Author: Robyn

new logo! This one was created by lovely reader Carol, a few months ago. Thanks, Carol! And on a side note, I have no logo for December. If anyone’s feeling creative, go for it!

* * * Tomorrow’s the Comment-Answering Extravaganza! Get it in while the gettin’ is good! * * * High on a stump was a lonely hen Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo Loud was the voice of the lonely hen Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo *********************************** Thank you all for your lovely anniversary wishes. I slept in until almost 10:00 (!) and was awakened by a knock on the front door. When I opened the door, a cleaning team was standing there. “Happy anniversary from Fred!” they chorused. “We’re here to deep clean your house from top to bottom!” There were so many of them that it took only a couple of hours to get the house gleaming from top to bottom. I didn’t want to get in their way, so I took my book out onto the front porch and sat in the sun while reading and watching the traffic go by, and the birds frolic around the front yard. After they left, I went inside and stepped on the scale to find that I have miraculously lost 15 pounds overnight, without even trying. I was about to go take a long bath and then wash my hair, but just as I turned the water on to fill up the tub, there was another knock on the door. “Happy anniversary from Fred!” said a tall man in a suit. “Please get dressed and join me in the driveway.” Wondering just what in the holy hell was going on, I got dressed and went out the side door. There, in the driveway, sat a stretch limo. Without a word, the driver helped me into the back of the limo, told me to relax, and we drove off down the road. There was a full bar and a tiny refrigerator, so I opened a bottle of Evian and ate a couple of chocolate-covered strawberries and wondered where we were going. After half an hour, we pulled up to a full-service spa in South Huntsville I’d only read about, but never experienced. “Mrs. And3rson!” the woman at the front desk greeted me. “Please follow me!” I did so, and what came after was the stuff of fairytales: full-body massage, mud bath, facial, pedicure and manicure, a fancy haircut and styling, and all the while I wasn’t required to make polite conversation or do anything but lay there and enjoy the pampering. When the pampering was over, I went into the dressing room and found that my slobby sweatpants and t-shirt had been replaced by a lovely dress that (1) made me look taller, (2) made me look much thinner, and (3) did not display my flabby upper arms, flabby upper thighs, or flabby stomach. It was a miracle dress, is what it was. I slipped on the dress and the shoes – some Italian designers who didn’t sound familiar to me had designed them specifically for my feet – and after a session in a chair with a makeup artist, I was whisked away in the limo. I was so busy playing with the stereo in the back of the limo that I forgot to pay attention to where we were going, so when we pulled up to a small airplane, I was more than surprised. “Happy anniversary from Fred!” said the pilot who descended from the plane. “Please come in and have a seat!” I did, mind boggling. The stewardess brought me a flute of champagne and more chocolate-covered strawberries, and I ate and drank as we took to the air. It was a fairly short flight, and as the plane began descending, I saw the blue waters and white sand beaches of Florida below. As the plane taxied to the terminal, Fred appeared and beckoned me to him. “Bessie!” he said, waving his arm expansively. “Are you having a good anniversary so far?” “Yeah, but WHAT THE HELL?” I said. “How can we possibly afford all this?” “Let me explain over dinner,” he said, and we got into the limo waiting for us. We were whisked away to a small table on a deserted beach, and served oysters, lobster, and shrimp. “Okay, we’ve eaten,” I said some time later. “Are you going to explain this to me?” “Remember a few weeks ago when I had to go up into Tennessee for work?” he said. “I do.” “Well, while I was there, I bought a lottery ticket. And I forgot all about it until last week, and then when I checked the numbers, I found out -” “We won the LOTTERY?” I said. “We won the LOTTERY, and you didn’t TELL me?” “We won the lottery,” he said. “And I didn’t tell you. But isn’t it a good surprise?” “It is,” I conceded. “How much did we win?!” “A hundred billion dollars,” Fred said. “A hundred million dollars?!” “No. A hundred BILLION dollars.” After I regained consciousness, Fred smiled down at me. “We could totally buy and sell Oprah if we wanted to. Instead, I’ve made an offer for an island in the Bahamas and they accepted. We’re going to live on our VERY OWN island in the Bahamas. It’s three hundred acres.” “Wow,” I said, eyes shining. “Imagine how many cats we could fit on three hundred acres!” “Well, Bessie? Is this a good anniversary present?” “You bet your ASS it is!” And we toasted each other and watched the sun set as we walked along the water, burning hundred dollar bills to keep warm. * * * Or MAYBE I celebrated my anniversary by sleeping in ’til 8, vacuuming the house, watching TV, reading magazines, doing laundry, making meatloaf and black-eyed peas for dinner, then spending two hours emptying, scrubbing, and refilling litter boxes and having a conniption because the Litter Robot is being a huge pain in the ass. One or the other. It’s hard to tell the difference between the two, really. * * * Cat stuff over at Love & Hisses. * * * Previously 2006: I hope one of the little brats who took a handful of candy ended up with a slug, too. That’d serve ‘em right! 2005: And I don’t WANNA. 2004: Fuckin’ yawnsville. 2003: No entry. 2002: Bob Riley’s campaign strategy is to say “Nuh uh!” 2001: Did you know that they make foam cups in espresso size? 2000: No entry. 1999: Such appetizing topics, eh?]]>

“You’re not making a face, are you?” “No, Bessie.” “Are you smiling?” “Yes, Bessie.” “GodDAMN, Bessie, I can’t get my face in the picture, because you’re weaving and bobbing all over the place like one of the cats, like this!” Happy anniversary, baby. I’d do it all over again, without a doubt.

