Author: Robyn

This blog is to help her get to Disneyland. You guys, how awesome would it be if we could help raise enough money to send Aaron to Disneyland? You realize that every little bit helps, I hope – if you can spare some money, pleasepleaseplease go donate!

* * * Happy, happy birthday, Say!!! * * * Tomorrow’s the weekly comment-answering extravaganza! Got a hot question? Ask it in the comments! * * * Poor Sugarbutt. Sunday, his eyes were fine. Monday morning, Fred said “Would you look at Sugarbutt’s eyes and tell me if they look bad to you?” I looked, and yes – they were awful. I got a tube of Terramycin out of the drawer and we put ointment in his eyes, which he SO didn’t appreciate, and then spent half an hour cleaning his face. We put Terramycin in his eyes again when Fred got home, and again at bedtime. Sugarbutt’s eyes didn’t improve, so we moved on to the other ointment I had, and that didn’t seem to help, either, so I called and made an appointment at the vet’s. Come 10:00 yesterday morning, Sugarbutt just happened to be in the house, so I bent down to grab him, and something in his little brain connected the fact that I’d brought the cat carrier into the computer room with the fact that I was leaning down to grab him, and he ran off upstairs. Luckily, Sugarbutt might be pretty, but he’s not the brain trust of the And3rson cat community, so when I went into the kitchen and opened and closed the refrigerator a couple of times, he came running back in to see if maybe it might be Snack! Time!, and I grabbed him and popped him in the carrier. Oh, the look of betrayal he gave me! It’s enough to break a Momma’s heart. Except that I’m hard-hearted so I wasn’t too heartbroken. Besides, it’s not like I was throwing him in the carrier for the fun of it. He needed to go to the vet! The vet put drops in his eyes and shone a black light at his eyeballs to look for scratches (there were none), remarked that his nictating membrane was quite swollen and inflamed, and ultimately gave me ointment with a hydrocortisone, told me to stop giving him his twice-daily dose of chlorpheneramine (for his neck) for at least a week. Once his eyes are under control we can start back with the chlorphenwhatsis if we need to. Given that his neck is almost completely healed, I think we all know what the next seven days will bring: his eyes will clear up completely and he’ll start digging at his neck again, leading to a big, gaping wound that will need to be covered by a bandage. It’s a good thing he’s so cute. I guess no one told him that the “money pit” role was being played by Miz Poo in thishere household. *************************************************** The clock on my computer runs fast. I’ve reset it several times, but it always gets out of synch within a couple of weeks. I don’t know exactly how fast it’s running – ten minutes or so, I think – but I kind of like that it runs fast. Many times I’ll be sitting in front of the computer, look at the clock, think “Oh, it’s 10:00! I need to (whatever)!”, get up and do whatever, then go into another part of the house, do even more stuff, and then eventually look at the clock to find that… it’s not even 10:00 yet. It’s like my own little time machine – I’m in the computer room, I get up and go to another part of the house, and I get those ten-ish minutes that I just spent sitting on my ass aimlessly surfing back again! It’s a miracle! Part of the reason I don’t want to know exactly how fast the clock is, is because then I’d do the “It says 10:28, but it’s REALLY 10:16!” thing, and that’s just too goddamn much math and it would ruin the whole time machine thing. Let me have my dorky fantasies. * * * *************************************************** Did I mention that I’m a dork? I know, probably you’re thinking to yourself in shock and dismay, Robyn? A dork? Unbelievable! But the older I get, the more I find that I really like to know what the temperature outside is. Is that weird? I mean, I ALWAYS want to know the outside temperature, every single morning. I check out weather.com first thing when I get up. What do I do with this fascinating information? Why… nothing. In fact, ten seconds after I’ve looked up the current temperature, I’ve most likely forgotten the number. So when I was in Maine and we were in LL Bean, I bought a handy thermometer that displays the inside AND outside temperatures (it came with a sensor for outside that I hung on a tree about twenty feet from the side door), and every morning when I get up – and various points through the day as well – I check the inside and outside temperature. Sometimes I have brilliant comments to share with the cats. “Hmm,” I say to Mister Boogers. “It’s almost 80 outside, but only 74 inside. Imagine that!” Says Mister Boogers: Life here at Crooked Acres? It’s fascinating and filled with excitement, every single moment of the day. You KNOW you wish you lived here! *************************************************** The kittehs sing the blues. I look at this picture, and I cannot stop laughing. What is up with those freakishly long orangutan arms? “I’ve got the I-needs-me-a-snuggle bluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuues.” *************************************************** Fear him. *************************************************** Previously 2006: You really don’t want to fuck with the Plumbing Mafia. 2005: “GodDAMN you, Mister Boogers!” I yelled. 2004: “This book makes me want to have a baby!” I said to Fred when I was about halfway through the book. “Let’s have a baby!” 2003: No entry. 2002: Gag city. 2001: I think you know what I’m thinkin’. 2000: I’d like to return to my regularly scheduled life, please.]]>

This blog is to help her get to Disneyland. You guys, how fucking awesome would it be if we could help raise enough money to send Aaron to Disneyland? You realize that every little bit helps, I hope – if you can spare some money, pleasepleaseplease go donate!

