Author: Robyn

“Ah hets little sisters.” Spanky likes to hang out on Fred’s bed. Where annoying little sisters are NOT. I take exception, y’all, to those of you who “knew” we were going to keep Stinkerbelle (previously known as Maryanne). Y’all “knew” we were going to keep Rambo and Jodie, and you “knew” we were going to keep JoeBob and Myrtle, and you “knew” we were going to keep Sugarbutt… Okay, well. If you “know” we’re going to keep every cat that comes across the doorstep, obviously you’re going to be right SOMETIMES, I suppose. The evening after he brought Stinkerbelle home, Fred said “We have TWENTY-ONE animals under our care!”, and then he had the utter nerve and gall to turn and look accusingly at ME. Like the only reason we have the chickens or the Stinkerbelle is because of ME. The cool thing is that when I called the shelter manager to tell her that Fred was going to pick Stinkerbelle up and bring her home, she said “Well, I just got off the phone with this lady who’s interested in adopting her and Spanky!”, and I called Fred back to tell him that if he hadn’t picked up Stinkerbelle, he shouldn’t. But he had, and I could hear her howling in the background, and there was NO WAY ON EARTH he was going to take her back, so I called the shelter manager back and apologized, because what can you do about a man in love? But the woman who wanted to adopt Stinkerbelle and Spanky ended up adopting Spanky and Gilligan instead! Yes, Spanky and Gilligan had been sitting in that cage at the pet store for three weeks or so, unadopted, and then in one fell swoop they got adopted, and we brought Stinkerbelle home. Pretty good for kittens I was absolutely positive would be unadoptable due to their feral nature when I first saw them, ain’t it? Poor Tommy is taking the brunt of the Stinkerbelle love, though. She follows him around and harasses him, and he’s patient with her, but I note that he’s spending a lot of time outside, and whether that’s to get away from her, I can’t say – but I suspect “yes.” The night before last, I was laying in bed reading, and Tommy was in the cat bed on the end of my bed, and she was laying in the cat bed on the trunk next to my bed, and she woke up and saw him, and jumped from the trunk to the bed and climbed into the cat bed with him, and he vigorously groomed her for at least ten minutes, then he decided “Okay, done with this. Bye!”, and jumped onto the trunk to settle down into the cat bed. She waited perhaps thirty seconds, then followed him. So he jumped back onto the bed, and she followed him again, and he made a noise of annoyance, and ran off. She looked after him, considered it, and then flopped over in the cat bed and went to sleep. Right now, she’s laying on the doormat next to the back door waiting for Tommy to come back inside. She hasn’t figured that whole “outdoors” thing out – I think the flap on the cat door, and Frick running around outside scare her – but when she does, we’ve got a collar for her, ready to go. She’s a bratty little thing, but I’ll admit – I kinda like her.

* * * Last weekend, Fred was out working in the garden, and he called from his cell phone to ask me – I was in the kitchen peeling and chopping tomatoes for another big batch of salsa – to come out to see something. I don’t remember what he wanted me to see, but I do remember that he decided he was going to pull up the sweet potato. A few months ago, we stuck toothpicks in a sweet potato and put it in a cup of water. When it grew roots, we eventually (after putting it off for far too long) planted it in the garden. We didn’t know if we’d planted it right, but it grew flowers and looked very happy, and grew a lot. We didn’t think we’d gotten any sweet potatoes from it, so Fred decided to pull it up, since it was sprawling so much that it was encroaching on other plants in a big way. Imagine our surprise when we found that we’d gotten…. A big-ass bowl of sweet potatoes! I’m trying to convince him that next year, we should have a little plot of land devoted to growing sweet potatoes. I like sweet potatoes a lot, and they were so amazingly easy to grow that there’s no reason we shouldn’t grow more next year. And speaking of the garden, BUG ALERT!!! The garden is slowly starting to peter out. Fred pulled up the green beans over the weekend, mostly because we have more than enough green beans to get us through the winter. Lesson learned for next year: pole beans, not bush beans. Bending over picking them hurts his back. The tomatoes are starting to peter out, too. The ones we’re getting are so small that it’s almost pointless to make sauce out of them – you just don’t get enough from each tomato to make the peeling and chopping worth the effort. The okra are producing more slowly, though they are still producing, and probably will for at least a few more weeks. At this point, the garden is a LOT less work than it was this time next month, and I ain’t complaining. The peppers – bell, jalapeño, and habanero – are coming in quickly, and I have more than I know what to do with. Fred wants me to make more salsa, which I’ll do this weekend, but we won’t be using ALL those peppers we’ve got, so we’ll have to figure out something to do with them. Funny that we have so many peppers when he’s the only one who’ll eat them. * * * Despite the fact that I put hummingbird feeders out at the beginning of the summer, I never saw very many of them, and at the end of June my father-in-law said that we wouldn’t really be seeing hummingbirds until around the beginning of August. So I took the hummingbird feeders down and stored them in the laundry room until the end of July, whereupon I cleaned them, filled them with fresh hummingbird food, and soon enough, the hummingbirds started showing up. We’ve got three hummingbird feeders – two on the front porch, one on the side door leading into the computer room – and all three of them get plenty of action. I don’t fill the feeders up more than about a third full, and that seems to be enough, since the feeders aren’t empty when I clean and refill them every morning. My favorite part of the morning is taking down one hummingbird feeder from the front porch, cleaning and refilling it, then taking it back out to the porch to hang and get the other one. No matter what time of the morning I do it, by the time I come out to the porch with the second cleaned-and-refilled feeder, there are at least three hummingbirds flitting around chasing each other off, and squeaking angrily. Hummingbirds are seriously cute, and I want one as a pet. * * * It disturbs me that it’s now dark when Fred leaves for work at 6:00 every morning. I know the days start getting shorter after June 21st, but it’s just lately that it’s become obvious, especially now that Fred has to go out to lock the chickens in their coop at 7:30, when it seems like just a short while ago he was doing it closer to 8:30. It’s hot enough to be summer still (though it’s supposed to cool off this weekend), but the days are short like Fall. And the end of this month, we’ll have owned this house for a year. How is that possible? * * * * * * Previously 2006: Say, any of you boys smithies? Or, if not smithies per se, were you otherwise trained in the metallurgic arts before straightened circumstances forced you into a life of aimless wanderin’? 2005: I didn’t get any pictures of it, but last night the stank coming off Rambo’s hindquarters was so strong that we finally gave in to the inevitable and gave him a bath. 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: IT’S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS WHO IT IS. 2000: Am I not an ass-kicking WalkAerobics diva?]]>

