and welcome them to the neighborhood. I’ll make Fred go with me, because he’ll fill any awkward silences with babble, and he’s good with strangers.
Y’all keep your fingers crossed for good neighbors, ‘k?
* * *
Good lord, the sound that cicadas make feels like a drill through my brain. We have discarded cicada shells on just about every fence post, I see a fresh new green cicada every once in a while (they’re creepy, but cool looking), and now I think it’s just time for them to get laid, move ON and stop making that goddamn noise.
Speaking of bugs, I discovered a huge-ass spider living behind the coffee maker. Considering how often I clean behind the coffee maker (um… never? I think the last time that coffee maker was pulled out and cleaned behind was in May, when my parents were visiting), that spider’s probably the third generation of spiders who’ve lived back there.
She doesn’t live back there anymore – there was a small web back there with bug debris in it, and as I believe I’ve mentioned many a time, if the spider doesn’t keep her web clean, she’s not welcome.
So I squished her.
Damn bugs.
We had our first bird in the house (first bird brought in by the cats, I mean) yesterday afternoon. I was making dinner and turned around to find Mister Boogers and Sugarbutt circling a very quiet small bird, laying on the carpet with its beak open. I gasped (which always makes Fred mad because it scares him, but I cannot HELP it, it’s an automatic reaction!), and then Fred scooped it up and took it outside. He tried to get it to latch onto a branch in the bush next the porch, but it wouldn’t, so eventually he left it on the ground next to the bush.
Later, it was gone. I don’t know if it flew away or was gotten by a cat or what, but it was gone and its dead body was nowhere around, so I’m happy.
Speaking of birds in the house, I fully expect that one of these days one of those damn chickens is going to come through the cat door. They like to hang out on the back steps (there’s a bowl of water there), and every once in a while when I open the door to go out, Frick is sitting on the top step.
I tell you what, a goddamn chicken comes in the house, she’s going to get booted back outside,
tout de suite. I’m stupidly soft when it comes to spoiling animals, but chickens in the house? NOT GONNA HAPPEN. My floors aren’t always sparkling clean, but they don’t have any damn chicken shit on them, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Bad enough that we’ve got Spot, who reacts to a vacuuming of the entire house by walking onto freshly vacuumed carpet and dropping three pounds of cat fur.
I should make Spot go live in the chicken coop, now that I think about it.
* * *
Yes, miss Maryanne has made herself at home here, but no – we’re not keeping her (I know y’all don’t believe me – but we’re not!). She’s doing her best to fit in, though.
Miz Poo lets her inner hellion glow through her eyes – miss Maryanne does the same.
Mister Boogers hets.
Maryanne hets.
Maryanne’s favorite Anderson cat continues to be Tommy. She LURVES her some Tommy.
* * *
Previously
2006: Hey, as long as she’s going to be an adult about it, right?
2005: “WAIT FOR THE BUS,” I said, then hung up.
2004: I do love the stumpy little bastard, but I wish he hadn’t killed that poor damn bird.
2003: No entry.
2002: Finally, I said “Would you CALM DOWN? I’m not going to divorce Fred and marry the cute waiter. Jesus!”
2001: (Dr. Phil likes to go for the sound bites and has drama queen tendencies, but I love him)
2000: Pictures from Maine.]]>
I am so tempted to put my name in the hat to adopt Maryanne! We are ready to fill the void left by Vinnie’s death back in May, and I’ve not yet succeeded in grabbing any one of the 3-4 strays who hang out on the front porch lately. It’s been years since I had a girl kitty. And her coloring matches our Beau’s so nicely, don’t you think???
Question for the Extravaganza: I asked this off-hand in an earlier comment, but I’d really like to know – how will you and Fred ever get away from Crooked Acres to travel together now that you have populated the farm with all them critters?
why won’t you let us have maryanne??????????????? we lurve her! aimee would lurve her. jojo would lurve to hate her. PURRRFECT!
But!but!! Maryanne goes so well with your purple bed covers.