* * * I got a text message with a picture from the spud late the other night. She went and had her hair cut for the first time in a long time, and wanted me to see how it looked. She’s always had really pretty curls, but tended to wear her hair pulled back so you couldn’t really see ’em. I like the way this cut really shows them off. She has such pretty hair, doesn’t she? (Still doing well, working two part-time jobs (having a hard time finding a full-time one right now), has a boyfriend.) * * * First, a meme. Then the best picture ever taken on the face of this planet. (And for those of you who can’t see the pictures I’m uploading, a link to the same picture on Flickr underneath it.) THEN I’m going to go off and watch the second episode of Tell Me You Love Me. I watched the first episode and really liked it despite the rampant nudity – and my only gripe with the rampant nudity is the balls flying around. I understand now why they’ll show women naked all over the place and not men: it’s ’cause women don’t have BALLS FLYING AROUND. No one needs to see that, really. Anyway. I stole this meme from Kinzie a while back. 1. Where were you 1 hour ago? In the kitchen, putting dishes in the dishwasher and fighting off the advances of Princess Stinkerbelle, who thinks that someone in the kitchen equals Snack! Time! 2. Who will your next kiss be with? Fred, or a cat, I’m sure. Probably one of those brown tabbies upstairs. 3. Do you kiss a lot of people? Just the one. 4. Are you wearing socks right now? I’m not, and my feet are cold. I’d turn around and put my slippers on, but I can’t be bothered. 5. When was the last time you went out of state? In August, when I went to Maine. 6. Have you been to the movies in the last 5 days? Nope, I haven’t been to the movies since I was in Maine. Fred’s not much of a moviegoer. 7. What was the last thing you had to drink? Water. 8. What are you wearing right now? An Oscar the Grouch “S is for Scram” t-shirt, gray cotton shorts, the usual underwear. 9. What was your last purchase? I bought some.. stuff… at Target yesterday. OKAY! Cat toys! I bought cat toys! I couldn’t help it, they were Fat Cat toys and the cats ADORE the Fat Cat stuff! 10. Last food you ate? Half a bagel with peanut butter last night at snack time. 11. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? The person who answered the phone at the vet clinic (Sugarbutt’s got red, weepy eyes (perhaps he’s just feeling Emo?) and terramycin and triple antibiotic didn’t help, so I think he needs to be seen. It’s always something with him.) 12. Have you bought any clothing items in the last week? Nope. I almost bought a yellow t-shirt at Target yesterday, but I have enough t-shirts, and I’m not buying anymore round-neck shirts. They annoy my wattle. 13. Do you have a pet? One or two. 14. What’s the last sporting event you watched? Well, this would be stretching “sporting event” quite a bit, but the other day I watched Ekaterina Gordeeva’s performance from Celebration of a Life on YouTube the other night. All these years later, it’s no less heartbreaking. 15. Are you a pirate? I have not yet attained the level of dorkitude that would allow me to answer “yes.” 16. If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be? Right where I am, actually. 17. What is the last thing you purchased online? Uh. Good lord, it’s been a while, I think. Let’s see… Oh, of course! The second season of Weeds, from iTunes. 18. One thing you hate about yourself? I’m a master procrastinator. Also, wishy-washy. Well, wishy-washy until I feel I’m being bullied, then I pick a stance and stick to it. 19. What’s your favorite soup? Homemade chicken and rice – but I’m not usually much of a soup fan. 20. Do you miss anyone? The spud! 21. Last play you saw? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a play, actually. Do musicals count? Because if so, it’d have to be Hairspray. 22. What are your plans for the day? Sugarbutt’s got an appointment at the vet’s at 10:30 and I need to run the stuff to the recycling center, but other than that, I have no real plans. I might chop and freeze the green peppers, and make a batch of jalapeno jelly (thanks, those of you who mentioned it. I’d forgotten I wanted to make some!), but then again I might put that off ’til tomorrow or this weekend. 24. Ever go to camp? I attended various day camps, but never sleepover camp. 25. Were you an honor roll student in school? Not in the least. 26. What do you know about the future? I try not to think about it too much. 27. Are you wearing any perfume or cologne? No, I didn’t put any on this morning. I tend not to, most of the time. 28. How is one to classify? However one wishes. 29. Do you have a tan? I do not. I’ve got plenty of freckles, though! 30. How old do you want to be when you have kids? I was 20. Hopefully the spud will be MUCH OLDER when she has hers. 31. Last person who made you cry? Margery Williams: Does it hurt?” asked Rabbit. “Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real, you don’t mind being hurt.” “Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?” “It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real, you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.” 2. Do you have any tattoos or piercings? My ears are pierced (given how long I tend to go between the times I bother to wear earrings, I can’t believe the holes haven’t grown closed). I don’t have a tattoo yet – but I intend to, one day. I suspect it will be cat-based. 32. Have you ever drank your soda from a straw? Yes. Is that a strange thing? And is that a grammatically correct question, up there? Because it seems like it’s not so much. 33. How do you like your soda? Sweet and fizzy, JUST LIKE AH LAHK MAH MEN. 34. Do you like hot sauce? Not at all. 35. Next time you’ll take a shower? Tomorrow morning. I shower every single morning; I can’t even remember the last time I skipped a shower. 37. What is your mood? Gassy. Is gassy a mood? 38. Are you someone’s best friend? I believe so. 39. What did you want for Valentine’s Day? Uh. Dinner out, probably. That’s what I usually want for any kind of occasion. 40. What are you doing right now? That’s a stupid question, and I refuse to answer it because the answer is OBVIOUS. * * * The best picture ever taken on the face of this planet. * * * Previously 2006: “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “That’s the monkey (ex-boyfriend) gave me. She can crap all over it if she wants.” 2005: We meet Sugarbutt, Tommy, and their siblings! 2004: No entry. 2003: Since he’s a year older than me, that’ll give me two years to theatrically take to my bed and waste away. Sounds about right. 2002: Obviously whoever lives at 308 belongs to the Bitchypoo “If I don’t know you, I ain’t answerin’ the door” school of thought. 2001: I hate you, Mr. Mailman. 2000: Only US Magazine would consider it newsworthy that Michael Douglas is changing diapers he hasn’t been wearing. ]]>

* * * I don’t think I ever mentioned this, but the lady who bought the house next door moved in – she started moving in while I was in Maine, I think, and completely moved in a few days after I got back. She has, in the past few weeks, been a GREAT neighbor. Waves and calls hello, but not all up in my shit. (Probably my shit is not quite as fascinating to others as I might like to think, ya think?) A couple of weeks ago when I was mowing the lawn to surprise Fred*, she came over and asked if she could use the phone, because she’d locked herself out of her house. We went inside so I could look up the number of a locksmith for her, she called them, and then we talked for a few minutes before she went back over to her house to wait for the locksmith, and I went to finish mowing the lawn. She’s quiet, she keeps her lawn mowed and her deck is lovely to look at, and all in all I don’t believe I could have asked for a better neighbor. The only problem – and it’s certainly not her fault – is that my kitchen window looks directly into her back yard, and she spends a lot of time on her deck. Now, I didn’t think I spent all that much time in the kitchen, but since she’s moved in, it feels like I’m CONSTANTLY in there, either canning something or washing something, and of course if I’m at the sink I look out the window, and I know that several times she’s seen me standing in the window looking at her, and probably she thinks I’ve got nothing better to do than stand and watch her (I like what she’s done with the deck, by the way. Lots of plants and a pretty baker’s rack). What I need to do is plant something bushy and fast-growing that will grow enough so that it will block my view of her back yard, but not so much that it’ll block the morning sun. I’m in Zone 8, people – I’d like something that stays green and bushy year-round (I thought of butterfly bushes, but they lose their leaves in the winter and are supposed to be cut back). Suggestions? (Don’t forget – fast-growing is what I’m looking for, not something that’ll take 10 years to get big enough to do the job.) *I don’t know what you do to surprise your husband – lingerie, or a gift from the local “adult” store, perhaps – but I know the direct way to Fred’s heart, and mowing the lawn so he was free to come home and work on his shed instead of having to mow the lawn made him one happy man.

* * * Friday evening Fred and I were sitting in the living room watching TV, when the phone rang. It was the manager of the no-kill shelter I volunteer for (you know, the shelter that provides me with an unending stream of kittens. Suckers!). She asked if I wouldn’t mind going to the pet store to pick up Jake, Roland, and Eddie Dean the next morning. They’d developed, as she put it, “yellow poop.” Y’all KNOW I wasn’t going to turn down the chance to bring them home for a few days, so Saturday morning I went and got them. They might be poopin’ yellow (you weren’t eating, were you?), but they’re just as active as they ever were. They all three come over and look for love (they really like being held like babies and have their bellies rubbed), but they also spend plenty of time racing around like howler monkeys. When I walked into the foster room and put the carrier down and opened it, Susannah looked at me and said “NO! What is THIS?!”, and Billy Bumbler and Callahan said “Woohoo! Playmates!” and jumped on them. After a couple of days of medication, they’re doing better. I don’t know if there’s going to be room at the pet store tomorrow or not but if there is, I think I’ll take the three orange tabbies to the store and let the brown ones stay here ’til the end of the week so I can make sure they’re completely over the diarrhea. ****************************************** With the cooler weather, the jalapenos, habaneros and bell peppers have really taken off, and they’ve been piling up in the refrigerator, so I finally decided to do something about it. First I made a batch of habanero hot sauce (no pictures), and when the hot sauce was all mixed up, Fred took a little dab of it and put it on his tongue, and reported that his tongue burned for five minutes afterward. He doesn’t know that he’s going to use an entire batch of the stuff in this lifetime, but it’s good to have around in case he wants to add heat to something, I suppose. Then I took care of the jalapenos: I ended up with two jars of whole pickled jalapenos, three jars of sliced pickled jalapenos, and since I had room in the canner, I did a jar of whole habaneros (when he saw the jar of habaneros, Fred just looked at me like he thought perhaps I’d lost my mind). I use this recipe for the pickled jalapeno peppers, but I don’t use the pickling spice (Fred doesn’t like the peppercorns) or the bay leaves. And I used this recipe for the Habanero Hot Sauce (scroll down). Oddly, that recipe is the exact same as this one, but the one I didn’t use calls for 1 1/2 cups of white vinegar. That might explain why my hot sauce ended up being so thick. I think I need to go add white vinegar to the stuff I made, and see if that works a little better. Once those were done and cooling, I did what I’d been meaning to do for quite some time: I made and canned spaghetti sauce. My recipe: Approximately 12 cups of tomato sauce (made and frozen at a previous date by moi); a small can of tomato paste; a package (8 ounces, I think) of mushrooms, chopped coarsely; 1 medium onion, chopped coarsely; a couple of cloves of minced garlic; a generous sprinkling of Italian Seasoning, and plenty of salt (I thought I’d added too much, but a taste test told me that I absolutely didn’t). Mix together, bring to a boil, turn it down to a simmer and let it simmer for about an hour, or until it’s reached the thickness you desire. I ended up with three quart jars of spaghetti sauce, and I tell you what – this stuff was GOOD. I processed it for 25 minutes in a steam pressure canner (at ten pounds) and let the jars sit overnight. One of the jars didn’t seal, so rather than re-process it, we had it last night with leftover meatballs, over angel hair pasta. I thought it was really good, but Fred especially sang the praises of the spaghetti sauce. One caveat: I didn’t know until after I’d canned the spaghetti sauce that onions and garlic aren’t particularly recommended in canned spaghetti sauce, because they can turn bitter. Had I realized that, I would have frozen the spaghetti sauce instead. The sauce we had last night wasn’t bitter at all, but I don’t know if it’s the canning process that’s supposed to turn them bitter, or sitting in the jar for a long period of time. ****************************************** “Hey! Take a picture of me! A picture of me and Da Boog! Like this! Take a picture of me and Da Boog!” “You might have mentioned that I looked like an idiot before you snapped the picture. Is my head really that big?” ****************************************** Fred took this picture a few weeks ago, and since he hasn’t used it yet, I’m claiming it for my own journal. I honestly didn’t expect this to come out so well – I snapped it through the window (that white string hanging down goes to the blinds). ****************************************** * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: How’d you like to wake up in the dark and see the Baldwin noggin coming toward you? I bet your life would flash in front of your eyes. 2003: “Freakass freak” is two words. 2002: As I pointed out to Fred this afternoon, it makes me uncomfortable when Dr. Phil is nice. 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry.]]>