* * * Spanky highly disapproves of the picture-taking process. * * * That said, since Nance suckered me into joining the whole NaBloPoMo thing, I’m taking today off from writing an entry. I’m duty-bound to write one every single day of November, so I need to lay around and maybe read a little, watch TV, slack off. You know, the usual. See you tomorrow! (If you view my entries on an RSS feed, be aware that it might go a little nuts tonight when I go through and publish the entries for the last 8 Novembers.) * * * Previously 2006: We’ve been married for eight years now. And they said it’d never last! 2005: Let the Seven Year Itch commence! 2004: Happy anniversary, you walnut-farting motherfucker. 2003: We’ve been married for five years as of today. 2002: He even sent me flowers. 2001: And they said it’d never last. 2000: And happy anniversary to Fred, who married me two years ago tonight, which was the smartest thing he’s ever done. 1999: “We don’t have to get married. We could just wait ’til next year. Shouldn’t we get married on the anniversary of the day we met? That would be more romantic!”]]>

* * * So, I don’t think I ever told the story of taking Mister Boogers to the vet. I know I mentioned that his left eye was goopy and we’d make an appointment to take him to the vet, then we’d get up the next morning and it would be cleared up, then the next day it’d be goopy, and then clear up, and so on for a couple of weeks. I finally decided to just take him to the damn vet to have it looked at, since he needed his yearly exam and shots anyway. Thursday morning I got up and got all my shit done in a timely manner. In fact, I got everything done and needed only to take my shower and get dressed and eat breakfast before leaving for the vet’s, so I laid in bed for half an hour and read until 9:00. Then I got up and took my shower, got dressed, blow-dried my hair, made my bed, and ate breakfast. I wasn’t concerned at all about getting Mister Boogers in the carrier, because I guess he just hasn’t been to the vet often enough to realize that the carrier equals the horror of a vet visit. He was sleeping on the end of my bed when I walked in, picked him up, and popped him into the carrier. He sat there and looked around, then gave me a disgruntled “What the fuck, lady?” look, and settled into a kitty meatloaf to see what was going to happen next. He was perfectly calm as I carried him through the house, out the door, and into the garage. He jumped a little when the garage door began opening, but calmed down pretty quickly. He was fine as I settled the carrier in the front passenger’s seat, and as I pulled out of the garage, started Keith and the Girl playing on my iPod, and drove down the road. About three minutes from home, something must have clicked in his little pointy head, and he thought to himself “Oh, fuck THIS!”, and he started howling. And howling. And howling. And he has himself quite the piercing little howl, does our Booger. I tried pausing the iPod, thinking that it would make a funny email to Keith and Chemda if what Mister Boogers was protesting was show #602, but he continued howling. Dear Keith and Chemda, I vehemently disapprove of your frank sexual discussion regarding Liam McEneaney’s masturbation habits and think his claim that he wants “a real relationship” rather than to simply objectify women is highly suspect. Ah hets yew, Mister “Douchebag” Boogers So I picked up the phone and I called Fred, and it was timed just perfectly so that when he picked up the phone and said “This is Fred”, what he got in response was a particularly long and ear-piercing Booger howl. He laughed. “Not happy, is he?” “Not at all. And I have to listen to this for another twenty minutes!” I said. Long silence, then Fred sounded very confused. “I thought your appointment was at 10:30?” And I looked at the clock on the dashboard and saw to my horror that it was 10:38. “Oh…. SHIT!” I said. “What the? How? What? How the FUCK did I do that?!” I had, in fact, been proud of myself for leaving the house five minutes earlier than I’d needed to. I had NO IDEA what the fuck I’d done, and I spluttered for a few more minutes, claiming that the clock on my computer must be way off, then told him I needed to call the vet and see if they could still fit me in or if I needed to make another appointment. They gave me an appointment at 4:30, and I turned around and went home. But not before I made a little movie of a howling Boog. To experience it fully, I recommend you turn the volume on your computer up as high as it will go, and then jam a knife into your eardrum with every howl. (I suspect, by the way, that somehow after knowing all morning long that I needed to leave the house at 10:00 for a 10:30 appointment, I must have suddenly gotten it into my brain that I needed to leave at 10:30. It’s the Alzheimer’s, I’m sure.) After I dropped Mister Boogers off at home (and all the cats came running to sniff him over, and he growled and ran off to hide from them), I went out and spent a few hours running errands. One of the errands I ran was to the pet store, where I stood and stared sadly at Eddie Dean, Jake, and Billy Bumbler, who had STILL not been adopted, because people are BLIND to the gorgeousness that is Billy Bumbler and the sweetness of Eddie Dean and Jake. Grrrr! (But imagine my joy yesterday morning when I found that Billy and Jake had been adopted, and so had Keith, who was the only KATG kitten left at the pet store!) I also had to run into Target for various and sundry things, and I think I made another stop on the way home, but I’ll be fucked if I can remember where, because it’s been too long since Thursday and I have forgotten. I had a few hours to kill before I had to take Mister Boogers to the vet, so I hung out with the foster monkeys, read, did some laundry – the usual fun, y’know. When we finally left for his appointment, Mister Boogers howled his ass off all the damn way to the vet’s, and I said to Fred “I think maybe we need to switch Mister Boogers to a CLOSER vet, because I don’t know that I want to put up with THAT again” and Fred said “Oh, so you don’t want to take Mister Boogers to the GOOD vet, just any old vet will do?” and I said “I’m glad you understand.” At the vet’s, Mister Boogers – who is under the impression he’s a great big badass at home – acted like a total ass, trying to run away from the vet unless I was holding him tightly, even though she sweet-talked him and told him how pretty he is. Bottom line, he does NOT have eyeball cancer, so no eye patch for him. In fact, his eye isn’t even scratched – she thinks it’s just an allergy-type thing, and since he does have an issue with allergies in the fall, I’m inclined to agree. We’ve given him allergy pills whenever we notice his eye is bothering him, and they clear it right up. And as an extra-special bonus, Mister Boogers howled the entire way home.