(Click on any picture to see the full-sized version; all pictures open in a new window) Sunday Sunday morning we met Debbie at the Kopper Kettle for breakfast. I had a garden omelet, and it was really good. I always forget just how much I like mushrooms and onions in an omelet. From there, Debbie and my mother and I went to Home Depot (I had to get a gift card for my father for his birthday, and so did Debbie), then over to Target where we spent about an hour browsing. In the meantime, my father went to Harpswell to pick up Mireya, and dropped her off at Target with us. We went into Brunswick to the movie theater, and saw The Nanny Diaries. Debbie thought it dragged, but I kinda liked it – more than Invasion, less than Hairspray. I don’t usually care for Scarlett Johanssen, but I kind of liked her in the role. If I recall correctly, the book was better – but the books usually are, aren’t they? After the movie, we went to the grocery store to buy a small plant, and then to the cemetery where part of my grandmother’s ashes are buried, to plant it (it was a mini chrysanthemum) in the ground and clean up around the family headstone. It was the first time I’d seen my grandmother’s marker since it was placed, and I’m glad I got to see it. It would have been her 89th birthday. We dropped Debbie off in Topsham and were on our way home when we saw an “Open House” sign and ended up going to check it out. My good lord almighty, people. It was a “For sale by owner” house, and I will give you this little piece of advice: if you’re going to sell the damn house your own self, you do NOT FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST follow potential buyers around and talk their ear off about every little detail of the house. What you need to do is back off, give the time and space to look around, and chances are very good that if they have questions, they’ll find you and ask them. We spent an hour walking around this house. It was in a good location, I suppose – 250 feet of water frontage on the Androscoggin River, and it was pretty and all, but they were asking $275,000, and the house? Not worth it at all, at least as far as I could tell. I might be spoiled by the housing prices in Alabama, but if I were to spend that kind of money on a house, I would expect it to (1) Be in far better shape than that, and (2) Have more than one – ONE – bathroom. We finally extricated ourselves from the desperate grasp of sellers who’d already bought another house in the Harpswell area and are probably starting to get a little worried about the possibility of unloading the old house, and headed back to my parents’ house. I had about ten minutes to cool my heels, and then Liz showed up to whisk me off for dinner and a movie. We had dinner at Governor’s in Lewiston (across and up a ways from The Big Apple, where I worked when I was 18, and the McDonald’s I worked at, on and off, for three years). I ended up having clams, and Liz ordered the same, although she asked for poutine as a side. I’d heard of poutine but never actually experienced it for myself. I mean, fries with gravy and cheese – does that sound appetizing? I think not. Liz offered me some of her poutine, and in actuality, it wasn’t bad. Not something I’d want to have regularly, but kind of tasty. I had a whoopie pie sundae for dessert, which was a mistake – I was mostly full from the clams, and couldn’t eat much of the sundae. It was good, though. We made it to the theater only to find out that although I’d looked to see what time the movie (Superbad) started, I’d changed the time in my mind from 7:10 to 7:30. The lady selling tickets said that we’d probably only missed about the first five minutes, so we got tickets anyway. I really liked the hell out of Superbad. Fred has no desire to see it – he thinks the trailer makes it look horrific – but when it comes out on DVD, I’ll be renting it to watch again, for sure. We ran by Liz’s apartment to pick up Season 1 – 4 of Footballer’s Wives (which she’s lending me), and I helped her move some furniture down a flight of stairs (she’s moving – actually, by now she has moved, I guess) and getting rid of everything she can, so she has to actually move as little as possible. Home, I talked to Fred for a while, and then went to bed. Monday Monday was my father’s birthday, so we met at our favorite Chinese buffet restaurant in Brunswick. I’d tell you the name of it, but I’ll be damned if I can remember. Tracy, Mireya, Debbie, Brian, my parents, and I met up there. We had a good meal, and the waitress must have heard us talking about it being my father’s birthday, because she brought over a piece of cake. From the restaurant, everyone met up at my parents’ house to hang out and talk, and give my father his presents. Hopefully he liked those Home Depot gift cards – he seemed to, anyway – because he got plenty of them! He’d requested chocolate zucchini cake, so we had that and ice cream, and it was gooood. Brian was making faces for the camera, so Mireya got in on it, too. “Ah, zees lahf. So challenging. So painful. So deefoocoolt.” “Ah can only deal with zee – how you say? – anguish by napping. A lot.” Mid-afternoon, Debbie, Brian, Tracy, and Mireya left, and I hung out downstairs, packing and reading and checking my email and the like. Around 6, as I was discussing with Debbie the idea of just ripping down bitchypoo.com and starting up elsewhere (something, obviously, I decided against), Liz called to see what I was doing. She wanted to go for ice cream and I wanted to see her again before I left, so she came and picked me up. I hadn’t realized we were going to Brunswick to Cold Stone Creamery, but we did, and though I ordered a size small of the Founder’s Favorite and that’s what they charged me for, the girl (who was new) made me a medium, and again I couldn’t even eat half of it. We ran over to Bookland, where I bought some more cards and post-it pads (you can never have too many cards or post-its!) and Liz bought… the New York Post? Maybe? We’d been racking our brains ever since she picked me up, trying to remember Brad and Angelina’s daughter’s name (we could remember Maddox, Zahara, and Pax, but not the kid they had together), and Liz looked at an entertainment magazine (CHEATER) and reminded me that it was Shiloh. The funny thing is that when she walked up to me and said “Shiloh!”, I thought she was talking about the Shiloh Chapel in Durham. Liz dropped me off at home, and I found that my father had managed to get the wireless router working. That morning, when I got out of the shower, I found a spray bottle of Paul Mitchell Volumizing Spray Root Lifter under the cabinet, so I used some of it, and I liked the results. I need to get me some o’ that. I was in bed by midnight, sound asleep. Tuesday Because my flight was due to leave Portland at 1:30, we left the house at 10:30. I was packed and ready to go by 8:30, so hung around outside taking pictures of the wild turkeys – an adult and a baby – who’d showed up to peck around underneath the bird feeder. When they left, I took other pictures. Shade garden in my parents’ back yard. I’m thinking of putting something similar around the side stoop – hydrangeas, impatiens, and… those other plants that I cannot recall the name of. Ugh. What the FUCK are they called? (A Google search for shade plants reminds me that they’re called hostas. Duh.) It takes less than an hour to get to the airport, but I’d rather be there early with time to burn, and so I was. They offered to come in and wait ’til I was through Security, but there was no point to that – I knew where I was going and what I was doing, and they didn’t need to park and come in. I got my tickets, went through security, and was sitting by my gate in less than 20 minutes. As soon as I sat down, I remembered that I’d wanted to check the gift shop for a zip-up Maine hoodie. They had zip-up hoodies, and they had Maine sweatshirts, but no Maine zip-up hoodies, and that was the ONE thing I’d been looking for during my entire visit but just couldn’t find. Ah well – always next year. I surfed the web and emailed until my flight began boarding, then ran to the bathroom, checked my email one last time, received an email I perceived as threatening, shot off a reply (note to myself and everyone else: never respond to threats from a bully), and boarded the plane. My flight landed early in Cincinnati, so I killed time looking through the gift shops, talked to the spud briefly (when I found out how much she’s going to have to pay for car insurance in Rhode Island, I clutched my chest and reeled around the store, because HOLY JESUS GOD IN HEAVEN!), bought a few things, and then it was time for my flight to board. I landed in Huntsville, called everyone to let them know I’d gotten home, walked down to the baggage claim area just in time to see my suitcase coming toward me, grabbed it, and walked out the door, handed my bag over to Fred – who put it in the trunk – we stopped for dinner, and then we were home. And my GOD is it nice to be home. You have NO idea.