Siamese twin Gerbera Daisy bloom!

* * * Let the comment-answering extravaganza begin! (If you missed your chance to ask your question, fear not. It’ll be back next week!) Hummingbird feeders I can’t even count how many of you have commented to let me know that I shouldn’t be adding food coloring to my hummingbird food (I stopped counting at ten), so listen up: I KNOW. The red hummingbird food you’ve seen in the hummingbird pictures is the instant stuff made from packets I bought at the pet store. I usually make my own (the recipe I follow, which I got off the back of a box one of the hummingbird feeders came in: 1 part sugar to 4 parts water; bring to a boil, let cool, store in the fridge) and don’t add food coloring, but the instant stuff comes colored red. I bought several boxes of the instant stuff because it was bad enough I was making Fred change out the hummingbird feeders every day while I was in Maine; I was afraid that making him MAKE the hummingbird food too would have been the straw that broke the Fred’s back. I was changing out the hummingbird feeders every day because it was over 100 for the 10 days before I left for Maine, and all three of the feeders spend at least a small part of the day in the sun. If I did it every other day instead of every day, the food would get nasty. Now that it’s cooled down a little, I’ve gone to changing them out every other day, and probably I’ll go to every three or four days in another week. By the way, I still want a pet hummingbird. In case you were wondering. * * * Did you watch *A Beautiful Mind*, and was it too act-y? Crowe’s accent drove me apeshit until I turned the captioning on. We did watch A Beautiful Mind, and I didn’t find it too acty, I found it pretty interesting, really; it explained a lot about schizophrenia I simply hadn’t realized (for one, you think of someone hearing voices, and you think Well, they’re voices of people who really aren’t there. Why can’t they just figure that out and get past it? I didn’t realize how REAL the hallucinated people and voices actually are.). Spoilers for A Beautiful Mind; skip to the next section if you haven’t seen it yet. Several minutes before it was made clear in the movie that Paul Bettany’s character and the whole “spy thing” was imaginary, I called it. Being able to call stuff like that before it’s spelled out always makes me feel like a Super Special Smartypants. My gripe with the movie is that they really kind of glossed over the whole medication thing. He went off the medication, started seeing his imaginary friends again, realized they were imaginary, and kind of white-knuckled his way through. There was like one line toward the end of the movie where he said he was on the newer medication, but that was such a throwaway line that if your attention wandered for a moment, you might have missed it. Does anyone else think that Jennifer Connelly, aged, looked a lot like Brooke Shields, or is it just me? * * * P.S He doesn’t look like a troll or gollum or a goonie. You chose a horrible picture of him. Tsk tsk tsk. This is regarding Denis Leary and his resemblance to Gollum. And I’m going to have to disagree with you on that one – the only reason I used that particular picture of him is because I couldn’t find one of him making that face that he does 73 times in every episode of Rescue Me, the one where he looks to the side with his mouth open and he looks EXACTLY like Gollum. I didn’t say he wasn’t HOT, I didn’t say I wouldn’t put him on my List (Denis Leary is huddled in a corner sobbing if he ever reads that, I’m sure), I just said he looks like Gollum. Big blue eyes, jagged teeth, high cheek bones. All he needs is to hiss something about “My pretty”, and the resemblance would be complete. * * * It has also been a year since we submitted yawning pics, so can we do it again? Not yet – I’m a little overwhelmed right now, so maybe in October! * * * What about a batch named after the characters in O Brother Where Art Thou? You could have Delmar, Pete (we thought you was a TOAD!), Everett, Tommy Johnson, Big Dan Teague, even Vernon T Waldrup – if you get a kitten that’s BONAFIDE! I ADORE this idea. Adore it! If I’m not twanging “He’s BONAFIDE!” at a kitten by the end of the year, I’ll eat my hat. * * * Robyn, did you know that almost all Torti cats, like Miz Poo are almost always girls and if they are a boy they will most likely be sterile. I just adopted a little Torti who was living in my yard, she is just like Mz. Poo with her always giving my 3 boy cats the paw of doom! I feel like I kind of did know that most Tortis are female – I’ve never personally seen a male torti, and I guess that would explain why! Tortoiseshells have a reputation for being a wee bit crazy, and although Miz Poo has a bit of the bitch about her, she’s not batshit nuts the way some can be. However, having come across many, many tortis when I clean at the pet store, I’d have to say that the majority of them are sweet and lovable, but if you push them, they will kick your ASS. * * * I used to pass that car with the “SASSY” plate on my way to work at the Maine Mall every day when I lived in Maine. How weird to see it here! I fully expect that one day someone’s going to email me and say “Uh, that’s MY license plate!” Hasn’t happened yet, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. * * * Maybe this is a stupid question, but did you already know about the Google thing? Or did you just guess that it would work? Because that’s pretty damn cool. and I gotta know … That Google thing is awesome – do they charge for the text message, or is it just counted as one of your plan’s allotted messages? A few months ago I read something in a magazine, which led me to this page. It was while I was living here alone, before Fred and the spud moved in, and I have this weird need when I wake up each morning to know what the weather is supposed to be like. So I got into the habit of texting Google every morning for the weather, and then we got internet here, and I stopped doing it. When we were looking for the restaurant, I looked through my cell phone phonebook to see if I had Fred’s sister’s cell phone number, and came across Google. I gave it a try, and it worked! I get charged for a regular text message, and if I had a texting plan it would be included in that. I don’t have a texting plan, though, which is something we need to remedy. I don’t send a lot of text messages, but I send enough that having a plan would be worth it, FRED. * * * Are Fred and you going to be selling your old camera since Fred got a new toy? No, because the new camera is a pain in the ass to carry around. It’s good to have when we want to take really good pictures, but it’s not really easy to carry around and won’t fit in my purse, so we’re keeping Sony Cybershot DSC-P200 we already have. * * * Love your bee picture!! That’s what y’all need to get next. We love ours. You still have corn? Amazing. Oh, believe me – Fred’s already been researching bees and the work involved! The only reason we have corn is because we did a second planting. I don’t know how well they’re going to come out, but I think we’re getting close to the time when we need to do some corn-pickin’. * * * Congrats on the sweet ‘taters! Are they much different from yams? I’ve had it explained to me before, but I honestly don’t know the difference between sweet potatoes and yams. I feel like they’re often used interchangeably and if I had a sweet potato pie made with yams, I’m sure I wouldn’t know any different. Those sweet potatoes we grew SUCKED. I made sweet potato crack a few days ago, and the sweet potatoes were bland and tasteless, and I tossed the rest of them on the compost heap. Fred thinks the problem might be that we used a sweet potato from the grocery store, and who knows what the issue was, there. Next year we’re going to buy slips at the co-op, and will hopefully end up with something a little better. * * * Whose faces are on the new logo? Their eyes follow me everywhere! That’s Fred and I, photoshopped onto the picture. It makes me giggle. * * * LOVE the new version of “Anders0n Gothic,” in your new logo. Did you or Fred think of it? Nope, I don’t know that I’ve ever come up with any of the ideas behind the logos I use, aside from maybe saying “I need a Christmas logo! Someone?”. This one was made by wonderful reader Christine, who came up with the idea and execution on her own. Did I mention that it makes me giggle? * * * Have you seen or even heard of Slacker Cats on ABCFamily? It’s a cartoon for adults and it’s on Monday nights at 9(central) and it’s so damn disturbing and hilarious at the same time. Anyway, there’s a girl kitty that just wants to be friends with the two main boy kitties and they’re not exactly nice to her in their attempts to get away. Tommy leaving and her following made me think of them. I had never heard of Slacker Cats, but I think I’m going to have to give it a try. It looks cute! * * * Did you go out to the island at Popham, or was the tide in? I have, sadly, not been out to that island (it’s called Fox Island, apparently) in many years. Every year I think “Oh, we should totally walk out to the island!” before we get to Popham, and then we get there and I’m like “Orrrr I could just sit on my ass and watch the people go by!” Maybe next summer! * * * You stinker. I was in South Portland/Biddeford the same weekend….. You could have met 2 of your loyal readers! Oh well, maybe next year? I am seriously considering having a Bitchypoo mini-con next summer, so anyone in the area could come, we could meet up for a few hours, then y’all could go home and tell your friends and family “That Robyn…. kind of an odd one!” Anyone interested? * * * Now Miz Poo {Princess #1 of course!} isn’t going to be the only girl anymore, how is she going to handle that? She’s pretty much taken it in stride – she knows she’s Momma’s sweet princess baby and no one could replace her! Of course, it helps that Stinkerbelle (I keep wanting to call her Maryanne, still) isn’t likely to up and start wanting to snuggle with me at night, so that spot right next to me still belongs to Miz Poo. * * * I must know where you got that pink cat shirt! does it say “bad kitty”? Yep, that’s my “bad kitty” t-shirt! I got it at Steve and Barry’s, in the local mall. I love that store, because they have a ton of cool t-shirts, they’re inexpensive (2 for $15, I think), and they’re good quality. I got my “Chillin’ with my gnomies” t-shirt there, too. (That’s the store that carries the new Sarah Jessica Parker line, Bitten. And I hate to tell SJP, but “Fashion is not a luxury; it’s a right” my ASS.) * * * Robyn, I believe I asked a few weeks ago if there was any chance you guys would keep Maryanne because Fred liked her so much!!! Ha ha! Congratulations on your new addition. Fred is a definitely a keeper, but you already know that!!! So now I know who to blame, MICHELE. YOU put the idea into Fred’s noggin, and it’s YOUR fault we have a number 7 (9). You are evil and must be punished. (At least, if she wasn’t a pretty good little cat who’s cute and has soft, silky fur and mostly behaves herself, I’d have to hunt you down and beat you soundly. Also, I haven’t the energy for beating you. Consider yourself lucky, missy!) * * * Hey Robyn! Since you like the new versions of Hairspray, you have got to see the original with Ricki Lake. It is hysterical! I just went and added it to my Netflix queue! I’ve been meaning to do that, but kept forgetting. Thanks for the reminder! * * * How is the Sugs neck thingy? Better? It gets better, almost