This is SO cool. You know those days when you can’t get to a site and you’re all “WTF? Is it the site or the damn internet or ME?!”? Carrie sent me the link to this site:
Bookmark it, y’all!
My plastic surgeon’s office called yesterday morning and gave me the good news – my whiny, heartfelt letter (or more likely better pictures of the loose skin on my abdomen) swayed someone at my insurance company and they approved me for surgery. My insurance company is paying for the panniculectomy part of the surgery and we’re paying for the remainder of the surgery – the “circumferential lower body lift and abdominoplasty”, also known as a lower body lift.
“When were you wanting to have it done?” she asked.
“The sooner the better!” I said.
Turned out someone had JUST canceled for next week. Next Thursday, to be exact. And now it’s mine!
I have to go have some bloodwork later today, then I have a preop appointment tomorrow, and then it’s just waitin’ time ’til next Thursday morning.
I am excited as hell, though I’m sure that come Thursday morning I’ll be nervous as hell.
GOODBYE LOOSE STOMACH SKIN! Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out!
I had to get groceries yesterday because I didn’t go Sunday ’cause (1) I didn’t wanna and (2) there was nothing we desperately needed right away. So before I left, I gave Kara her morning snack and then had to refill the water bowls. Every damn time I cracked the foster kitty room to look into the hallway, Mister Boogers was far too close to the door for my comfort, so I’d shoot the air at him and he’d run off.
I had the last bowl of water in my hand and was going into the foster kitty room when Mister Boogers ran up from out of nowhere, blew past me, and sauntered into the foster kitty room saying “Hey, bitches. Let me TELL YOU who the man is!”
Here’s a hint: Mister Boogers? Not the man. He got his ass kicked six ways to Sunday. Kara was on him immediately, and she flung his ass around the room. He was screaming, she was screaming, I tossed the bowl of water in the air and started screaming. I yelled “No! No! NOOO!” at the top of my lungs (why do I bother? It never works!), waded into the fray, and grabbed Kara. Once she stopped kicking his ass, Mister Boogers FLEW out the door, and I was able to get the door shut.
The kittens were TERRIFIED. Two of them flew into their teepee and hid at the very back. The other two were on the side of the teepee and just sat there, frozen. Once the door was shut, I soothed Kara (who basically said “That’s what I THOUGHT you’d say, you gray fucker! I bet you won’t be sniffing under the door again ANY TIME SOON!” and went back to eating.) and then picked each kitten up and petted him/ her until they stopped shaking.
Poor babies.
(flickr) The Booger fur left behind.
Once I was sure Kara and the babies were fine (the kittens, once soothed, went over to the amazing amount of gray Booger hair left behind in the fracas and sniffed at it), I went and found Mister Boogers, who was flopped at the bottom of the stairs, cleaning himself. He was perfectly fine, didn’t look the least disturbed, but I’ll note that I didn’t see him upstairs again the entire day.
Since everyone was safe and soothed, I left for the grocery store.
When I got back, I was walking toward the side stoop carrying three very heavy bags of groceries, and as I got to the stairs, a grackle ran out from under the stairs, through the fence, into the back yard. He couldn’t seem to take flight, so I went inside, set my groceries down, and headed for the back door with the intention of shooing him back out of the yard. I opened the back door, started down the back steps, and then Joe Bob flew across the yard and snatched that bird up. I ran over and tried to get Joe Bob to let the bird go, but the bird appeared to be dead already, so I went back inside and shut the door. I don’t care for dead birds in the house, personally.
For the next hour, Joe Bob, Tommy, and Newt sniffed at and played with the (clearly dead) bird. When I looked out the window and saw Joe Bob toss the bird up into the air and then smack at it a few times, I decided they’d had plenty of fun with it, weren’t going to eat it (why would they? They had two full bowls of cat food inside!) and it needed to leave my back yard so I didn’t have to look at it anymore.
When I went out back, Joe Bob picked the bird up and ran across the lawn, but then he was distracted by something and abandoned the bird, so I picked it up (by the leg, with a paper towel) and disposed of it.
I had no idea, when Fred brought Joe Bob home back in January, that he was going to turn out to be such a hunter!
Damn him.
Kara and the kittens continue to do well. Inara has used the litter box several times. I haven’t seen anyone else use the litter box, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t, just that they didn’t put on a show for me. River and Kaylee like to get into the litter box and eat the litter, I don’t know why that is. I thought maybe it meant that they were ready to eat cat food, but when I put them in front of the dish of food, they look up at me like “Your point is…?” and wander off.
I did see Kaylee sniff the bowl of water, then lick the water off her nose and then sniff and lick again, so maybe she’s getting ready to try cat food. Who knows?
They’re growing up too fast! I want them to stay little forever!
Now when I go into the foster kitty room and sit down, River comes out of the teepee and climbs up into my lap and lets me pet him. Inara and Zoe eventually make their way over to me, as well. I sit Indian style (or whatever the politically correct term is these days), and they like to slide down into my lap and be petted and kick and bite at me. Yesterday, after a rousing game of kick-and-bite, Inara fell asleep laying on her back. These kittens are way too damn cute.
(flickr) ::urrrrrrp:: "Oh, ‘scuse me!" ::giggle::
(flickr) I YAM SCARY!”
(flickr) Cat. She’s a kittycat. And she dancedancedance and she dancedancedance.
TONS of cute kitten pics up over at Flickr.
(flickr) The mighty hunter.
Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: Oh, it’s FUN to be a girl, ain’t it?
2004: Am I not stylin’?
2003: Like I repeatedly said to him yesterday, “I’m GLAD you’re ENJOYING my pain!”
2002: Momma don’t do food-related or cleaning-related stuff on Mother’s Day!
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.