* * * For the second week in a row, I spent a good part of the day on Saturday cleaning the entire house. I celebrated by not vacuuming the house Sunday OR yesterday, but I can’t skip another day or the dust bunnies will likely consume a cat. If I were suddenly informed that I was going to have company in an hour, I could run the vacuum, pick up a few things, and the house is guest-ready. Woot! Well, except that I really need to dust the baseboards. But who looks at the baseboards, right? Uh… right? * * * Saturday, right before Fred and I left the house to run errands in Closeville, he came to the side door. “I tried to take it back, Boss,” he said. “But it was too late.” “Oh, fuck,” I said. “What now?” From where he was hiding it behind his back, Fred brought out his right hand. In his hand was a fully-grown squirrel. “Oh noooooo!” I wailed sadly. “Is it dying?” “No, it’s dead,” he said. I had to look closer, because it honestly looked like it was still alive. “You should pet it!” he said, petting it to demonstrate. “It’s so soft! It’s so warm, too. Newt must have just killed it.” “I AM NOT GOING TO PET IT!” I yelled. He held it out toward me, and I danced away. “Jesus christ, LENNY. I’m not going to PET THE DEAD SQUIRREL.” “Why not? It’s so soft!” “It’s DEAD!” “Oh Bessie, just touch it. Touch it with the fangers!” “Get out of here!” I said, and cast one last sad look at the squirrel. “What are you going to do with it?” Fred walked into the house and held it out to Mister Boogers. “First I’m going to let Mister Boogers sniff it, and then I guess I’m going to give it back to Newt.” In the cat bed on my desk, Mister Boogers sniffed wildly, stared consideringly at the squirrel, then curled up and went back to sleep. “You’re going to give it to Newt?” I said. “Yeah, is that okay?” “I feel like I should object, but I don’t guess the squirrel really cares, does he?” “Circle of life!” Fred said, and went off to give the squirrel back to Newt. As we pulled out of the driveway, we could see Newt playing with the squirrel. When we got home an hour later, there was nothing left of the squirrel but two back legs, an ass, and a tail. Good times here in the country, folks. Good. Times. * * * Cat stuff over at Love & Hisses. * * * Previously 2006: Isn’t it nice that I named cats that aren’t mine? 2005: No entry. 2004: List of fives. 2003: (Also, Nance called me “nice.” That bitch!) 2002: But I don’t guess that introspection is the forte of that particular diva. 2001: Who tells stories about you? 2000: This morning, red and goopy. 1999: (Side note: I did nothing, and that just pisses me off. I wish I could go back and smack the shit out of that jerk. I hope his life is hellish).]]>

Yaari.com this weekend, I apologize. I got an email from them a few weeks ago and because I’m an IDIOT I signed up with them because they were all “So-and-so wants to be your BFF! Join now, or they’ll think you hate them!”, and I didn’t want So-and-so to think I hated her, so I joined up. I might have thought twice if I’d noticed that it was “By Indian youth, for Indian youth”, but I totally didn’t notice. DUH. Time went by, and those assfucks waited ’til I’d forgotten about them, and then they started spamming the motherfuck out of everyone in my goddamn address book. Sorry if you got spammed. It won’t happen again – or at least not ’til I’m a dumbass once AGAIN. I’d give it six months.