to the point of being healed, and then he starts scratching at it, and it gets worse and we have to put gauze and a bandage on it. If it doesn’t heal up completely fairly soon, I’m going to haul his ass back to the vet. The many moods of da Sugs: * * * I hope it wasn’t the same person from awhile back….didn’t you have some problem with someone taking pictures off your site and doing something with them? I think at that time you decided to take all your pictures down (or put a smiley on them) or maybe I’m not remembering correctly.. Back in 2003, some lame-ass motherfucker stole a picture off my OneFatBitchypoo site and posted on a message board pretending that the picture was her. Someone recognized the picture as being me, and rather than thinking “Hey. Maybe someone stole Robyn’s picture, since she never posts here, and I should let her know?”, she instead informed some nutbag, who emailed me and acted like a fucking lunatic. I went back and put a smiley-face over the faces on all my pictures, but that didn’t last long because it’s a pain in the ass, and if someone’s going to be so much a loser that they steal one of my pictures and pretend it’s them, a smiley face probably won’t slow them down much. All of this is to say that no, the person who caused me to take down my archives in self-defense is not the same person from 2003. * * * In our house we call those cat beds “cat pizzas” as in “look at Swee Pea on the pizza” – we have them EVERYWHERE. We have stolen this word and use it pretty regularly – Fred, especially. Because it’s such a good description! * * * How about doing some password protected entries? Maybe, possibly, at some point in the future – if I decide to do so, I’ll make sure to mention it here. And should that happen, you can be assured that access will be strictly controlled. (Let me take a moment to thank the lord once again that I married a computer geek.) * * * So does that mean we can’t get random entries no mo’? Or funny comments from two years ago today? The archives are slowly going back up – though I think for the time being I’m going to concentrate on getting archives put up on the weekends so as not to muck up those of you who read me via RSS. Every time I publish an old entry, it apparently shows up in the RSS feeds as a new one, and I’m sorry about that, y’all. If I knew of a workaround, I’d totally do it. * * * Surely you have seen this – because when I saw it, I immediately thought of you. I hadn’t seen that, actually. I’m intrigued by the idea of potty-training cats, but I don’t know that it’s for us. Anyone out there have potty-trained cats? ‘Cause I’d like to hear about your experience. (Though I suspect that the first time I had to wait to use the bathroom because Mister Boogers was sitting in there reading the newspaper, I’d immediately UN-train them.) * * * Have you met Jane “in person?” Not yet! Also, I noticed that Tom doesn’t have any Soft Claws on in the above picture. Is he good about not scratching the furniture? My idiot (oh good boy) is good about not scratching the furniture until he loses 2 or 3 caps on a paw. Then it’s scratch like a crazy cat. I hate having to replace the caps individually because it plugs up the little tube adapter, but sometimes he scratches my legs and that’s not good. Tommy is very, very good about not scratching the furniture. The only place I ever see him sharpening his claws in the house is the carpet in the foster kitten room (they all like to sharpen their claws there, I guess because it’s cheap and crappy carpet). I think he went without any Soft Paws at all for a couple of months, and we didn’t have any problems. We recently re-capped him, though I’m kind of wondering why I thought it needed to be done at all, given that there’s not a scratching issue. * * * Do you still enjoy those orange cupcakes you used to talk about? It used to be that the only place I ever saw the Hostess Orange Cupcakes was in Maine, so it was solely a Maine treat. I’d eat them when I was in Maine, and in between, I’d pine for them. Then we discovered that they were available at a local bakery thrift store, so I’d have a pack of them every now and then. And then I ate them a little too quickly one night, got sick, and that’s all she wrote. If I never see another pack of orange cupcakes, it’ll be too damn soon. * * * When you make salsa – do you just can it in a water bath or do you do the whole pressure cooker thing? I do it in a water bath. I figure between the fact that the tomatoes are super-ripe and I add lime juice, it’s acidic enough that a pressure cooker is good enough. Should Fred die from botulism this winter, though, I’ll change that up next year. * * * mmmm salsa … recipe please? I absolutely hate it when other people say this, but it’s the truth – I don’t really have a recipe. This is how I make it: I blanch and peel all the ripe tomatoes I have*, then roughly chop them. Some people might deseed their tomatoes, but Fred doesn’t mind the seeds, and deseeding has been a pain in the ass with the tomatoes we’ve got, so I leave them. Once I have the tomatoes all peeled and chopped, I throw them in the big pot, and I chop one to two onions (depending on the size of the onions and how much you like onion, of course. Fred likes it, and I don’t mind onion breath on him, so I usually chop up a couple of big ones.) and add them to the pot. Then I make Fred come inside, show him what I’ve got for tomatoes and onions, and tell him to get me however many green peppers, jalapeños, and habaneros he wants in it. Last weekend, with a huge pot of tomatoes, he had me do 7 or 8 green peppers, 15 jalapeños, and 4 or 5 habaneros. I chop the green peppers coarsely and add them to the pot, but I don’t chop jalapeños and habaneros by hand. You have to wear plastic gloves when you chop those, or you’ll burn your eyes out of their sockets hours later when you take your contacts out before bed. I chop the stem end off the jalapeños and habaneros, then toss them in the food processor and run it until they’re chopped into tiny bits. Then I scrape it all into the big pot and stir. I add a bunch of cilantro (I could use fresh, but I hate chopping that shit (um, newsflash, Einstein: food processor, maybe? DUH.), so I use dried), a lot of salt, and dump some lime juice in. If I remember, I add minced garlic, but I forgot last weekend. Then I call Fred in and make him test the salsa. Invariably he adds more salt, tastes it a few more times, and pronounces it good. I put the pot on the stove and bring the salsa to a boil, then let it boil for ten minutes. I fill each scalded pint jar, leaving 1/2″ headspace, get the air bubbles out, put the lid and ring on, and when I have seven jars, put them in the already-boiling water bath canner, and let ’em go for 10 minutes. Fred decreed last night that he’d like to do some experimentation with the salsa next year – try other peppers, smoke some peppers, just kind of change things around. It’s a pain in the ass, this salsa-making, and as I believe I’ve mentioned, I don’t even eat the stuff, but it makes him happy, so ::BIG DRAMATIC SIGH:: I’ll keep on keepin’ on. *I recently read that if you toss ripe tomatoes in the freezer, they’re easy to peel without having to blanch them. This is true, but I really don’t like the feel of a tomato that’s been frozen, and they seem to be far more liquid than the ones that are blanched and peeled. It’s kind of gross, actually, the feeling of a frozen and thawed tomato. The blanching is a pain in the ass, but I don’t mind it that much. * * * You may have mentioned this before, but what camera do you use? Whatever you’re using, I want one! Most of the time I use my trusty Sony CyberShot DSC P200, but we just recently got a fancier one, the Sony α A100H. I like the big fancy one, and I can’t deny that you can get some awesome pictures with it, but it’s not practical for everyday use, and it doesn’t EVEN fit into my purse, so I’ll continue to mostly stick with the P200. * * * How do you control the cat hair/litterbox smell in your house? I would LOVE LOVE LOVE to have kitties but the cat hair everywhere from our last one just drove me nuts! With so many of them, you must have a solution! In a perfect world, I completely change out the litter in all three (!) litter boxes every week, scrubbing out the litter boxes before refilling them with clean litter. In between, I scoop the litter boxes twice a day. I vacuum the house from top to bottom every day, and the cats do NOT walk across my just-vacuumed rugs, shedding like a… thing that sheds. A FUCKING LOT. In the real world, I completely change out the litter in all three (!) litter boxes every couple of weeks, and I might scrub out the litter boxes when I change out the litter, or I might just spray them down lightly with my favorite cleaning solution, and wipe them out with paper towels; it depends on where the lazy meter’s at on that particular day. I scoop out the litter boxes (and empty the Litter Robot drawer) first thing in the morning and take the bags o’ cat poop out the trash can in the garage immediately. I vacuum every other day – or at the most every third (OKAY, every FOURTH day this week) day, and sometimes I run the Swiffer over the hardwood floors, before I vacuum, but most times I don’t. Most of the time the litter box odor isn’t that bad unless someone’s just used the litter box and really stunk it up. On such an occasion, I might smell the litter box in the kitchen, but it must not bother me all that much, because I haven’t gotten off my dead ass and stripped and repainted the door that goes between the laundry room and kitchen, which would cut down on such odorous occasions. Far and away the litter box that gets the most use is the one I recently put in the upstairs bathroom. The cats use the HELL out of that litter box for some reason. If there was a convenient outlet in the bathroom cubby, I’d totally put the Litter Robot up there, but since there’s not… I’ll have to talk my father in to putting a new outlet there next time he comes to visit! (I think he can do that…) Speaking of the vacuuming, Leanne recently left a comment telling me that iRobot has recently released a new Roomba for Pets version, and they’ve revamped the brush so that pet hair is easier to get out. I am seriously thinking that I need a Roomba (Fred’s rolling his eyes and thinking about what a lemming I am, I’m sure) (actually, he’s probably just scanning this entry looking to see if I’ve written about him, bastard). * * * I’ve been wondering how you cook your green beans from the garden. I always want to get fresh green beans at the grocery store, but I have absolutely no idea what you do with them (I know…my momma didn’t raise me right). Do you have to cut the ends off? Steam them? Season them with something? I snap the ends off the green beans, then (depending on the length), cut them to a smaller size, put them in a pot of water, let the water come to a boil, and let them boil for five minutes or so. I like to put a dab of Brummel and Brown on them for that buttery taste, but that’s it. I’ve tried them other ways – stir-fried with garlic and onion in olive oil – but I find that I really prefer them simply boiled. It’s a matter of personal taste, I think – some people like them firmer, some like them softer, some with lots of spices, some with none. Buy some and give it a try – you’ll figure out what you like soon enough, I promise. * * * Dear Robyn: I was watching that Mary Winkler mess on Oprah yesterday, and she has a really strong Southern accent (understatement) I