* * * Previously 2006: People Are Assholes. 2005: How do people, like, not curse? How is it possible? There are all these gaps in speech where you just have to put a “fuck.” 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: I think that, much like dreams, the only person interested in hearing the myriad details of drug stories are the people involved. 2001: I don’t use the “c” word lightly, y’all. 2000: No entry.]]>

this was not AT ALL my idea. And what Fred fails to mention is that he harassed the everloving shit out of me until I yelled “GODDAMN! Stop and get her on your way home from work, then!!!”, and he did, and I had to call the shelter manager and be all “Fred is a great big baby who miss his little puddy tat, so we’re adopting her, mmkay?”, and then I had to call Fred and say “And this does NOT mean that I’m going to stop fostering, because it was YOUR idea, get it? Also, maybe you should start cleaning out the litterbox sometimes, too!”, and he was all “Fostering, okay. Litterboxes, no.”, and I was all “Well, okay then. As long as you realize that we’re going to end up with That Gay Chick on our front doorstep, yelling that she wants that damn kitten.”, and he was all “I’ve got guns. Gay chicks don’t skeer me.”, and I was all “You can’t kill her. What would my readers think?!”, and he was all “I’ll just wound her, gotta go, loveyoubye.” (We’re leaning toward the name Stinkerbelle, by the way.)

* * * Maine recap, continued: (Click on the smaller picture to see the full-sized version; all pictures open in a new window.) Friday Another hang-out-at-home day. I talked to Fred about shutting down my site, hung around on the internet, did some surfing, did some reading, watched a few episodes of Weeds, nothing too exciting. In the evening, Debbie and Brian picked me up and we went to a little town outside Augusta for a work-related party she’d been invited to. The house where the party was held was built in the 1850s, and it was GORGEOUS. We took a tour of the house and barn, and I droooooled, it was so awesome. Debbie took this picture of me to show how the doorways in the barn were very low. That, or perhaps she was trying to show how I always wear t-shirts that are too damn big for me. Or maybe how I always stand around with my mouth hanging open. One or the other. Although I’d never seen one in person before, I’ve heard of Hummingbird Clearwing Moths, and when I saw this one flitting around, I knew almost immediately what it was. Very neat. Spider in the barn. One of the people at the party made mini whoopie pies. They were GOOD. I love me a good whoopie pie, have I mentioned? Debbie’s work people were cool to hang out and listen to, and we stayed for a few hours before leaving and heading into Augusta. Brian had a gift certificate to a store in Augusta, so we went so that he could try on sneakers, and then we checked out a few more stores, and then headed for home. Debbie had checked out the movie listings before we left for the party, and found that Hairspray was only playing at 9:30 at night, no shows during the day. I called my mother (who’d gone out to eat with my father and friends of theirs) and told her we were going to the movie if she wanted to meet us at the theater. She did, and we pulled into the parking lot just a few minutes after her. I have to say, I really liked that movie. I’m not sure that Amanda Bynes was perfect for the role of Penny Pingleton, and I like John Travolta, but I found him a little creepy in the role. I really, really liked Nikki Blonsky as Tracy, and I hope the girl goes on to have a long and lucrative career. Again, the Hairspray music is so happy that you can’t (well, I couldn’t, at least) help but love it. Saturday I had taken Debbie’s car home the night before, so Saturday morning I picked her up a little after 9, and we headed to South Portland for breakfast and to meet up with Lanna Lee. We weren’t positive where we were going (Lanna and I had first made plans for breakfast at the Muddy Rudder, then I found that they don’t do breakfast, then I suggested Country Buffet, and she countered with IHOP, which ended up being a very good choice.) Debbie and I arrived and got out of the car, then as we were standing looking around like lost lambs, Lanna pulled in and I recognized her immediately. We had a good breakfast (I highly recommend the garden vegetable crepes – I think that’s what they were called), and a very enjoyable conversation, and then Lanna topped off a cool experience by making me a BALLOON CHICKEN AND A BALLOON CAT. My inner five year old (and, honestly, my outer 39 year-old) were so thrilled that I wanted to skip through the restaurant and sing “Iiiiiii have a balloon chicken and youuuuuu don’t!”, but I refrained. We sat and talked for so long that the waitress started coming by and asking if we needed anything else, and after the second or third time we got the “get the hell out of here” hint, so we went out to the parking lot and talked for a while longer before heading our separate ways. I always get so nervous about meeting a reader beforehand, mostly because I’m afraid I’m going to make a blithering idiot out of myself, and it always turns out to be really fun. I suppose one of these days I’ll end up meeting a crazy, but so far so good! Debbie and I headed over to the mall to do a little shopping and wait for Liz to meet up with us. Liz was a little late, so after we checked out Lane Bryant and a place that sells hair products, we walked through the mall and over to Vinny T’s. We lurrrrve Vinny T’s, and the food was really good as usual, but the service was so substandard that I did something I just never ever do – I left a 10% tip. I know that sometimes the kitchen staff is slow and you can’t really blame the server for what’s going on, but this time it was all the server, from the fact that he didn’t bring out the olive oil (for the dipping of the bread) ’til he’d been asked twice, he let our drinks go dry for a long, long time, and he forgot to put in the “to go” order Debbie had asked for (which actually turned out well, because I gave her my leftovers to take home instead). We said goodbye to Liz, and headed back to Topsham. We stopped at Harry & David in Freeport so that we could buy a cheesecake, stopped in Topsham to pick up Brian, and then headed out to my brother’s house in Harpswell. We got there right after five, and Tracy had put guacamole and chips on the table, and oh my LORD. I have never been a guacamole fan, but I think I’m going to have to change my tune on that one. That stuff was REALLY good. We – Tracy, Mireya, Debbie, Brian, my parents and I – sat outside and talked while Tracy grilled the steak for the carne asada he always talks about in his diary, and the discussion of which always makes me drool, but I have never had. It was FABULOUS. I had carne asada, more guacamole and chips, and a piece of cheesecake, but I kept eyeballing that guacamole. I wanted to take a BATH in the stuff, I wanted to stick it in my purse and take it home, I wanted to marry it. I guess there’s a difference between freshly made guacamole and the crap you buy in the stores, huh? I don’t know what Tracy was saying to me here, but apparently it was something that confused me. The look on my face is cracking me UP. Tracy did all this cooking even though his ribs still hurt, so Debbie cleaned up the kitchen most of the way, then left a few things for me, and headed home. I cleaned off the meat slicer, did the last few dishes, and then headed home with my parents. Oh yeah – I also got to hang out with my brother’s cats, which I’d been looking forward to. They are SO damn sweet, those cats. Dulcinea’s got something to say. “‘Sup?” Remember Gizmo from when she was a baby? She’s all growed up! I understand she’s not the brains of the operation, but she sure is cute. * * * Previously 2006: Mister Boogers seemed to disapprove of the land, and at one point the seller of the land started having a discussion with Mister Boogers, only instead of “Mister Boogers”, he referred to him as “Curtis.” 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: It’s a good day, indeed. 2002: FUCKING telemarketers. 2001: I turned to Fred and said “He looks all dilemmanated, doesn’t he?” 2000: Trip to Tennessee.]]>