* * * The comment-answering extravaganza starts… now! (And yes, there’ll be another one Friday, if you’ve got any burning questions.) Have you ever had to (or known someone who had to) shave one of you cats b/c of matted fur? We have to take my 16 year old baby to the vet this weekend to have the mats looked at…the vet said it is likely they will have to shave him. I’m so scared that it’s going to upset him so much that his old kitty heart will just stop. Do you know anything about cats’ reactions to being shaved? We had to have Fancypants shaved, years ago (my entry here, Fred’s here) and the vet actually had to put him out briefly to get it done. I recall him being freaked out about it, but after re-reading my entry, apparently it wasn’t Fancypants who was freaked out about it, but the other cats, especially Miz Poo and Spanky. Reader Elaine had this to say: I have had to have my 17 year old guy partially shaved a couple of times due to mats. He is a Birman and their hair is so fine it mats when they get to a certain age and can’t bend as well to clean. Gibson did just fine but then he is the King of Laidbackville. I took him to PetSmart and it was quick, inexpensive and they did a fine job. You can stay and watch also. Also, you might ask the vet to give you something to keep your cat calm – kitty valium! – so that he doesn’t freak out too much during the process. * * * Since your move to the country it appears your life has changed drastically! It seems you are really busy all the time and doing so many cool country-type things! I was wondering…(and you have probably answered this already somewhere)…has your book consumption decreased dramatically? I know you read like 80 books a week (or maybe not that much) and I wondered how you found time. Do you still read so much? I’m actually not reading nearly as much as I used to – I have a reading list, and I seem to be averaging about 7 books a month at the moment. In 2006 (before we bought the house) I don’t think I read less than 10 books a month. In 2005, I was averaging more like 12 to 15 a month. I still read for a while before I go to sleep at night, though I get tired a lot earlier than I used to (probably because I’m getting up earlier than I used to). Usually Sunday mornings I’ll get up, clean out the litterboxes, do a few things around the house, then climb back into bed to read for an hour or so. I read as much as I can, but I’m clearly not reading quite as much, and that bothers me, because I own a ridiculous number of books that I haven’t read yet (when Nance looked at the bookcase in my bedroom and I told her that I hadn’t read any of the books on that bookcase, I thought she was going to pass out from the horror). I always start my days thinking “I’ll take a break around noon and do some reading!”, but I never seem to get around to it. In 2005, I actually read 29 books in February (it was my goal for the month to read a book a day), and the idea of being able to do that these days is just foreign to me. Maybe my reading will pick up some over the winter, since I’m not canning! * * * Pretty please, can we have a video of the girls eating angel hair the next time you cook some? I’ll do my best to remember to make a video – in fact, I think I’ll charge the camcorder and keep it handy, because I feel like I’ve been missing some prime movie-making opportunities lately. * * * Are your hummingbirds gone? Ours left about 2-3 weeks ago. I miss the little guys. Yeah, they’ve moved on. I think it’s been about a month – I left up the feeders for a few more weeks after they stopped showing up just in case, but I finally took them down, cleaned them, and put them in storage. I guess they’re gone ’til next year! * * * My kitty usually ate a can of wet food (fancy feast, the kind with morsels in gravy, never never the pate-type, god forbid), and I just kept a dish of dry food out during the day. Usually he would finish his wet food at some point, but for the last week or so he hasn’t touched his wet food at all. I have been trying other brands, but no go. He still fortunately eats the dry stuff, so I know he isn’t starving, but wonder if this is something I should be concerned about, or am I just an idiot. I’d keep an eye on him, but if he’s still eating the dry food and is acting normally, I wouldn’t be too worried. I think cats like to do that sort of thing just to freak us out. I’d say stop offering him the wet food on a daily basis, but try again every few days. Maybe he just needs a break from it. * * * When you had your WLSurgery, did they do it via scope or did they have to cut all the way open? Also, after the surgery have you had to take a myriad of vitamins and supplements? They did it laparoscopically (thank god). As far as vitamins and supplements, I take a multi-vitamin, a calcium supplement, B-12 once a week, and the occasional iron (a couple of times a week). I don’t use protein supplements, but some people do; I’m able to get enough protein through the food that I eat, although I do have some “emergency” bars and shakes just in case. * * * I’m sure you get lots of people suggesting neat websites, etc; but for some reason I think both you and Fred would really love www.rathergood.com It can be filthy but it can be hilarious. It’s a guy from Australia or somewhere who makes awful musical videos. My favorite are the Tales of the Blode series. So my questions are, Have you ever been to that site? And would you consider naming a batch of kittens “Blode, Food, Griblit and Hairy” once you’ve seen the little videos? I’ve never seen that site, but I’m going to check it out when I’m done with this entry. I might consider naming a batch of kittens Blode, Griblit, and Hairy, but I have a feeling the shelter manager might object if I tried to name one “Food!” * * * If you and Fred decided to dress up for Halloween, what/who would you be? YES this is my poorly disguised attempt to solicit ideas for Halloween costumes! Suddenly we are going to a huge costume party and I am stuck for ideas. In 2005 we went as Hurricanes Ivan & Katrina. This year, I’m brain dead! DreamGuy won’t cotton to my proposal: PEBBLES & BAM BAM. So I’m stumped. WWR&FD? I know you’ve come up with a solution, Kathy, but I’m still going to answer this – I’m sure I’d put on a black sweatsuit, ears, and a tail, paint on some whiskers, and go as a cat. Fred says he’d go as the Phantom of the Opera – which he’s done in the past. * * * How can you tell when 2 cats are just playing or when they are really fighting? If they are fighting is it better just to leave them be or break it up? Reader Nik had some great advice: For fighting vs. playing, I like this youtube video. You can tell the cat is playing, even though that ferret is cRaZy, because it’s tail is relaxed and not “lashing”, nor are it’s ears laid back (much). They play for nearly ten minutes in the video. Don’t watch it with the sound on unless you like Survivor or Manowar. We only break up cat fights in our house if one of the combatants is cornered and obviously scared. Otherwise, we assume they’re playing. I used to have a BIG cat named Sly that would “tattle” on the two smaller cats for fighting; when I made it clear that I wouldn’t break it up, he’d look so disgusted, then break it up himself by ramming them with his chest. Heh. Sly was some sort of mutant, overgrown Siamese, so he “talked” a lot with a DEEP cat voice because he was so barrel-chested. After he’d break up the fight, he’d lecture the other cats just like a cop. Then they’d try to make nice with him! So funny. I miss Sly. We pretty much let the cats go at it, unless one keeps trying to get away from the other, then I’ll swoop in and grab up the one who’s trying to get away. Usually the aggressor will stomp off and lick himself or find someone else who’s willing to fight with him. * * * Does your neck of the woods have a legal limit on the number of cats you can own? I wouldn’t be surprised if you have more cats than the shelter you work for! Hopefully you’re able to lure in the “Pusher” and get him fixed so that he’s not off creating more feral cats. I don’t believe there’s a legal limit – if there is, I’m not aware of it. There’s no limit on livestock here in Smallville, so probably not on the number of cats. At least, I hope not! The shelter has a varying number of cats at any one time, but I think there are about 75 cats there. If we ever approach 75 cats here at Crooked Acres, you all officially have my permission to show up and smack me around. The little tabby-and-white cat doesn’t come around very often – if s/he came around on a regular basis, I’d get a trap set up, but since last week I haven’t seen him at all. * * * 1. What ARE your mad wasp killin skillz? I mean, what’s the technique? I have a small nest of wasps, hornets, something on the side of MY NEW HOUSE WHEEEEEEE!!!!!! (ahem, excuse me) that needs to be taken care of and I don’t know how without (1) getting kilt or (2) paying someone. I haven’t had to kill any wasps in nests on the side of the house, just the ones that get inside. My mad wasp killin skillz for those who get inside is to either grab the fly swatter and smack it several times until it’s dead, or (if it’s hanging out in a place I can easily reach) taking a piece of paper and squishing it ’til I hear the cracking sound that means the fucker is dead. If it’s hovering around the ceiling, I get the vacuum cleaner and vacuum it up. However, Carol has some wasp-killin advice: Elayne, Don a long sleeved shirt, put a large hanky or tea towel on your head, put a hat on over it, a pair of gloves… dont laugh folks… seriously those bastards hurt… and get a large can of Wasp spray from Lowe’s, spring for the good stuff, its cheaper than an exterminator. Go out and spray the hell out of them while simultaneously screaming like a girl and doing the “chicken duck and dive” Once the spray hits them, they are lethargic. 