realize she’s from Tennessee, not Alabama, but Fred does not seem to have that accent, and I’ve known other people from the Deep South who don’t either. Do some people from the South talk that way just to piss me off? Cordially, Jane and My question – Robyn, have you ever heard someone talk with that thick of an accent? First of all, I must say: Shitfire. Did Oprah start up her new season and I didn’t set up to tape? DAMN IT. I didn’t miss any weight loss shows, did I? Because I’ll have a fit if I did! Here’s my thick-accent story, and I know I’ve probably told it before, but I’m gonna tell it again because I CAN. When the spud and I were moving down here, it was a two-day drive. After a very long day of driving, we stopped in the mountains of Tennessee at a chain hotel. I went in and told the desk clerk that I needed a room for two, and she said something. I leaned forward, smiled politely, and said “Pardon me?” And she said something. I could not understand one single word that came out of her mouth. We were finally able to communicate via hand gestures and slow talking with exaggerated pronunciation, and when the spud and I got to our hotel room, I called Fred. And I said “I do not understand the Southern language, and what the FUCK am I doing, moving to the south?!” It was the first (and really, only) time I thought I might be making a huge mistake. Fred talked me down from the ledge by explaining to me that yes, there are people in the south who speak with such horrifically thick accents that you can’t understand them. BUT they tend to live in the more rural towns, and since I was moving to Huntsville, which has an Army base and tends to have more people from places NOT in the south, I’d probably not run into that problem all that often. Every now and then someone will say something and I’ll have a moment of “What the fuck did they just say to me?” panic, but it doesn’t happen that often. And Fred has a southern accent, but it’s not a thick one. The story goes that when he was a kid, he heard a recording of his own voice, and he was so horrified at how he sounded that he taught himself to speak without that thick redneck drawl. (His parents, for the record, have southern accents, but are perfectly understandable and don’t sound like rednecks.) I don’t know where Mary Winkler is from, but from your description, I’d guess she’s from a small, rural area. (And Jane, I think you should know that we all live to annoy you. Makes for more interesting entries!) * * * Why does Copper Girl look like a Bobble Head Doll? How’s that for a question??? That’s a fine question, and the answer is, it’s the angle. I adore that picture – she looks like she has stubby little legs and a great big head, and the fact that the sign in the background reads “Dog Dog Dog” just adds to the perfection of the picture, dontchathink? * * * 1. how do you wash the cat furniture? I vacuum the cat trees with the vacuum cleaner attachment, I wash the cat beds once a month or so (okay, really every three or four months, but I always INTEND to do it once a month) in the washing machine on warm with Tide. Anything else gets wiped down or vacuumed when I realize it needs to be done. 2. I’m thinking about weight loss surgery too, have you ever had problems with “loose” skin? Yes indeed, especially in the abdominal area. I intend to have a lower body lift at some point this winter (maybe sometime between Christmas and Spring?) along with a breast lift. On my Plastic Surgery Wish List is also a thigh lift and an upper arm lift, and a chin lift. But I’ll tell you this: if for some reason I just wasn’t able to have any of that plastic surgery, I’m still better off now than I was before I had weight loss surgery. I don’t have 150 pounds of fat literally holding me back from doing the things I want to do. I can honestly say that if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t hesitate. * * * By the way my Madison is a female orange tabby. Is it true that female orange tabbys are not a popular cat to have? Do you know why? I have never ever heard that orange female tabbies are less desirable. I do know that they’re less common (something like 90% of orange tabbies are male), but I don’t know why anyone would NOT want an orange tabby. Anyone else ever heard of such a thing? * * * I have followed you and Fred and Spud for years. You really put it all out there at times. I have to wonder; how is it that you manage to come in under the radar and not get picked up by your neighbors, etc. Don’t any of the old men at the corner store or your new (or even old) neighbors have internet access? I mean you post pictures of all of you and your pets and your homes; and, no one notices or comments on your insights and observations about folks? Mind you, I’m not criticizing; just, AMAZED!!! It’s funny you ask that, because one night last week I did a casual perusal of my stats, and found that someone WHO LIVES IN SMALLVILLE had come across my Twitter profile and followed the link to my page. I pretty much shit a brick (even though they clearly clicked on the link, looked at my page, said “Oh. BORING.” and clicked away from my site) and changed my Twitter profile to not include my url. So far as I know, none of our neighbors know about my site, but if they do, they haven’t said anything to me about it. Probably the guys at the corner store do have internet access, but I doubt that the daily journal of a crazy cat lady would interest them much. I do know that our old neighbors (not the ones we hated; the ones on the other side) read Fred’s journal, at least from time to time, because she mentioned it to both of us. We never had anything bad to say about them (although I might have said once that I wanted to kidnap their youngest boy, because CUTE), and if the neighbors on the other side found my or Fred’s site and read that THEY ARE ASSHOLES, well, I don’t know that I give a shit. Because they were assholes. Also, we tend not to be all that social with our neighbors (not because we don’t like them, but because we’re just not particularly social people), so as far as I know, they could be ALL obsessively stalking our sites and talking to each other about that horrible woman with the potty mouth (“I don’t know, Mabel. She stood out there with that big camera and took pictures of the flowers on her front porch for like 15 minutes yesterday. I think she might be mentally unstable.”), and we just don’t know about it. * * * What ever happened to Jack Frost? I’ve been worried about him as I’ve loved him since day one, and unless I’ve missed something, you never posted whether he’d been adopted or not. To be honest, I don’t know. He did get adopted – I remember the shelter manager saying he did – but when I look at the listing of cats for the shelter, he’s still there. It’s possible she hasn’t had a chance to take his profile down yet, or maybe he was returned, I don’t know. I’ll try to remember to ask her the next time I talk to her. * * * My question is about weight maintenance. I’m on a diet site quite often. When people lose good amounts of weight they all seem to go on about how keeping the weight off is way harder than losing it. I have lost some weight and that comment always pisses me off because losing it in the first place is damn hard. You seem to be living pretty normally without obsessing over your weight. Is maintenance really the pits? I… don’t know. Because I’m not maintaining my weight – I’ve actually gained seven pounds in the past few months. I know what I need to do – cut out the junk food and get my ass back to exercising – but I’m still fitting in my clothes, so I’m having a hard time getting motivated to do both of those things. I think that maybe the part that people find so hard about maintaining that because they’ve spent so long and worked so hard to get the weight off, when they get to their goal weight, they kind of feel like they should be able to relax, eat what they want, and slack on the exercising. God knows that while I kind of have a general desire to see 150 on the scale, I still feel good enough that I’m not motivated by feeling crappy or being unable to fit in my clothes, so here I sit, not exercising and snacking too much. LE SIGH. * * * Do any of your cats, or have any of your cats in the past, had to have their anal glands expressed regularly? Our cat seems like she has to have them like once or twice a year, poor thing, and I was just wondering if you had the same problem. Tubby had to have his anal glands expressed a couple of times. I, thank god, was not the one who took him to the vet’s those times, but I understand that the smell is absolutely horrific, and you have totally got my sympathy! * * * I know how Fred loves Sudoku, does he have Snoodoku? I sent him the link to Snoodoku, and I believe he said “That’s too complicated”, or “That’s too confusing” or something along those lines. He doesn’t do Sudoku as much as he used to, probably because we don’t spend as much time in front of the TV, which was always his preferred Sudoku-ing time. * * * I asked Nance last week and now you are my victim! Has losing all the weight made you feel better about yourself? And has it changed the way others treat you? I think that losing the weight has made me feel physically more comfortable (though the main reason I wear t-shirts that are too big for me is because I’m self-conscious about the loose skin and fat around my midsection, and expect I will remain so until it’s GONE), and maybe more comfortable in the things I do. That is, if I buy chips or some other junk food at the store, I feel less like people will look at me and think “Oh, look at the fat chick, buying chips! No wonder she’s fat!” or “Look, she’s buying underwear! I didn’t know they made underwear IN HER SIZE!” Probably people didn’t pay that much attention to what I was buying (like Dr. Phil says, you wouldn’t worry about what other people think of you if you knew how little they do), but I feel less self-conscious about that sort of thing. As far as it changing the way others treat me – maybe. It’s nothing big and obvious, just sometimes the cashier at the store might be a little friendlier than they used to be before I’d lost the weight. I’ll tell you what I’m grateful for these days – that it’s been long enough since I lost the weight that the people I see on a regular basis no longer say anything to me about it. If I never have another person say “Wow! You’ve lost a lot of weight!” to me, I’ll be perfectly happy. And I KNOW they don’t say it like “GODDAMN you were fat!”, or to make me self-conscious, and they’re just being nice and stating the obvious but I really am not fond of those conversations, because I usually just smile and nod and say “Yes, I have”, and there’s this awkward silence where I wonder, am I supposed to offer up more information, or what? I don’t have a problem telling people that I’ve had weight loss surgery, and if they ask I’ll tell them, but I don’t offer it up, either. * * * What’s the Spud doing??? Working two jobs, spending time with her boyfriend, and trying to figure out how to juggle it all! * * * * * * Previously 2006: Maddy sadly contemplates the vast expanse of my thigh. How will she ever cross it and reach freedom?! 2005: For the record, there’s a big fucking difference between pranking someone and just being an asshole. 2004: Like, so world-weary, like “I can’t be bothered to sign ‘love’, because it sounds so warm, I need something COLDER, so I’ll just scrawl ‘as ever’”. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry.]]>