Click on the small picture to see the bigger version; all pictures open in a new window) Tuesday Debbie wanted to go to Rockland, and I hadn’t been there in probably, I don’t know. Twenty years? So we headed out fairly early and hit TJ Maxx. This TJ Maxx was actually a TJ Maxx and More, and we spent a lonnnnng time browsing through the store. I saw many things I liked and wanted, and picked up a ton of stuff, but in the end I only bought a set of cups. Not that we really need more cups, but they had roosters on them, and I’m only so strong, y’know. (And then I got the cups home and found that they’re too big, and too thick – I prefer a certain thinness to my plastic cups – so that was $4 down the drain. Grrr!) Debbie found a giant fork and was going to put it back, but I told her that if she didn’t buy the fork I’d be very sad, so she bowed to the pressure and bought it. A $5 giant fork! I carried it out to the car for her, and a little girl getting out of a car with her father pointed at me and said “She has a fork!”, so I held it up proudly and said “I have a fork!” I can’t help it if giant forks make me happy. I loved these cat towels, but didn’t buy them because they were $10 apiece, and I just don’t even think so. Even though they would have worked perfectly in the guest bathroom, $10 is too damn much. Even though they were cute as HELL. We drove around the area for a bit before stopping at the Brown Bag for lunch. I had a crabmeat sandwich on wheat bread, and I tell you what – BEST crabmeat sandwich EVER. Highly, highly recommended if you ever find yourself in the Rockland area. We dropped Debbie off at Debbie’s house, then Brian and I drove his new (to him) car from my parents’ house back to his and Debbie’s house. Brian bought a 1990 (or 91, I don’t remember) Dodge Spirit. It’s older than he is, but it works really well for the price. And Brian is a perfectly good, careful driver. At Debbie’s, I sat and surfed the web on my laptop (I had no problems hooking up to Debbie’s wireless modem) until Liz arrived. After spending so much time in the car, you’d think the last thing I’d want to do is sit in the car some more, but I always enjoy a good road trip. We made our yearly sojourn to the Seabasket, home of the best seafood EVER. After dinner we went across the street to Big Al’s, a discount store with just about anything you could think of to want. It’s the place we found the chef’s hat last year (which Liz laughed about, and then bought and wore while we drove around and yelled “Shut it down”, a la Hell’s Kitchen). I found a long-sleeved Maine t-shirt for $5.88, and a couple of scoops for 88 cents each (which I intend to use to scoop cat food out of the bins into the cats’ dishes). Liz bought her friend – a Raiders fan – a faux leather jacket for $15.88. (Don’t be a snob – it was a fucking STEAL.) After, we went to Bookland (I adore that store – they have the best post-it note pads EVER) and then to Cold Stone Creamery. I know that I’ve raved about Cold Stone Creamery in the past, but I think I’m kind of over it. I got the Founder’s Favorite (pecans, brownie, caramel, fudge in a sweet cream ice cream) in the medium size dish (regular dish, no waffle cone dish), and couldn’t come close to eating half of it. It was good, but nothing special, y’know? Liz dropped me off at Debbie’s house, and I hung around for a few minutes before taking Debbie’s car and heading to my parents’ house. That night on the phone, Fred told me that the back part of the house – especially the kitchen and laundry room – were stinking like something had died. He’d been cleaning the litter boxes every other day, so it couldn’t be that. I offered that maybe it was something in the garbage, but he’d taken the garbage out and the smell remained. We talked about whether something had died under the house, and decided that if it went on much longer, Fred would poke around under the house. Debbie’s cat, Tigger. He’s a sweet, laid-back monkey. I got a ton of pictures of him, but not a single picture of the more high-strung Punki. Hmph. Wednesday I had to wake up early and leave the house by 6:30, because Brian had an orthodontist’s appointment in… I don’t even remember the name of the town. Somewhere past Portland. Biddeford, maybe? Anyway, that’s why I took Debbie’s car home with me the night before, so she wouldn’t have to come get me and then drive all the way back to Topsham to hop on the interstate. She and Brian were ready to go, so we stopped and got gas, went to McDonald’s for breakfast, and headed to Biddeford (I think). Brian had to have his braces tightened – I’d add “poor thing” here, but apparently having his braces tightened is not a painful event for him; I, on the other hand, can still clearly recall when I had braces and had the damn things tightened the DAY before Thanksgiving, and I couldn’t eat at all the next day, it hurt so bad – which didn’t take long at all. At some point during the morning, I talked to Fred. “Is there a reason the lights on the front of the Litter Robot would all be off?” “No – is it plugged in?” It was plugged in, it wasn’t off the tracks, it was a mystery. Finally I told him to empty it out, put it in the garage, and set up a regular litter box in its place, and I’d look at it when I got home. From Biddeford, we headed to Kittery, where we did some shopping. We didn’t do a lot – I just wanted to hit the Kittery Trading Post, the kitchen store (Kitchen Connection? Maybe?), and Big Dogs. I bought a few t-shirts at the Trading Post, some kitchen stuff at the kitchen store, and not a damn thing at Big Dogs. This sand castle was outside the Kittery Trading Post. Since we were there, some asshole vandals toppled it. Cool car, seen in Kittery. We needed to be back in Topsham by 2 or so, because we were planning a few hours at Popham Beach, followed by a cookout. We wanted to have lunch at Bosun’s Landing, but found that it’s only open Thursday through Sunday. “Let’s just drive up Route 1,” Debbie suggested. “We’ll come across another restaurant, surely.” “Okay!” I said. More than an hour later, after much driving and plenty of stopping at red lights, and going through Ogunquit (which will forever make me think of Frannie Goldman, since that’s her hometown) among other towns, we gave up on finding a real restaurant, and ate lunch at Dairy Queen. (Not that I’m complaining – it was a good cheeseburger, to say the least.) We drove from there to Topsham, picked up stuff at Debbie’s house, and then headed to Popham. We found my parents almost immediately, but couldn’t find Tracy (my brother) and Mireya (my niece) for anything, and we were standing and staring in all directions, and finally realized (as we saw them walk down the boardwalk) that we weren’t able to find them ’cause they hadn’t arrived yet! We hung out on the beach for a couple of hours, watching the people and talking. Debbie and Mireya played in the sand, and then Tracy – who is a crazyman, out bodysurfing the waves, GODDAMN that is some cold-ass water! – got his ass handed to him. The water picked him up, slammed him onto the floor of the ocean, and cracked a rib or two. Yikes. He got out of the water and sat for a while, wincing, and though everyone suggested he take a trip to the hospital, he didn’t want to – since they can’t do anything for cracked ribs but tape them, anyway. Unfailingly, there’s a family who leaves all their shit strewn around and go off to walk along the beach or play in the water, and the seagulls descend and make a huge mess. The seagulls have become increasingly aggressive, and you have to just about be right on top of them before they fly off. They ain’t a-skeered of YOU. They ended up eating every bit of edible stuff this family had left laying around, despite being run off many times. The question is, just how much time are other people supposed to spend saving your stuff from the goddamn seagulls? The answer seems to be, about half an hour. After that, it’s your loss. The funny thing is that that girl in the background, in the water, looks a lot like the spud. She wasn’t there, but I guess she was there in spirit! The grills at Popham are up away from the beach a bit, so my father and Brian went up and started a fire, and lugged all the food from the car to