😉 Seriously, spray them early in the morning before the sun heats the nest. They will all be asleep and you can pick them off! 2. Do your green peppers grow stupidly huge like the monster green peppers in the stores that are bigger than my (a 6′ tall woman) fist? Because I spend 87 cents on a damn pepper and then only use like 1/4 of it. (I pretty much only ever use it in spaghetti sauce, and there’s just the two of us, and we’re bad about leftovers, so I do one meal’s worth at a time.) I have long thought that someone, somewhere needs to invent little mini peppers. I will give it a shot at growing them if you tell me the homegrown peppers are a reasonable size. Maybe golf-ball sized instead of softball. Actually, our peppers were coming in fairly small until the weather cooled off. Apparently peppers REALLY like it in the 70s. Right now they’re about this size: (source) Still not huge, but not as small as they were. The thing to remember is that you get a ton of peppers off each plant (we did, anyway), so you probably don’t want to plant more than one or two. Keep in mind, though, that green peppers freeze nicely, so any leftover green peppers, you can dice and freeze for future usage. * * * You sure that the eating of chickens doesn’t make chickens insane? Or are they too stupid to tell sanity from non-sanity? I have no idea on earth how we’d ever tell if a chicken was insane, since they seem to lean toward The Crazy even when they’re (we assume) perfectly normal. * * * you vacuumed the whole house on Saturday, then mentioned vacuuming it again on Sunday morning, THEN mentioned you might vacuum it again before you stopped cleaning for the day?? There is no WAY I could find the time NOR the energy to vacuum my house that much. PEOPLE. What you need to keep in mind here, before you get too impressed, is that I don’t have (1) A job, or (2) small children to take care of. The only thing I really have to do is take care of the cats and the house, so if I need to spend half an hour vacuuming the house every day, there’s no reason I shouldn’t. (I don’t usually vacuum the house every day, though. Every other day, maybe, but not every day. That was an aberration.) * * * I have recently started to volunteer at a food pantry and I was wondering if you guys thought about planting more veggies next year (or just using the excess that you have.. either way) and donating it to a local food pantry in your area. I don’t think we’ll be planting more next year, because the garden took enough work as it was, and we don’t want to spend more time on it than we did this past summer. This year, we gave all our extra vegetables to a single mother down the road rather than donating it to the local food bank. She’s moved on, so if we don’t stumble across another local person in need to give our extras to next summer, we’ll either donate it to a food bank, or to a local church kitchen. * * * Anyone know how to get the stink of cat spray off of something? I took my Jeep hard top off this summer and left it in the garage. Seems a cat sprayed it. Bleh. I HATE that smell. I like Axi-dent Pet Odor Neutralizer, but I’ve never used it on something like a Jeep hard top, just furniture and carpet. Maybe try something like diluted bleach and wipe it down with a rag? I don’t know, honestly. Readers? * * * Did you lose E’gar and Spud in the same day?!?!?!?! We actually sold E’gar to the spud last Fall. That is, she made payments on it (half of what the monthly payment was) for six months, then we paid it off for her before she left for Rhode Island. Not bad, getting a $10,000 car for $600, I’d say. * * * I don’t think Spud resembles you AT ALL. Does she and I’m missing something, or does she look like her dad? okthxbye The weird thing is that in her baby pictures she resembled me a lot (that is, her baby pictures and mine bear a striking resemblance), but the older she gets, the more she looks like her father. * * * Okay, this is yet another cat question- we have a medium haired cat, and a short haired. In your experience, have you ever noticed that medium to long haired cats wash less? Izzy, the longer haired cat hardly ever bathes. Chloe, the short hair, bathes almost obsessively (like every other cat I’ve had). Izzy takes a swipe here and there, mostly after we touch the god damned princess, lol. We’ve really only had one cat who wasn’t a short hair – that would be Fancypants – but I didn’t notice that he cleaned himself any less than the short hairs do. * * * (Reader Jean sent these for the Nebshit – Bitchypoo video podcast that never happened, and I thought they were interesting enough to answer anyway!) Does the fact that you journal your daily/nearly-daily life online affect how you live it? Nope. What happens, happens – I say “Oh, I am TOTALLY going to write about that!” a lot, which I wouldn’t do if I didn’t have the journal, but I don’t do something or NOT do something because of the journal. When you’re going through your day and something happens that you realize you’re going to want to chronicle, do you anticipate different outcomes to the events unfolding and think to yourself, “oh it would be funnier/more interesting if x happened than y”? I tend not to do that while whatever is happening happens, but after it’s over I very often say “Oh, it would have been funnier if this happened instead!” or “I wish it had happened like this!” Or is blogging/journaling a looking-back experience: “Now what did I do yesterday? Oh yeah, that was interesting/funny/aggravating…” It wasn’t my intention to have it be a looking-back experience when I started – more an attempt to entertain myself and whoever wandered by my site – but I can’t tell you how many times I think something like “Now, when the hell did this happen…?” and had to go do a search on my site to see when it happened (case in point: figuring out when we had Fancypants shaved). I like reading old entries to see what was going on, and I really like saying “Hey, it’s been two years since (whatever)!” to Fred. Time flies by so fast these days that if I didn’t have my journal to look back through, I’d have no clue when certain things happened. And is there anything you ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY would NEVER write about? Besides skinny sex vs. not-skinny sex… 😀 (I know you *say* “ask!” but I thought that was pretty ballsy of someone to ask anyway.) Nice of Mister Boogers to jump in and field that one for you! Oh, not a whole lot. I don’t write much about family issues now that everyone I’m related to is aware of this site’s existence. I try not to write about stuff that would invade the privacy of others (I don’t write about the spud much now that she’s All Growed Up, for example). I hold back if, for instance, a nearby person in a nearby house spends a lot of time on their deck smoking pot and staring at my husband, because I wouldn’t want them to stumble across this site and have their feelings hurt because really, they’re pretty good neighbors aside from the staring. I don’t write about money – or anything – I donate to charity, because I’d hate for this to turn into Robyn’s Big Book of Good Deedz, and that’s some boring-ass shit anyway. I don’t write about my Deep, Dark Feelingz because I don’t use this site to process that stuff – I prefer to do that in real life, and I’m not actually all that Deep, anyway. Also, I try not to write too much about farting, but somehow that seems to seep in (HEE) anyway. * * * Cat stuff over at Love & Hisses. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: In case you were wondering, we are officially Crazy Cat People. 2003: I always look like a fucking lunatic when I take my own picture. 2002: (Is it just me who always thinks of Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally saying “I would be pleased to partake of your pecan piiiiiiiiiiiiie” when I hear, say, or read the word “partake”?) 2001: (For the record, her verdict was that the real-life prostitutes were “creepy”.) 2000: No entry. 1999: And going blind would just suck.]]>