* * * Good lord, is it just me, or is this month FLYING by? We’ve had weeks of the weather people promising that rain would be coming in about five days, only to arrive at said day, to hear the weather people laughing nervously and saying “Did we say it would be rainy TODAY? No, sorry. I meant in five days!” Rain has been perpetually five days in the future. It was like we were trudging through the desert toward a mirage. Finally, Tuesday not only did we get rain, we got pretty much an entire day of on-and-off rain. Already, everything looks greener and happier. AND they’re saying that we’re supposed to get more rain tomorrow! I’m not holding my breath, but it’d be nice.

* * * Yesterday, I was outside filling the bird feeders. One of the things I do when I fill the bird feeders is toss a scoop of the bird food over the fence for the chickens. On this particular day, the chickens were closed up in their chicken yard, but Frick and Flappy (our two Americauna hens) have been flying over the fence into the back yard, where they spend all day pecking around at bugs and such while their sisters stare sadly through the fence at them. Fred has, in my opinion, let the chickens hang out in the back yard far too often. First he would do it on particularly hot days, because there’s more shade in the back yard, and the chickens like to hang out near the air conditioning unit and if it’s hot enough, they’ll stand in the little pool of condensation that runs out of the runoff pipe (?) and cool off. Now, I don’t mind chickens in the back yard all that much – they’re not aggressive, though they are a little obnoxious in that they run over and make demanding piggy noises at me when I walk into the back yard, because they’ve become accustomed to the idea that whenever a human walks into the back yard, that means it’s snack! time! (In the evening when it’s snack time for the kitties, I’ve been known to holler “Whooooooo’s ready for the snackin’?!” so that whoever’s out in the back yard will come in. Nowadays, whoever’s in the back yard has to go through a crowd of chickens, who think I’m talking to them, and gather around and on the back steps.) However, the bigger the chickens get, the bigger their poop gets, and I am mighty sick of not being able to sit at the table on the concrete pad because the table AND chairs are covered in chicken poop. That is some seriously unfair, if you ask me. Anyway. Where was I? Oh right, the filling of the bird feeders. So I was filling the bird feeders and Frick was clucking at me through the fence, all “Give me some of that bird seed, woman!”, and I glanced up to see that Flappy had not only flown over the fence into the back yard, she’d also flown over the fence separating the back yard from the rest of the property, and she was wandering along the fence, a little cartoon question mark over her head, trying to figure out how to get back in. I stomped in an annoyed manner across the back yard to the gate at the back of the fence, close to where she was hanging out. I went through the gate, and tried to shoo her into the back yard. She ran from me, but instead of running through the gate, she ran past the gate toward the garden. I ran after her, waving my arms to herd her, and we soon ended up at the gate at the side of the yard. I pulled the gate open and waved my arms at her, and instead of running through the gate, she ran back toward the garden. Holding the gate, I waved one arm at her, hoping she’d get the idea and run into the back yard. Instead, Mister Boogers ran over to investigate, saw the open gate, decided the shock would be worth it, and ran out of the back yard toward yard next door. “You,” I said to Flappy through clenched teeth, “Are the stupidest animal in the entire world. GET IN THERE!” I got behind her and herded her into the back yard, closed the gate, and went after Mister Boogers. Who had decided that under the shed next door was the perfect place to hang out, so I had to sweet-talk him into coming out, and when he decided he did, in fact, want to be friends, I grabbed him up, said “I hate you, you [bleep]ing [bleep]hole”, gave him a kiss on top of his pointy little head, and carried him into the back yard. Then I realized that I’d left the back gate open, and Sugarbutt (who was collarless) had wandered through and was sniffing around, so I had to chase him down (not difficult, because he didn’t realize he’d gone into forbidden territory and when I approached him, he was all “Hi, Mom!”) and carry him back into the back yard. Later, when I relayed the experience to Fred, he said “You realize that during your entire story, the Benny Hill music was playing in the back of my head, right?” Har. De. Har. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As far as the foster kittens go, the three brown tabbies went to the pet store on Tuesday (they do adoptions Tuesday night) and so since I was in the area yesterday, I stopped to see how many had been adopted, and was disappointed to see all three of them there. I guess there weren’t a lot of adoptions Tuesday night, though, so hopefully they’ll get adopted over the weekend. The other three stayed behind because Billy Bumbler and Susannah are having eye issues. I tried Terramycin for two days with no results and then Erythromycin for two days with no results, so now I’ve got them on a triple antibiotic ointment that seemed to make them better, but now I don’t know, they don’t seem to be making any progress over the past day or so. Not to mention that all three of them spontaneously developed diarrhea, so I put them on Albon for that. They were originally supposed to go to the pet store on Friday, but I don’t see that happening unless their eyes completely heal and they stop with the diarrhea overnight. Poor monkeys. These three are the biggest babies I’ve ever seen. I go in and sit down on the floor, and they surround me and just give me the saddest little baby meows. Even if I’m holding and petting them, they still give me the sad-baby meow. I don’t know exactly what message they’re trying to send, but if they don’t watch out, I’m going to end up squeezing them to death. That, or bite through my tongue, because I bite my tongue constantly when I’m with them so I don’t squeeze them to bits. Oh, the face cracks me UP. Sleepy babies. “Pet me, lady. PET ME!” Speaking of cats, when I went to the pet store Tuesday to drop off Eddie Dean, Roland, and Jake, the shelter manager asked if I’d get a couple of pictures of one of the other cats while I was there. I did, and I think they came out really well. Her name is Copper Girl, and she’s a sweetheart. There are a ton of kitten pictures uploaded over at Flickr; see them here. * * * Tom and Boogs, hanging out atop the gate to the chicken yard. * * * Previously 2006: Maddy! 2005: let’s just say I am NOT very fond of Robyn v. 2002 right now. 2004: My mother hung up the phone and said “If she wanted closure so bad, maybe she should have shown up at the nursing home to see her!” 2003: No entry. 2002: I think he has a camera hidden somewhere in the bathroom, and when I’m in the shower, an alarm goes off and tells him to call me immediately. 2001: Time to go cold turkey, Deb… 2000: WHEN WILL THE SUFFERING END???]]>