the grill area. The rest of us eventually joined them, and I have to say, I have never seen so many goddamn mosquitos at one time. We were spraying ourselves and each other (okay, I did no actual spraying, Debbie is the one who did most of it), and I don’t think I got any bites, but everyone else did. Guess they’re sweeter than I am. I rode home with my parents, and we were just about into Bath when the phone rang. Brian’s car – which we’d taken to Popham – had broken down on the interstate. My father stopped and looked at the car, then took my mother and I home, picked up the tools he needed (it was the alternator, so the battery needed to be charged… or something.) and went back to get it running. That night while I was talking to Fred on the phone, he said “Oh – I figured out why the lights on the front of the Litter Robot had gone off.” “Why’s that?” “There’s an on/ off switch on the back, and it got turned to “off” somehow.” “Oh. I thought you knew about that,” I said. “I didn’t.” Long pause. “I found out where that awful smell was coming from, too.” “Where’s?” “The bottom of the Litter Robot, the drawer where the clumps get dumped into? That’s what smelled.” “Oh, really? Even after you’ve been emptying it?” I said, concerned. “I haven’t been emptying it.” “You haven’t been emptying it when you clean the litter boxes?” “Uh, no,” he said. “Did you think magic elves would come and empty it at night while you were sleeping?” “I thought it would fill up, and a light would come on to remind me that it needed to be emptied.” “That might happen, but by that point you’d probably be dead from the fumes,” I said. “TELL me about it.” “I empty it every time I clean the regular litter box next to the Robot.” “I get that now.” Thursday We hung out at the house for a good part of the day Thursday. I finally got around to writing out the postcards y’all had requested – 120 cards in three hours, woot! I hadn’t bought enough postcards and had to run to the grocery store to buy some more. I don’t know – I feel like I’m sending out the same several different cards every year. I think next year I need to do something different – maybe take a picture, print it out, and use that as a postcard? In the afternoon, my parents and I ran over to my… I guess she’s a cousin? She’s my mother’s first cousin, so that makes her my second cousin, right? Anyway, I always referred to her as my aunt when I was a kid. Her daughter – my third cousin? – is a year younger than I am, and we spent a lot of time together when we were kids, but I haven’t seen any of them since the spud was a few years old, so maybe sixteen years? They haven’t changed at all, Nikki and her husband Burt, and it was nice to see them. They live next door to her mother, my grandmother’s sister, and Nikki called and told her to come over. Aunt Muriel (my grandmother’s sister) looks exactly the same as she did last time I saw her, I swear. We had a nice visit, caught up on what all the kids are doing, and didn’t stay long. They’re on a big piece of land, and I LOVE what they’ve done to it, they’ve got a knack for landscaping. Gussied up for the show. This is about as gussied as I get – note the makeup. Eyeliner, mascara, and blush – oh, my! That evening, my mother, Debbie, and I went to see Hairspray at the Maine State Music Theater on the campus of Bowdoin College in Brunswick. We had seats that were in the balcony, and they were good seats. The show was just about to start when a man, a woman, and their two daughters came in and sat down. The youngest daughter – maybe 10 or 12 – sat in front of me, and all was well. Except that it wasn’t. It wasn’t at ALL. Because apparently the person in the seat in front of her was too tall, so she switched seats with her father, and he was a tall motherfucker with a big, high combover, and he was sitting in front of me. As the show began and then progressed, it became clear that Combover Dad had a serious case of Ants in his Pants. I’d say that the man did not sit still for longer than 90 seconds at a time, and that would probably be stretching it. As I said to Debbie as the show went to intermission, “I feel like I’m watching two shows – one to the left of the combover and one to the right.” Combover Dad stood up during intermission and had a boisterous conversation with a man sitting in our row about their teenage daughters and how he’d bought his daughter a Cooper. (The other man bought his daughter a used Mercedes, I believe, and everyone was so impressed that we rolled our eyes in tandem.) Debbie asked if I wanted to switch seats, and I thought about it for a second before asking to make sure she didn’t mind (she didn’t – she’s a sweetheart, and also taller than I am), and we switched seats. You know what happened next, don’t you? As the lights went down and the show began again, Combover Dad and his daughter switched seats. So that Combover Dad was in front of me. Debbie and I shook our heads at each other and then switched seats again. The rest of the show was uneventful until about fifteen minutes from the end. And then Combover Daughter developed a sudden case of cooties, and she began scratching at the side of her head. And the top of her head. And the other side of her head. And then she held both her arms in the air, her hands on her head, and scratched. And dug. And played with her hair. And she was in pretty much this position, and so suddenly I was unable to see the goddamn show without leaning over into my mother’s space. The child did this, the digging and the pulling and the scratching, for so long that I was amazed, and I could do nothing but laugh. Because, seriously? I have to put up with Combover Dad and his pant-ants for the first half, and then Combover Daughter gets cootified to ruin the show for me some more? What are the chances? (And, yes. I did consider leaning forward and whispering “Excuse me. When you sit like an orangutan, with your arms in the air like you just don’t care, I cannot see the stage. Want to knock it off, Princess?”, but (a) I didn’t want to get cooties on me and (b) parents these days sometimes take exception to other people suggesting that their dear, sweet Princess might be doing anything other than acting like sheer perfection, and I didn’t want Combover Dad to come after me with his combover. Because that shit was scary.) Finally, Combover Daughter dropped her arms, and I thought she was done with the cooties, but I was so very wrong. Instead, she pulled the ponytail band out of her hair, and she flipped forward, making her hair fall down toward the floor, and then she sat up and FLIPPED her hair back so that it would fly back in a fluffy manner. And she did this three more times, and I was laughing so hard in disbelief that I thought I might be asked to vacate the premises. She settled down in time for me to enjoy the final song, and then the show was over. The show – what I saw of it – was really good. I had never seen Hairspray, didn’t know anything about it at all, had never heard the songs, and I liked it a LOT. The songs were so happy, and just the whole tone of the show is so happy and peppy that it had me seriously wanting to see the movie. Next time I go to a musical, though, I hope Combover Dad and Cootie Girl are nowhere around. We dropped Debbie off and headed home, and I brushed my teeth and popped out my contacts and settled in at my Dad’s computer to write a funny entry about the show (it was going to be called “Conversations with God Regarding Annoying People”), but first I checked to see what people had been using the site search engine to look for, and what I saw there, well, as I mentioned the other day, it was the reason I shut the site down. And I lost the will to write the funny entry – and it was going to be FUH-NEE, believe you me – and now it’s lost and I can’t drag it up from the bottom of my brainpan. It’s gone! It’s fleein’ the interview. Ah well – there’ll be others. Someday. ::sob:: Debbie ended up taking Brian to the emergency room because he was throwing up and there was blood, so they got to spend a couple of early morning hours there only to find out that the blood was coming from Brian’s throat, he didn’t have strep or mono, and it would eventually go away on his own. Poor kid – and poor Deb!