I hope that the days come easy and the moments pass slow, And each road leads you where you want to go And if you’re faced with a choice and you have to choose, I hope you choose the one that means the most to you. And if one door opens to another door closed, I hope you keep on walkin’ till you find the window. If it’s cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile. But more than anything, more than anything, My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small, You never need to carry more than you can hold And while you’re out there getting where you’re getting to, I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too, Yeah, this is my wish. I hope you never look back, but you never forget, All the ones who love you, in the place you left. I hope you always forgive, and you never regret, And you help somebody every chance you get. Oh, you find God’s grace, in every mistake, And you always give more than you take. But more than anything, more than anything, My wish for you is that this life becomes all that you want it to. Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small, You never need to carry more than you can hold. And while you’re out there getting where you’re getting to, I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too, Yeah, this is my wish. This is my wish I hope you know somebody loves you May all your dreams stay big Rascal Flatts, My Wish.

Happy 19th birthday, Spud!!!!!!!! * * * (The comment-answering extravaganza will take place on Monday. Still time to get ’em in!) * * * Previously 2006: My little girl. 2005: The spud is 17 today! 2004: I hope you dance. 2003: No entry. 2002: “You want to buy STUFF faster than we get rid of it!” he accused shrilly. 2001: Well, the little bastard is home again. 2000: No entry. 1999: Boring work-related shit.]]>

Tex-Mex, and he splits the entire batch up into single servings and freezes them. Yesterday, I made a batch of spaghetti for him – a couple of diced green peppers, a couple of sliced jalapeños, a diced onion, a pound of ground turkey, two jars of homemade spaghetti sauce over angel hair – and when he was done divvying it up into single servings, he had a little pile of cooked angel hair left over. He did what we always do with leftovers these days, which is to take it out to the girls. As soon as he opened the back door, chickens swarmed from all corners of the yard, and he tossed the pile of angel hair out onto the ground for them. First to the pile of angel hair was a Speck (or, if you insist, Barred Rock), and she grabbed the entire pile of angel hair and proceeded to run around the back yard with a flock of chickens chasing her and bitching like the ChickenPigs they are. Around the perimeter of the yard she ran, occasionally (accidentally) dropping a clump of angel hair along the way, and as each clump dropped, a few chickens would stop to eat it. As she got back to the point where Fred had originally tossed it, she finally gave up and dropped what was left to the ground and began eating as fast as she could, until her sisters caught up to her, and they squabbled over what was left. The Girlz totally paid for themselves with that little bit of entertainment.

* * * Cat stuff over at Love & Hisses. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: I feel so worldly and sophisticated now. 2004: “Bessie,” Fred said. “We used to watch TV without being able to rewind it. We can do it again!” 2003: No entry. 2002: It seems like yesterday. 2001: The term “give my feelings” cracks me up for some unknown reason. 2000: Mark my words, it’ll be back to looking crappy in three days flat. 1999: “Take credit card. Buy computer. Big monitor. Go fast. Go buy. Now.”]]>

Leanne‘s smack dab in the middle of it all. They don’t have to evacuate just yet, and hopefully won’t have to – everyone send some good thoughts her way, would you?

* * * Back in April, when we signed up with Dir3ct TV (or DIR3CTV, as I guess they prefer to be known), we were told that when we signed up, we’d receive a free DVD player. Now. You know and I know that we don’t really NEED a DVD player, but it might possibly come in handy in the future on long car trips or whatever, so we were all excited at the very idea of it. We were supposed to receive the form with our first month’s bill, and we needed to fill out the form and send it back in with a copy of our first month’s bill. Except that sometime in June Fred received a call from them saying that they hadn’t received payment from us, and they were going to turn off our cable in two days. Since the reason we hadn’t paid them was because we hadn’t received a bill, we therefore didn’t receive our first month’s bill OR the form to fill out. Fred asked what we were supposed to do, and they gave him the url and told him to print it out, fill it out, and send it in with our first month’s bill. So I printed it out, filled it out, and sent it out with our second month’s bill, since we’d never received the first one. Days went by, chickens grew, cats learned to jump the fence and run off like the douchebags they (he) are (is). In August, Fred said “Hmm. We still haven’t gotten our DVD player, have we?” “We have not.” He called DIR3CTV and they told him they’d “expedite the process”, but that we should go ahead and print out another form and send it in with a copy of our first month’s bill. We don’t have our first month’s bill, we told ’em, and they were all “Mm, yeah. Whatever. Send it with your second month’s bill or whatever. Ask me if I give a fuck.” So I printed out the form, filled it out, and sent it in again with a copy of our second month’s bill and an explanation of blah blah blah never received the first bill blah and so forth. Yesterday, we got a letter from them. Dear Fred And3rson, Thank you for your recent participation in the DIR3CTV Gift With Activation. Unfortunately your redemption submission is ineligible for this offer due to the following reason(s): We have been unable to find a valid, active DIR3CTV account in your name with the account number provided. Please resubmit your Redemption Form including your new, active DIRECTV Account Number and all required documentation for this Offer to the address below. I thought to myself, god I’m an idiot. I filled out the form with the wrong account number! No wonder we haven’t gotten our DVD player yet! I got out the most recent bill and looked at it. Account number 12345678. I looked at the letter. Account number 12345678. Um. What? So I scanned the letter and the latest bill and emailed them to Fred. He called DIR3CTV and politely gave them hell, suggesting that he felt like he was getting the runaround. At this point, you understand, it’s not about the DVD player. It’s the PRINCIPLE OF THE GODDAMN MATTER. We want our fucking DVD player! They told him they’d “expedite the process” and we should receive it within the next six weeks. Then I’m sure they hung up and said “We just bought ourselves six weeks of NO CALLS from Mr. And3rson. Boo-yah!” I’ll believe that the free DVD player exists when I’m holding it my hands and not one moment before. * * * Meme, stolen from Kym. One word answers. The Air: Wet. Favorite Fall Indulgence: Apples. Out Your Window: Chickens. On Your Desk: Cat. On Your Feet: Nothin’. Favorite Fall Smell: Burning. Temperature On Your Thermostat: 50ish. Your Shirt: Nightgown. Your Hair: Bedhead. Something You Want to Make Sure You Do this Fall: Ocoee. Where You Last Took a Fall: Dunno. Your Last Drink: Water. Your Last Meal: Dinner. You’re Thinking About: Lazing. Hearing: Booger. Your Favorite Fall Color: Orange. Your Take On Seasonal Novelty Flags (i.e. turkeys, pumpkins, scarecrows): Depends. A New Fall Show You Like: Journeyman. Your Plans for the Evening: Television. Your Relationship With Pumpkins: Platonic. * * * Today’s cat stuff is over at Love & Hisses. * * * Previously 2006: Okay. I have a LOT of favorite things about the house, I cannot lie. 2005: “That makes me want to get pregnant and have a baby, just so I can name it Lavernicus,” I admitted. “That WOULD be an excellent name.” 2004: No entry. 2003: It took two days from the first time I called Stanley “Beanie-bean” in front of Fred before Fred started doing it too. He’s such a copycat. 2002: “She was giving me a handjob under the water, and I didn’t stop her, even though I’m not attracted to her, BECAUSE I AM ONLY HUMAN.” 2001: Fred is a freak. 2000: “Uhhhh….” I said, casting around for something smart-ass or impressive to say. 1999: My desk is a total shitheap, because I’m Robyn and I’m a slob]]>