sent this and made me cry first thing this morning. Bastard.

* * * Did you know that you can FREEZE eggs? This is awesome news to me, because (I am told) chickens tend not to lay so many eggs in the winter, and even though they’ll likely lay more than enough eggs for us, I’d still hate to run out in the middle of the winter. Because I am NOT buying any more damn store-bought eggs, damnit. I used the last one I had in a meatloaf last week, and I vowed that another store-bought egg would never cross my lips again. (At home, anyway. I’m not going to be an annoying “Is the egg in that recipe from a FREE-RANGE chicken, or one of the tortured chickens at a factory?” person in restaurants or at other peoples’ houses, I promise.) I don’t know why I was so surprised to find that you can freeze eggs, but after all – you can freeze human eggs*, why not chicken eggs? Over the weekend I cracked a dozen eggs in a muffin tin (an egg in each cup), froze them, then slightly defrosted them so I could get them out of the damn cups, put each in a plastic bag, and put them back in the freezer. (Fred pointed out that in the interest of saving the earth (goddamn hippie), I should have put all the eggs in one bag, then I could break off a frozen cup o’ egg whenever I need one. I’ll keep that in mind for next time, I suppose.) *Probably you don’t keep your human eggs in your own freezer next to the homemade tomato sauce, though. Or maybe you DO. Just don’t mix them up with the chicken eggs. Human eggs, scrambled, taste just a bit too humany, if you ask me. * * * A few weeks ago on Rescue Me, Gina Gershon dismissed Kevin Costner’s Open Range as “too act-y.” (On a side note, I love the hell out of Denis Leary, but he kind of looks like a troll, and I feel that in real life there’s no way on earth women who look like Gina Gershon and Jennifer Esposito and hell, even Callie Thorne would take one look at his trollish countenance and throw themselves at him full-force. I mean, you could argue that it’s because he’s a firefighter and women just looooooove a firefighter, but the man can barely take two steps down the street without some woman or another demanding a quickie in the nearest phone booth. Are women in NYC that desperate? On the other hand, I think he is HOT (which is not to be confused with good-looking), so I have no leg to stand on. But, please. Tell me he doesn’t look like a troll. Okay, maybe not a troll; really, he looks more like Gollum and Gollum… is not a troll? Right? Or is he? I never paid no mind to those Lord of the Ring movies. ) Fred has adopted and uses that description – “too act-y” – ALL the time now. We rented A Beautiful Mind last week, and he said “I don’t know. It’s not going to be too act-y, is it?” He’s expanded it to cover books. He opened a book on my bookcase, read a few lines, and said “Oh, that’s WAY too word-y.” God knows that when we come up with good lines, we run them into the ground. To this day, we use “Helloooooo Mr. Gingrich!” on each other. Fred saw a Saturday Night Live skit with Norm Macdonald as Bob Dole, and so when one of us (hi) is feeling bitchy and accuses the other of thinking mean thoughts, said accusation might be met with “Bob Dole didn’t say that!” as code for “I didn’t say it, but I cannot deny the truth of what you’ve said.” I know all couples have their weird little in-jokes. Tell me about some of yours. * * * Okay, I’d write more of an entry, but I’ve been spending a LOT of time messing around with the new camera, and I have some cool pictures to share. Click on any of them to see the full-sized version – but be warned, those full-sized versions are HUGE. Sights from around Crooked Acres. Habanero. We have a ton of these. Flitting in line at the feeder. Fire ants devouring a dead cricket. Yeah, gross. But cool, too. Baby cucumber from our second planting. Egg, minutes from the source. Gerbera daisy, on the front porch. Okra flower. Spot, trying to sleep if the crazy lady with the camera would go away. Stinkerbelle, wondering whether she should flee, or flop over on her side. I told Nance yesterday that Fred spends so much time talking about how gorgeous Stinkerbelle is, that I feel like he’s having a midlife crisis, only instead of dumping me for a younger, prettier model, he brought The Other Woman to live in my house. I suppose I’m lucky that if I had to, I could take her in a fight. I think. She might be one of those dirty fighters, though. Yesterday I thought for sure that I’d lost Sugarbutt. I couldn’t find him anywhere in the house, and repeated calling didn’t bring him running (well, sauntering. He MOSEYS when you call for him, unless it’s snack time, then he’s The Flash), so I got all worried, because I’ve been leaving his collar off so it wouldn’t rub on his neck, and the other day he tried climbing the fence (other cats might try climbing the wood poles of the fence. Not our Sugarbutt – he was climbing the wire part of the fence and having a time of it, too), so we started putting his collar on him, but yesterday I’d left it off. Finally, despite the fact that it was raining, I looked in the back yard, and in the corner, there’s a spot that is sheltered by many tree branches. Sugarbutt was laying there, watching the rain. Brat. * * * Previously 2006: I sense I’m being royally fucking screwed over by the goddamn advantage-taking photographer. Who’s probably lighting his cigars with $100 bills as he drives around in his limo. 2005: Ants ain’t fuckin’ welcome here, if you hadn’t guessed. 2004: No entry. 2003: What above the Bumsen is up with that? 2002: It’s the front yard or bust, baby. 2001: That’s pretty much how we all felt. 2000: That’s the price of getting old, my friends.]]>

"These acts shattered steel, but they cannot dent the steel of American resolve."