* * * Previously 2006: Does it make me strange that I can handle the thought of field mice in the house, but the idea of ants in the house just REALLY infuriates me? 2005: No entry. 2004: My Gram. 2003: If I had a brain I’d be dangerous. 2002: What I’ve been doing. 2001: I’m wise to your stalker ways, Margaret! 2000: No entry.]]>

new logo! This was created by wonderful reader Christine (and was supposed to be used for last month’s logo, but it got lost in the shuffle!). Thanks, Christine!!!!

* * * This got so damn long that I had to make several entries out of it instead of just one. You’re welcome! (Click on any picture to see the big-ass version; all pictures open in a new window.) * * * First things first – I didn’t see the Spud while I was in Maine. Like an idiot, I told her we’d just figure it out when I got to Maine. By that time, she’d made plans on the days I could go to Rhode Island (or bring her to Maine), and she’d just started a new job, so it didn’t work out. Next time, I’ll make plans in ADVANCE instead of waiting to see what happens. The spud is doing well – has a boyfriend, a job, and has located the nearest mall, thanks for asking. Saturday I left Alabama on the 6 am flight. Which meant we had to leave the house by 4:30 to get there by 5. One thing I miss about living in Madison: Ten minutes to the airport. Knowing that it was supposed to be a tad cool, I put on a long-sleeved shirt I’d bought the day before. Five minutes into the drive to the airport, I made Fred pull over so I could change into a more comfortable t-shirt. The flights weren’t bad – I went through National on the way up. That was one crowded fucking airport. Due to the fact that I was wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt, I froze all the way to Maine, but after the 100+-degree temperatures we’d had for the past ten days, I wasn’t complaining. Debbie picked me up (I landed about an hour late) and we went to lunch at The Olive Garden. As usual, we ordered way too much, and brought leftovers home with us. At my parents’ house, my brother and niece arrived, and we had ham Italians from The Kitty Korner (GOD I love ham Italians) for dinner. We sat around and talked for a while after eating, and then everyone left, I talked briefly to Fred, and went to bed early and slept for ten hours. Sunday Breakfast out at the Kopper Kettle in Topsham. I lurve eating breakfast out. Well. I lurve eating EVERY meal out. I had an omelet and it was awesome. So was the grilled blueberry muffin I shared with my mother. From there, my father went off to do things and my mother and I went to Bath. I love shopping in Bath, because there’s a Reny’s located there (it’s a discount store) and I always find something to buy. I ended up buying two long-sleeved t-shirts for $5, since all I brought with me were short-sleeved t-shirts. The shirts I bought at Reny’s are comfy, and it wasn’t until later that I realized they’re Life is Good shirts, factory rejects I guess. This thrilled me once I figured it out, because it’s been my experience that the Life is Good stuff is pretty good quality, and to get them for $5 is a motherfucking bargain. Later, we had a birthday party for Brian. He turned 16, and so we had a family party at my parents’ house, and he brought three friends with him. It was far too cold to swim in the pool (pool temp: 72. Brrr!), but they gave it the old college try. My uncle showed up for a brief time, and we sat around and talked and watched the teenagers. Teenage boys, I had forgotten, can be amusing as hell. This bunch of boys was particularly amusing, especially when I broke out the glow-stick bracelets I’d bought the day before at the Dollar Store. After Brian opened his gifts (from Fred and I, he got our old laptop. He SHOULD have been surprised, but he’d apparently figured it out, the brat. The laptop’s still in really good shape, and he thanked me no less than three times.), his friends (with some help from my brother, since Brian’s not a small kid) tossed him in the pool. In the process of the birthday party, I took about 300 pictures of Brian making faces. He cracks me up, that kid. Monday My mother had an early hair appointment, so we picked Debbie up on our way through Topsham, dropped my mother off at her appointment, and went to the mall at Cook’s Corner. I adore the Hallmark store there, and I did a lot of browsing, and I picked up a lot of stuff to buy, but in the end I put it all back and didn’t buy anything. This became something I did a lot of during my trip to Maine. I did as much shopping as I always do, but I did MUCH less actual buying. I’m very proud of myself for that, but it kinda sucks for y’all who frequent the giveaway page. Not that I won’t still be giving stuff away, but I didn’t overshop this time around, and thus won’t have as much to get rid of when I go on one of my “Jesus CHRIST we have too much shit!” sprees through the house. We went to Sears, and found that they had Lands End polo shirts for $10 each. I called and asked Fred if he wanted me to buy some for him, got the go-ahead, and picked several up for him. Score! Bob Goodlatte fights the good fight against his opponent Joan Badespresso. My mother finished with her hair appointment and we looked around at TJ Maxx (and again I walked out without buying anything, GO ME!), and then we headed for Freeport. We had lunch at The Muddy Rudder and then went shopping. I wanted to hit LL Bean, Cool as a Moose, and the Big Dogs store, but apparently Big Dogs is no longer in Freeport, or if it’s there, we couldn’t find it. In LL Bean I bought a bunch of cat toys (they have a huge dog section, and one little packet of cat toys. Travesty! However, the LL Bean cat toys are a huge hit around here, so I bought more than one pack. I can’t find them on the LL Bean site, but these are the toys. The cats LOVE them, at least until they rip them apart and eat the catnip and go sit on the cat tree in a drugged daze), in Cool as a Moose I bought a t-shirt and a few small things, and after we looked around a little we headed out of Freeport. We were almost out of town when we stopped at The Pet Pantry and browsed. This store was another that had a ton of dog shit, and then a small cat section tucked away in the back. Y’all can call me a crazy cat lady all you want, but I think it’s CLEAR that cats are the redheaded stepchild of the pet world. Fuckers. I found a few things to buy (you just shut up. They did SO need more toys!), and then we went to my parents’ house. The color of the store is enough to sear your retinas. Definitely an eye-catcher. There was probably dinner in there somewhere, but I don’t recall. In the evening, we went to the movies. I wanted to see Superbad, but I was the only one interested in that, so we went to see Invasion instead. I like Nicole Kidman, but good christ that was one completely forgettable movie. There was Nicole Kidman and there was running around trying to stay awake and maybe a kid and some goop, but that’s about all I remember. Don’t recommend it at ALL. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: “She looks… she looks.. she looks like a PIRATE!” he gasped. I started giggling. 2003: I guess Spike TV really IS television for men. 2002: When married characters are that cruel to each other, all you can think is, “Why the hell are they married if they hate each other so much?” 2001: Gatlinburg pictures! 2000: No entry.]]>

* * * Look. I know Amy Winehouse has her fans and probably many of you love her, but I listen to her music and it ain’t my bag (“Yeah, well what do YOU know? You like COUNTRY MUSIC, you goddamn hick!”) and I see the hair and it ain’t my bag “Yeah, well what do YOU know? You wear oversized t-shirts and baggy shorts and YELLOW AND BLACK STRIPED BOOTS where people can SEE you!”), and then I see pictures like this one: and I whimper and run away and hide. I don’t get the Winehouse lurve, but y’all just rock on with your bad selves, I s’pose.