* * * In keeping with my plans, I slacked yesterday. I had to get up and out to the pet store in the morning, but after finishing up there and stopping at the grocery store, I kept my ass at home and did a whole lotta nothin’. I managed to tear myself away from the computer sometime late in the morning, then watched the latest episode of Tell Me You Love Me (ball count: two) and Desperate Housewives. I kind of gave up on Desperate Housewives late last season, but decided to give it a try again, and so far I’m kind of enjoying it. I love me some Dana Delaney, though I think she’s wasted in that role. I spent about an hour with the kittens (Jesikat, the calico, is a big chicken, but came within five feet of me while I was laying on the floor (they tend to feel less threatened by me if I’m laying on the floor, I’ve noticed), which is progress), vacuumed the downstairs, spent some quality surfing time on the internet, and washed the comforter that goes on the guest bedroom bed, which one of the cats was kind enough to barf all over. (At least they waited ’til the guests had left, I’ll give ’em that.) At one point during the day, I looked outside to see that it was raining pretty hard (yay!), and Frick had flown from the chicken yard into the backyard, and he was just standing there, looking all miserable, getting wet. I went out with a cup of cracked corn, walked to the chicken yard (he always follows me like a little puppy when I walk anywhere in the back yard because he LURVES me), opened the gate, tossed the cracked corn into the chicken yard, and he literally ran around in circles trying to figure out how to get inside the chicken yard. With me standing there holding the gate wide open. Bless his fluffy little head, he’s not the brains of the outfit, for sure. He figured it out, I went in and checked for eggs, and then shut the gate to the chicken yard on my way out. He stayed in there, under the rain shelter, with his sisters for the rest of the day. (Note: Yes, Frick is a “she”, but I’ve been calling her “he” for too long to change my ways, now.)

* * * Okay. Uh. I’ve got nothin’. And I need to clear off the memory stick. So, here are a ton of pictures. Just for you! You’re welcome. Toms, hanging out on the air conditioning unit. Stinkerbelle (whom I have taken to calling “Prissy” for some unknown reason) loves to play with the strings on my apron. In the yard, Miz Poo keeps a watchful eye out for troublemakers. Hetty McHetterson. “Hey! Where ya goin’? Can I go too?” Harbl airin’ is a daily requirement at Crooked Acres. A scattering of kitties. Miz Poo keeps an eye on Dem Chickenz. “What?” “I hets dem chickens. I just wants to touch ’em with da fangers, and dey clucks and runs away. Het.” ************************************** I got an email from another woman who volunteers for the shelter. She’s actually an adoption counselor on adoption nights at the pet store. She said that she ran into Gilligan and Spanky (and their owner, of course) at the vet. They were in for a well kitty checkup, and the owner loves them to death. They’re adapting well, are very friendly, and like being petted, though they still don’t like being picked up. I love a happy ending, especially for that bunch – considering how feral they were when I got them, I’m so glad they’re doing so well! ************************************** “Hey. HEY! Is there snackin’ going on down there?!” “BwahahahaHA! I went over by Rhian and I farted, and then I ran away, and when The Man picked her up so The Mean Lady could give her that nasty medicine, he was all ‘Did you poot, little tortie?’ and she was SO EMBARRASSED!” “Hey LADY! Where’s my SNACK?!” “I’m not seeing any snack on that plate. Am I going to have to get mean?” “Bob. BOB! Hey, Bob! Look, you got any of the good stuff? I had me some snack and I’m all comfy and full, and I need me some ‘nip to take me all the way to HappyLand. Jesikat says you’ve got the best stuff around. Don’t hold out on me, man!” * * * Previously 2006: “I don’t know, babe,” I said finally, hoping he wouldn’t go through another four or five possibilities. “It’s a fascinating mystery.” 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: I believe that might be a personal record, right there. 2002: My poor baby. 2001: it’s MY journal and I’ll exaggerate if I want to. 2000: No entry. 1999: Why we don’t need another cat, by Fred]]>