Jenn: I’ve been telling you, I’ll meet you halfway! 🙂
Kathy: I actually saved your comment from last week and was planning on answering it, ’cause it’s a good one. 🙂
I love your new Header. Hope you have a great time im Maine. Enjoy!!
Robyn, I’m sending good-neighbor vibes out to you and Fred. Just don’t get your hopes up. They’re people, after all.
Regarding Maryanne . . . I was wondering, what are the chances since Fred is her favorite, that he relents and wants to keep her???
With all the canning (and prep work involved in canning), have you had any back problems standing for such long periods of time? If so, have you found anything that helps? I find I can’t wash a load of dishes at the sink without having to take a muscle relaxant and lie down after.
I also like to channel Gladys Kravitz. Be proud of your nosiness! Nosy neighbors notice important shit and are the first people the po-leece go to if there is a crime in the neighborhood. Not that I’m suggesting your neighborhood will be burgled or anything.
Here’s a question for you, but I bet it is one that you have answered many times over the years (hell, I may have asked it myself–excuse my senility if that is the case): Why is it that your permanent feline residents are so calm about the cats that come and go? Are they just used to it? Do they ever start spraying or peeing in corners to express their angst?
To me, the sound of cicadas is the sound of summer. It takes me back to my childhood. I used to love pulling the cicada shells off the trees.
Good luck with your new neighbors!
I always get bummed when I start to hear the cicadas because to me it means that summer is more than half-way over. I know we still have months of good weather left but summer seems to go by so friggin fast!
Robyn! If you get a chicken in the house that would be hysterical! You better take a picture first if that ever happens or I will never forgive you!! My older siblings had a pet chicken when they were kids, he would run around with a cigarette in his mouth. Do you have a hard time avoiding stepping in chicken poop? I would imagine you would with all those chickens.
As I was reading your hopes about the new neighbors, all I could think of was the scene from Shawshank Redemption where Red was sitting on that bus looking out the window:
“I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope…………”
Well, I hope your situation turns out as nicely as Red’s did! 🙂
Ok, I’m so NOT a skimmer but I don’t remember you saying anything about the litter robot thing. I need something new since my Littermaid died (lasted over 3 years, not bad) and I was wondering what ya thought. $300 is a bit steep but your thumbs up would go a long way.
Lord knows I NEVER interfer, but, the eggs should be stored with the blunt side up; that’s where the air bubble is (just in case an egg is fertile and a baby check is about to break out; that’s it’s last O2 scource) but if you decide to hard boil an egg, gently peirce the bubble side and the egg won’t crack but you will get to see tiny bubbles comming out from under the water.:-)
Question for tomorrow – is there any particular cat food you recommend to keep cats from randomly throwing up? I seem to remember you mentioning this issue from time to time, but can’t for the life of me recall any brand names that you said worked.
Also, congrats on the eggs!!!!! w00t!
Also, your blog is painfully funny. As I’m sure you know.
Our chicken’s biggest dream is to get into the house. She’s come in a few times, but I’ve managed to get her back outside before the next poop.
We were surfing tv last night and came across some show where one of the people profiled considered her chicken to be a pet and it showed the chicken in the house, on her bed, on the counter where food was… *shudder*
Robyn, I commented before I remembered my question. Bear with me, it’s a little different…
Another blogger I read refers to her husband as her husband, and her five-year-old son as her “boyfriend”. Every time I read it, it feels….icky. Do you think this is strange at all (calling one’s son her boyfriend, I mean)? I value your opinion!
WHAT?! You mean chicken man Fred doesn’t allow the precious bitches in the house? 😉
To the commenter above.. I call my 9 year old daughters ‘Girlfriend’ and my son ‘hey boyfriend’ on occasion. I am not freakish, I hope! Just trying to be cool, that is part of the young lingo these days isn’t it? (I say it like “Heeeeyyy Girlfriends!”.)
Yeah I am a freak 🙂 41 years old and trying to be hip!
Are you still playing Snood?
Wow – Maryanne hets good – she’s beating the Boogers IMHO!