* * * I’m recently reading this book called This Day in the Life, which I bought – I think – because Melissa is in it somewhere and I like Melissa, and I thought the idea behind the book was an interesting one. It’s more interesting in some parts – the parts done by the 79 year-old woman married (for 18 years) to her second husband, and the one done by a female firefighter, in particular – than others. ANYway, there’s one bit written by a woman named Monica and she talks about her daughter, and her daughter’s name is Ronica. And I am enthralled by this idea, by giving your child a name that rhymes with your own by just changing the first letter. It saddens me a little that it never occurred to me until now to name my own child Flobyn. Hell – if I’d had several kids, they’d never accuse me of going down the list of names before I got it right, the way ALL parents did. Instead of going “Flobyn – Zobyn – Chobyn – Shlobyn – I mean, get OVER here, Thobyn!”, I could have just gone “::cough::OBYN! Get over here!” Think the spud would let me change her name? * * * Edited to add This morning, Fred woke me up before he left for work as he always does. “I fixed the shower!” he announced. We’ve been having an issue with the shower draining slowly these past few weeks. “Oh yeah? How?” I asked. “I was in the shower, and I am such a…” he paused and stared off in space to search for the correct term. “Douchebag?” I offered, and then snickered for so long at my own wit that I don’t even know what term he came up with. Is it wrong to be so amused by yourself? * * * Also edited to add One day last week, my sister offered to me that I am the most normal person in our family. I demurred, because I don’t exactly feel normal all the time. The next morning while I was talking to Fred, I told him what she’d said. “Bessie,” he said gently. “She said the most normal person in your family, didn’t she?” “Yeah….?” I said. “Well. That’s kind of like saying that Alec is the most talented Baldwin.” “HEY!” I objected, and then couldn’t help laughing. Because the truth is FUNNY. * * * Okay, clearly I’ve not got much to say. So I give to you two movies. The first is me, using my camera to make a short movie of a chicken taking a dust bath. Chickens take dust baths to, ironically, keep clean. It gets rid of mites and other little critters that can get under their feathers. Anyway, I was shooting this video, got distracted by a closer chicken, and then looked back at the dust bathing chicken to see that she was being pecked at by another chicken. At the very end, I say an annoyed “HEYYYYYY!” at the pecking chicken, and I sound like the biggest hick on earth. Enjoy. And this one is just a video of the chicken taking her dust bath (tell me she doesn’t look like a cat, rolling around like that), with the added bonus of Frick running into the movie at the end. * * * My nephew sent me the link to this video, and even after repeated viewings, it makes me laugh like a goon. * * * ]]>

“Do we have to share the bed with HER?” (Comments closed not because I haven’t been enjoying them; I really have, and some of them have made me laaaaugh. But I feel it’s safer to close them so prying eyes don’t see anything to set them off. If y’know what I mean. Love you guys!) ]]>

Mister Boogers hates you. On my way back home; entry in the next day or so.]]>

One minute I’m catching him by one foot as he tumbles down the stairs and giving him cups of Cheerios to eat and telling Danielle to be NICE to him and telling him to stop staring at Danielle when she’s trying to sleep and laughing at him when he stomps around in his cowboy boots and not much else, and the next he’s got a CAR and is about to get his license and has a GIRLFRIEND and is working with firemen and has a deep voice and has to shave. How the hell did THAT happen, I ask you?]]>

Twitter intermittently, if you want to keep an eye on me over there.

