peritoneal lavage*, I got very confused. Turns out I was mixing up theperitoneum and the perineum and couldn’t figure out why they’d need to do THAT. (I did know what “lavage” was, though – washing something out. Just call me Robyn And3rson, GMD**.)
3. That little speech Izzy gave? I’m sorry, no. It was self-serving crap and I think George should have slapped the fuck out of her. The attitude she has toward Callie just annoys the motherfucking fuck out of me and makes her look like a spoiled bitchy bitch and it drives me nuts. NUTS, I SAY.
4. You think after this year lightbulbs are going to pop on over everyone’s head and people are going to start avoiding Meredith in February (see last year re: bomb killing the very hot hot hottie Kyle Chandler (whom I will always think of as the very hot hot hottie Jeff from Homefront, hmmm. Kyle Chandler playing two hot hot hotties. What are the chances? He’s typecast!) bomb guy)? Or will it take one more year?
*Upon reading about what exactly a peritoneal lavage entails, I do not believe it was indicated in this instance, and was just Addison throwing around big words trying to impress us. I love Addison, but NOT IMPRESSED, Dr. Montgomery. Step aside and let Dr. Robyn slap some life back into that milquetoast annoyance they call Meredith Grey in this strange TV land of apparently blind men who cannot stop drooling over her for some (“Rescue me! I’m a sad little practically-orphaned waif, adrift in this cold, cruel world, wahhh! Save me! Pity me!”) reason.
**Google MD, of course.
* * *
Remember when I was going to make a .wav for y’all of me imitating what Myrtle sounded like when she went into Hellbeast mode? Well, I taped myself imitating her, but I can’t get the camera to let me download what I taped (I need to download drivers or something), so in the meantime, here’s pretty much what she sounded like, courtesy of reader Debbie, who sent me the link.
Myrtle maybe didn’t do it for quite so long, but the ferocity and the creepiness (imagine sitting at your desk in a silent house and hearing something like that!) are strikingly similar.
* * *
BobPod continues to hang on, kind of. I tried all the stuff y’all suggested (except for the banging it against something, which I’m saving for the very last thing to try) and nada. When I hook BobPod to the computer, iPod doesn’t “see” him and BobPod just sits there with the Apple logo staring sadly up at me.
I think he might be brain dead.
I keep hoping he might come back to life on his own, but I don’t see that happening. I guess I’m going to see about taking him to the Apple store and see if they can fix his sorry little ass.
Come back to me, BobPod. I NEEEEEEED YOU!
* * *
I left the house a few minutes after 8 yesterday morning and didn’t get back home until almost noon. First I had to drive out almost to the Tennessee border to drop Joe Bob off at the vet. Joe Bob wasn’t thrilled with that, but he did give me the Love Eyes when I stuck my finger in the carrier (more on how I got him INTO the carrier in a minute), so hopefully he’ll forgive me. Then I drove back to Madison to hit the T-Mobile store, because although my cell phone has a camera in it and I can take pictures with it, if I try to email or send the pictures anywhere, I get an error message. I didn’t get the phone from T-Mobile, so I guess there’s something they have to do to make it work? I don’t know.
Anyway, I walked in and had to wait and wait and wait until the two salespeople were done doing whatever they were doing, and I gave the one saleswoman my cell phone number, and then she told me they couldn’t do anything without Fred’s authorization, since the account is in his name.
And we will be rectifying THAT little situation tout-de-fucking-suite, believe you me.
So I left there and went over to Lowe’s to look at their cleaning stuff, because I had hoped there’d be something in the cleaning aisle that would take paint off windows and mirrors with no elbow grease from me. I didn’t find anything that fit the bill, but I did find other things I desperately needed, so I bought ’em.
From there, I went to the post office to drop off some packages and pick up the mail, then over to Wal-Mart to do a little looking around. The clothes I’ve been wearing out at the new house to paint and clean in have gotten absolutely coated with paint, and there are holes in the ass of the pants, so I wanted to buy some cheap clothes to replace them.
A bunch of winter clothes were on sale for $5, so I ended up with a pair of pants, a snarky t-shirt (“I’ll be nicer if you’ll be smarter”) and a flannel shirt to wear over it for less than $20.
Woot!
From there I went home, chilled out, and spent most of the rest of the day surfing the web and looking sadly at BobPod.
A day well spent, I say.
* * *
So before Joe Bob and I left the house, I naturally needed to get him into the carrier. Joe Bob has himself a very strong go-limp instinct when you grab him by the scruff of the neck, so I knew all I needed to do was grab him and lower him into the carrier.
I got up from my desk and went to see where he was. He happened to be walking down the hallway where the cat carrier was sitting (the goddamn things are laying everywhere in this house), so I opened the top of the carrier and turned around to grab him.
No fool he, Joe Bob went flying into the living room and hid behind the TV. I used a feather toy to try to coax him out, with no luck, and I tried to lure him out with a laser pointer, and he was not to be lured.
Finally, I decided to pull out the big guns, and reeled around the house screeching “Snack Time! Who’s ready for the Snack Time! Snack Time, Boogie!” The cats, who are accustomed to Fred handing out Snack Time, ran in fear from the screeching and were only brought back into the kitchen by the smell of the pouch of treats opening and being dumped onto a plate.
The other cats settled in to Snackin’ Time, but Joe Bob was no fool, and he stayed behind the TV until I realized that my hovering above the Snackin’ Time plate was far too obvious, and so I wandered off to get a few tasks done.
When I walked back into the kitchen, Joe Bob was bellied up to the Snackin’ Time plate and just starting to eat. I grabbed him up, carried him into the hallway, and put him into the carrier with nary a fight.
“But I don’t wanna be in the carrier!” Joe Bob protested, and I lifted up the carrier, speaking soothingly to him as I did so.
And then he darted out the front door of the carrier. Because why would it occur to me to check to be sure that the front door was closed? THAT WOULD MAKE SENSE, STUPID.
Joe Bob went hauling ass up the stairs, and I stomped and cursed, and then went up after him. Conveniently, he’d run into the master bedroom, so I closed the door and chased him around the room for a few minutes before he went flying into the bathroom to hide in the tub.
I shut the bathroom door and chased him back and forth a few times (not easy in a fairly small bathroom, yet somehow we managed it) before he huddled behind the toilet, believing I couldn’t see him, and I grabbed him up and carried him to the carrier. He made one feeble attempt at getting away – he pushed at the carrier with one of his big rabbit-like back feet – but since I had him by the scruff of the neck, I got him in there carrier pretty easily.
He didn’t utter a peep on the way to the vet’s office. I guess he didn’t get the Hellbeast gene his sister got.
* * *
I tried to convince Fred that we should flip this house, but he thinks it’s too small. Hmph.
* * *
Smackdown!
Spot and the Eyes of Lurve.
He’s IN the basket, but he’s not HAPPY about it.
Hatin’ you.
* * *
Previously2006: So, in summary, if we are to judge all female cats by Miz Poo, then male cats are nicer, but female cats are clingier.
2005: Don’t you wish I was responsible for your books?
2004: I WANT TO FUCKING KNOW WHAT HE SAID.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001.: And almost wet my pants in terror.
2000: So, the nausea continues.]]>
Smackdown!
Spot and the Eyes of Lurve.
He’s IN the basket, but he’s not HAPPY about it.
Hatin’ you.