* * * Previously 2006 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003 2002 2001 2000]]>

here. My favorite would have to be either the “boiled” on a lobster plate, or the “bugstah” plate on a red Beetle. I don’t think I saw a single Beetle, old or new, that didn’t have a personalized plate.

* * * Last weekend, Fred told me that he’d gotten an email from a local reader indicating that she was interested in buying eggs from us. I recognized her name from a few email exchanges, Fred and I talked about it for a few minutes, and finally I said “Oh, just tell her she can come get some if she wants, or you can meet her somewhere on your way home from work next week.” She and her fiance opted to come here to Crooked Acres, and after a little while of freaking-out along the lines of “What if they’re crazy?!”, we calmed down and figured that if they were crazy, we’d just throw the eggs at them and run. Surely Frick would defend us. Frick or Mister Boogers, one. So they showed up, and we met them at the front door with two dozen eggs. We charge $2/ dozen, and when she handed over a five dollar bill, she and Fred had a brief verbal tussle over whether we needed to give her change (for the record, she said we didn’t need to give her change. Though the story might be funnier if she was all “Give me my dollar!” and Fred was all “Exact change or nuttin’!”) I went inside to grab change for her, and when I got back to the front porch, she and her fiance were standing there, eyes glazed over, as Fred talked – and talked and talked and TALKED – about the garden. I don’t even remember what he said, because I tuned him out (I’ve heard it before, y’know) and watched the hummingbirds flit around the porch. Some time later, I tuned back in and thought to myself, Has he even taken a breath in the last twenty minutes? These POOR people. They probably just wanted to get their damn eggs and go, and now they’re captive to the Fred Soliloquy. Then I tuned back out and watched more hummingbirds flitting about. We get a LOT of hummingbird traffic on the front porch. I’d seen hummingbirds flitting around out there from time to time, but I had no idea just how many of them go zipping around there, slurping food from the feeders and chasing each other off. Hummingbirds, in case you didn’t know it, are very territorial. Fred finally stopped talking about the garden, and the conversation moved on to other topics, so I tuned back in and even contributed to the conversation – it flowed pretty well, with no awkward pauses, thankfully – and by the time they left, I was amazed to find that rather than the half hour I thought we’d been out there, it had actually been over an hour. “Another reader met,” I said to Fred as we walked through the house. “And another one NOT crazy. When are we going to end up meeting a crazy?” “You sound like you want to meet a crazy,” he said. “Think of the entry it’d make if we’d gone out to give them eggs and they chased us through the house with knives, then Frick tripped them up and Mister Boogers held them down ’til the cops arrived!” “True, that. Except that Mister Boogers would run like a scared little bitch. Maxi would have kicked ass, though.” “Indeed.” * * * Also last weekend, we went to Fred’s family reunion in Cullman. It was at a restaurant we’d been to several years ago (also for a family reunion – Fred’s father’s family has a family reunion every year over Labor Day weekend) and we had a vague idea of where it was, but couldn’t seem to find it. We went up and down several streets, both of us talking about how familiar the area looked. I suggested we call his father’s cell phone, but his father and stepmother don’t have a cell phone, and he didn’t know his sister’s cell phone number. We drove around some more, and then I came up with the best idea ever. Pulling out my cell phone, I texted the name, city, and state of the restaurant we were looking for to “466453”. Two seconds later, Google texted me back not only the address of the restaurant, but also the phone number. A few minutes later, we’d located the restaurant. Google is THE SHIT. The reunion was fine, even though I never ever remember anyone from one year to the next (probably because most people tend not to show up every single year). The room acoustics sucked and I had a hard time hearing or understanding anyone except the people sitting right next to me. We were sitting across from a woman around our age (maybe a little younger, I don’t know. All I know is that she was somehow related to Fred. I don’t even remember her name.) and her little boy. He was kind of entertaining, her little boy, because he was friendly and not cowed at all by being around strange adults like some kids are (like I was, anyway). At one point, his mother said to me, “He was wondering if he (she gestured to Fred’s sister’s husband) is from Italy?” I smiled at him and said “France, actually.” “Oh!” he said. “But he’s probably been to Italy!” I said helpfully. And he kindly did NOT look at me like he was thinking “What kind of idiotic thing is that to say, lady?” The funny thing about gatherings that involve Fred’s family is that I’d sit there and listen to them talk all day long, but after a couple of hours Fred gets antsy and wants to get the hell out of there, so after we’d eaten and waited a little while, Fred said “Are you ready to go?” and I said “Yeah, if you want to”, and we were out of there. * * * New fosters! These won’t be around long – adoptions are picking up at the pet store – so don’t get too attached! They’re awfully sweet and awfully cute. After the last batch, it’s kind of nice to have friendlies who will come over and climb on you and not hiss or cringe when you get near. Fred named this batch, after Dark Towers characters. Apparently I messed up the ka-tet with my usage of the name “Oy” with the first bunch of fosters, but we managed to come up with names that hadn’t been used before. Roland. Eddie Dean. (Does he look strikingly like a wolf, or is it just me?) Susannah (though given her propensity for biting, Detta might have been a better name). Jake. Billy Bumbler. Callahan. I know I recently had a discussion with SOMEONE about orange cats and how 90% of them tend to be male, but I can’t remember who the conversation was with, or even whether it was in person or via email. In any case, imagine my surprise when I found that the buff (light orange) tabby was female. Callahan is the neatest color I’ve ever seen on a cat. If you just glance at him, he looks gray, but a closer look shows that he’s almost got an orangey tint to him. This shows his color a little better: The brown tabbies look so much alike that I didn’t think I’d ever get them straight, but in just a couple of days, I have. Jake’s the smallest, Eddie Dean’s the prettiest (I mean, they’re all pretty, but Eddie’s particularly so, especially in person), and Roland’s the largest of the three. They’re friendly and playful and in good shape (Susannah and Billy Bumbler both have goopy eyes, but terramycin is taking care of that) and I wish they were staying around a little longer. I know they’re going to be adopted really quickly, though. A metric tonload of kitten pictures can be seen here. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Stinkerbelle hasn’t been through the whole new-fosters thing, so her nose is a bit out of joint now that she can’t hang out in the foster room whenever she wants. The one who’s having the biggest issue with it, though, is Spanky, who wanders around the house howling forlornly as though there’s SOMETHING different, he just can’t put his paw on what it is. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: “Fuck it!” I said. 2002: “Stinky?” I said. 2001: I stole this survey from Noreen, but I’ve seen it all over the place recently, and god knows how much I love to be one of the cool kids! 2000: Look! It’s nay-chuh! (Comments closed due to spammers)]]>

Nance had her appendix out this morning! She had it done laparoscopically and she’s doing well (Rick left a message on my voicemail saying that “her body was rejecting her appendix and one of them had to go.” Hee!) and should be home tomorrow. Y’all go leave comments for her on her site!!! (Or leave ’em here, I guess. Either way she’ll see them!) Feel better, Nance!!!! Who needs a stinkin’ appendix, anyway? NO ONE, that’s who. Your body was just cleaning house and was all “WHY am I hanging onto this thing? Time to get rid of it!” ]]>