(Pic taken by Nance) I totally did the housewife thing this weekend. I had decided that instead of half-assedly cleaning the house on Friday and then half-assedly making attempts (but never quite following through) on doing more cleaning through the week, I’d start (starting this week!) cleaning the entire house on Saturday, then I could occasionally run the vacuum during the week and not feel guilty about not doing any real cleaning. I got up Saturday morning (slept in ’til 7, slacker that I am), wasted some time in front of the computer, then started cleaning. I cleaned the downstairs bathroom, I cleaned the upstairs bathroom, I cleaned the back bathroom. Then I took a break. I finished cleaning the back bathroom, then I cleaned up the kitchen – put dishes away, put dirty dishes in the dishwasher, wiped down the counters – and hung out some laundry. I changed the sheets on my bed, even flipped my mattress for the first time since I got it, changed the sheets on Fred’s bed, and then stripped the guest bedroom bed and remade it with just the comforter. I hung out more laundry, started more laundry washing. Then took a break. I dusted the downstairs, then the upstairs, I put some of the clothes laying on Fred’s dresser away (note to my husband: “Put these clothes away for me?” does not translate to “Pile these clothes on top of the dresser for me?”). I took a break to make breakfast for Fred and myself (he likes egg sandwiches, I like plain old scrambled eggs) and surf the web a little. I vacuumed the entire house, top to bottom, front to back. Then I took my trusty Swiffer, and I put a cleaning rag over the end of it, and I used my trusty cleaning spray, and I cleaned all the hardwood floors in the house. Then took a break, waiting for the floors to dry. (flickr) More laundry hanging-out, more laundry putting-in. I finally took a shower around 1:00, and then took the recycling to the recycling center, and stopped at the grocery store for blackberries and lemon juice. I got home close to 2:00, had lunch and did some more web surfing. Then I took my iPod and a pile of black-eyed peas to the front porch and listened to Keith and the Girl while shelling black-eyed peas. After about an hour of shelling black-eyed peas, I always get antsy and hostile, and I ended up doing it for an hour and a half before I was down to the bottom of the first (!) bucket, and when I came inside to make dinner, I was more than a little hostile. We had dinner – leftover quiche and salad – and I spent some time with the kittens, then we settled down to watch TV, and I began shelling the rest of the black-eyed peas, about two buckets’ worth. GRRRR. We started watching TV around 6:30, and I didn’t get those goddamn things done until after 9:30. I don’t even want to think about how many dried black-eyed peas are sitting under the couch right now, because those fuckers can go FLYING. Fred was snoozing on his end of the couch waiting for it to be time to go to bed, when I finally finished the goddamn things. “You know,” I said, casting a pointed look at the clock on the wall. “If SOMEONE had helped me do these goddamn things, I would have been done an hour and a half ago.” “I knew you wanted to do them all yourself,” he said. “WRONG. Fucker.” Sunday morning when I woke up, my fingertips were hurting – especially my thumbs – and even this morning they hurt if I try to use them for anything. Obviously what I need to do is not do ANYTHING today that will require the use of my hands at all so that they might heal. Sunday I slept in ’til 8 (SLACKER), then started laundry and puttered around the house. I vacuumed the house, bagged and froze the black-eyed peas, spent some time with the kittens, cleaned litter boxes, answered email, balanced the checkbook. You know, the usual exciting stuff. It was a pretty good weekend – fairly relaxing, and the only thing I really hated was the shelling of the blackeyed peas. It’s the last bunch of blackeyed peas I’ll have to shell ’til next year, thankyajeezus. Fred pulled up the black-eyed peas and the okra this weekend, so all we’ve got growing right now are a million jalapeno, habanero, and green bell peppers, some eggplant, and in a few months we should start having turnip, collard, and mustard greens. The best part is that I can totally slack this afternoon, catch up on my TV-watching, and I don’t have to feel guilty about all the cleaning I’m NOT doing. I might vacuum the house first, though.

* * * Fred smoked a pork shoulder and a couple of chickens (from the grocery store, not the back yard) yesterday. As he was preparing to take the chickens out to the smoker, he asked what I wanted him to do with the guts from the inside of the chickens – the livers and necks. “Just leave them,” I said. “I’ll chop them up for the cats.” I chopped up a liver and put it on a plate and called for the cats. They ran from all corners of the house and the back yard, sniffed at the plate of raw liver, turned up their noses, and walked away. Fuckers. So I put the livers in a pot of water and boiled them until I remembered they were there (I got distracted by That Goddamned Internet), which was luckily before the water boiled away. Spot smelled the cooking liver and came in to squeak incessantly at me, telling me that he was Starving! Goddamnit! Gimme some food, bitch! I made sure everything had cooled down enough, and I put the plate of cooked livers on the floor and Spot ran over, squeaking the entire way, sniffed at the plate, gave me a look of Ultimate “That Ain’t What I Was Smellin'” Betrayal, and stalked off, probably to pee or barf on something. I took the plate outside, and the Girlz came running from all over, making their excited ChickenPig noises, and I put the plate down, and that shit was gone in ten seconds. When I walked back into the house, Spot was walking back over to where I’d put the plate to perhaps sniff at it again and possibly deign to eat a piece or two of liver, and when he saw that the plate was gone, he gave me another look of heartbroken betrayal, and he went off to curl up on my desk and deal with the heartbreak. You snooze, you lose. That’s our motto at Crooked Acres. * * * Friday, wanting something sweet for dessert, Fred stopped at Shoney’s and got a strawberry pie. We didn’t eat much of it and didn’t want to leave it laying around the house – if it’s sweet, we’ll eat it, that’s our other motto – so we gave it to the Girlz. That pie was gone in about three minutes. And the only reason it took them so long is because it was a dense pie, and due to the whipped cream on top, it was a little more difficult for them to eat. (flickr) * * * These freakin’ spiders are everywhere these days, especially around the doors. I wonder if they sense the approaching cold weather and think they’ll be able to sneak inside where it’s warm? (flickr) * * * (Picture taken by Nance.) When Nance and Rick were visiting, I impressed them with my mad wasp-killin’ skillz. Wasps are bugs that scare me a bit, because I’ve never been stung by one, and I don’t want to start now, thanks. We haven’t gotten the infestation of wasps that we had last year, but it’s still early. It’s supposed to get quite cold at night later this week, and I think we might start having an issue. My concern is that one of the cats might end up stung – years ago when she was little, Miz Poo had a bad reaction to (we think) a wasp or bee sting, and I’d rather not repeat that particular trip to the vet, thank you. * * * Is it just me, or does this totally look like a picture you’d see advertising a new series? “In a world where kittens use the litterbox and then don’t cover up what they left behind, one small task force led by a kitten on the edge has taken it upon themselves to enforce the cover-it-up law. Join them every week as they follow leads bringing them to the deepest, darkest, stinkiest, most crime-ridden areas of the country. Litter Enforcers! Coming soon, to KittenTV.” Jesikat hangs out in here most of the time when I’m in the room. If the spirit moves her, she might come out and play, but she makes sure there’s plenty of room between me and her. I love how her eyes are the exact color of her orange fur. Rhian up close. Spooky up close. Peyton up close. ************************************************ Snoozin’ Boogs. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: He wuvs his brudder. 2004: I need to win the lottery so I can hire someone to come to my house every day and style my hair while I read. 2003: Which is when Stanley thought “Hey! I shouldn’t just skulk back! I should run and leap! Into the air! Like a big mexican jumping Stanley-bean!” 2002: As if he was going to say to himself “By god, she’s RIGHT! I do not, in fact, reside here. What on earth was I thinking?” and run off. 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry. 1999: “Well, she took that well,” I commented.]]>