* * * We were laying in bed last night talking as we do every night for half an hour or so. We were discussing a couple y’all don’t know. “I don’t EVEN know why he’s still with her,” I said in disgust. “They can barely even stand to be in the same room. She must have a magic pussy.” There was a contemplative silence from Fred. “Is it named Muff?” he asked. We snickered companionably, and then Fred began to sing. “Muff the magic pussy, lived by the cheeeeeeks!” Is there really any question why I love that man? * * * It’s been brutally hot around here lately. I think I heard on the radio yesterday that we’ve had 10 days in a row where the afternoon high temperature was at or over 100. I’ve been letting the chickens out of their yard into the back yard around mid-morning. They like to hang out over next to the air conditioning unit. Condensation pools next to the unit, and they take turns standing in the puddle of water. Yesterday, Fred went and bought a bag of ice and dumped it in the back yard. They stood around it, occasionally pecking at the ice cubes, until it melted. When he got home from work, he said “Newt looks half dead on the front porch. I’m going to bring him inside and maybe put him in a bathroom. I said “Why not just put him in the foster kitten room? God knows it’s not getting used.” So he brought him inside, and we invited Maxi inside, and they spent the afternoon snoozing in the house, where it was quite a bit cooler than outside. (We don’t let Newt wander freely through the house, because being inside freaks him out and he’ll sit at the door to the outside and howl to go out. He’s not an indoor cat at ALL.) While Newt played in the foster kitty room… Maxi found a toy to play with… Was “discovered” by Maryanne, who LOVES black cats, and went running over to rub up against Maxi. Until Maxi hissed to show her displeasure. Apparently Maxi doesn’t care for kittens – despite Maryanne’s many overtures, Maxi never made nice during her afternoon visit. * * * It being Friday, here’s your Comment-Answering Extravaganza! how is the Spud doing/adjusting? Is she enjoying her courses? Is she living w/her dad? How are you adjusting to an empty nest? The spud appears to be settling in quite well in Rhode Island. She’s living with her dad (that’s why she went up there), and isn’t taking any courses right now – she’s planning to wait until next fall to attend the community college. She just got a job – possibly two – working retail, neither of them full-time, and one of them seasonal (which should last until January). She’s got a boyfriend who’ll be going away to boot camp in a few months. We email and text and talk fairly often, and I know she checks in here from time to time (Hi, Spud!). Hopefully (depending on her schedule) I’ll be seeing her next week! I’m adjusting fairly well to the empty nest. Once we moved into the house here, she wasn’t around a lot, so I got used to not having her around. If I wasn’t able to reach her via text or email or cell phone pretty much whenever I wanted, I think I’d be feeling the loss a lot more than I am. It also helps, I think, that I’m keeping pretty busy, with the canning and freezing and cleaning and all that. * * * i wish they would have a flashback prequel show to show how nicki came to be the second wife. that would be interesting to see what the attraction was. (That’s regarding Big Love, for you non-watchers). I am hoping like hell that at some point they let us see what it was like, how Barb and Bill came to the decision to start living “The Principle”, how Nicki became the second wife – we know that Barb was ill and Nicki was her nurse (Barb had breast cancer, if I recall correctly) and that’s probably how she was introduced to the family, but how did they go from an LDS one-father, one-mother family, to a polygamist family? Inquiring minds want to know – and more, want to SEE. Edited to add: Meet the New Babysitter (Margene). * * * Why is it that you think Ben Affleck’s head is so big, anyway?? I just checked him out again via Google, and I still wouldn’t throw him out of bed. I think Ben Affleck’s head is so big… because Ben Affleck has a big damn head! Go here, scroll down to the picture of Ben Affleck, next to the picture of Ellen Degeneres. His head is HUGE compared to hers. Now, I’m not saying Ben Affleck isn’t a good-looking man, because clearly he is quite fine. But when a man with a head the size of a Volkswagen comes toward you, wouldn’t you feel a little fear? What if he loses his balance and lands atop you, crushing you flat immediately with his big head? * * * Last week you said that you feed the kitties Nutro, which is what we are feeding Lily and Milo. These two are the rootinest, tootinest, fartinest kitties EVAH! Not just little silent ones either–they let out rippers! And the burping–don’t even get me started on the burping (belching, really). They love the food and are very healthy kitties, but I wonder if any other kitties get gas from Nutro or if I’m just lucky to have 2 fluffy gasbags. Have you noticed the cats getting gas from any specific food? I have not – THANK YOU LAWD! – noticed the cats getting gassy from the food we feed them. And given how much time they spend hanging out with us, if they were farting, we’d notice. Did you just switch them over recently? If so, it may take a little time for their digestive systems to adjust. If not, well, I’d invest in a gas mask! * * * “Running around like a chicken with its head cut off” – Well, I hope your chickens can’t read – you’ll scare the crap out of them!!!! Oh, the chickens can READ, they just can’t figure out how to work the mouse, so they’ve never gotten into the internet thing. When they make a mouse specifically for chickens, THEN there’ll be trouble, by god. They’ll be hogging my computer, posting to the chicken forums, and cackling at YouTube videos. * * * I think I had glasses like your old ones, back in the day 🙂 How old were they? I just swapped out my glasses, too, because I am always afraid I will get disastrous eye infection and not be able to wear my contacts. And then how would I drive? I think those glasses were only a few years old, though they might have been as old as five, I don’t remember. They certainly were BIG glasses, weren’t they? * * * I’m a tad bit worried about Fred being there by himself with all of that produce. I hope he does bring it to work and give it away instead of saving it all for when you get back. I can just imagine you returning from a week with your mother, a long, difficult flight back, followed by a 2 hour drive in the heat from the airport. When you finally make it to Smallville, sometime around midnight, you go in the house just wanting a cold drink, you open the fridge, and it all tumbles out. A full weeks produce, stuffed into the fridge and now splattered on the floor – Fred behind you “Don’t open the….oops – too late!” Oh, Fred KNOWS better. We had a discussion on how to preserve most of the produce, and whatever he doesn’t want to deal with he can take to work and give to his partner. He’s been informed in no uncertain terms that if I come home to find a refrigerator stuffed with produce, I’ll toss it all out to the chickens! * * * How often do you wear glasses anyways, never seen a photo of them on you! I wear them from the bedroom to the bathroom first thing in the morning, whereupon I immediately put my contacts in. Then I take my contacts out, put my glasses on, walk into the bedroom, turn off the light, and put my glasses in the drawer. Very occasionally I’ll get back up after Fred goes to bed, and read for a while. At the most, I wear my glasses for an hour a day unless I develop an issue with my eyes (which hasn’t happened in quite a while). I should probably take my contacts out earlier in the evening to let my eyeballs “breathe”, but I can’t stand wearing glasses when I’m so accustomed to contacts. * * * Do your cats ever fall off of the cat tree? Darby was sleeping on the very top level on Sunday and he rolled too far to one side in his sleep and fell off. He bounced twice on the other levels before he finally hit the floor. Then, he just stood there for a second with all four feet spread out like an X and an expression of WTF?! on his face. It doesn’t happen very often, but every now and then one of the cats – usually Sugarbutt or Mister Boogers – will stretch in his sleep, roll over, and fall off the tree. Mister Boogers just shakes his head, jumps back up in the tree, and goes back to sleep. Sugarbutt sits there, looks confused, licks himself, and then wanders off. * * * Eventually once you are up to your ears in excess eggs, I want to see a jar of Pickled Beet Eggs on your shelf! Those were always a treat when we went to Gramma’s house and I make them every summer. Have you ever had them? They really are fun and yummy! If not that, you’ll have to do a search on 7 egg cake recipes and such. Not only have I never had Pickled Beet Eggs, I’ve never had beets. I don’t know that I want to try them, honestly – they’ve never appealed to me. We might try pickling some eggs if we get very overwhelmed, but more likely when we get a ton of eggs we’ll have a dinner of scrambled eggs with onions, green peppers, tomatoes, and mushrooms mixed in. That usually uses up quite a few eggs! * * * Do you and Fred have pet insurance on your cats? Do you have an opinion on the matter? I wonder if it’s worth it. I am about to adopt a kitten and have limited funds, so I was thinking it may be a good idea. Maybe some of your readers have any comments? To which another reader responded: Pet insurance is like any other insurance, it’s a great thing to have when something bad happens, but then if it doesn’t was it a waste of money? I have intended to get insurance for my cats but I’m a procrastinating sloth and didn’t. There are some ok plans out there that give you a percentage back on routine vaccines but you pay a higher premium then. We considered pet insurance for the cats, but Fred looked into it and decided it wasn’t worth the premium. I’d be interested to hear from y’all what your opinion is on the subject! * * * I don’t know if you save up questions, but I was wondering if you have ever felt you didn’t do enough for your cats? Our beloved dog has a hurt leg and the vet said to just wait and see what happens (with just a phone conversation, no physical exam), and I am freaking out. I’m 90% sure I’m going to change vets. Have you had issues with vets before? The thing with vets is that oftentimes you can tell how invested they are in their job. The vet we used to take all the cats to was just kind of going through the motions. I don’t know if he was burned out or just didn’t like cats – he wasn’t a bad vet and he saved Miz Poo’s life when she had a blockage, but you can tell when someone loves cats and when they can’t, and I honestly don’t think he liked cats very much. The vet who spays and neuters all the cats for the shelter I volunteer for, you just have to see her examining a cat, and you know that she LOVES cats. She impressed me so much that I started taking Miz Poo to her for the lip issues, and she’s Sugarbutt and Tommy’s vet as well. There are closer vets – it takes half an hour to get from our house to her clinic – but I am absolutely certain that she’s a good vet, and I like the way she talks to our cats when she’s examining them. (The only reason Spot, Spanky, and Mister Boogers haven’t been seen by her is because they’ve only needed routine shots and exams these past few years, so we kept taking them to the same vet. Now that we’ve moved and that vet is no longer so convenient to us, we’ll either start taking them to a vet in the area or switch them so that all the cats have the same vet.) It is possible that the vet was able to ascertain from the phone call that your dog’s hurt leg wasn’t an emergency, BUT if your vet’s attitude struck you as unconcerned and/ or uncaring and you want to switch vets, I’d encourage you to do so. You definitely should have a vet you (and your dog!) feel comfortable with. And now that it’s been a while since you posted the question, let me know how your dog is doing! * * * I was wondering where the chickens lay the eggs. Do they have nests? They have several nesting boxes in the coop. Some of the girls prefer to dig out a nest on the floor of the coop and lay an egg there, which annoys me because then I have to climb into the coop with the chicken poop and flies, and get the egg. I’m told by Fred – who really does frequent a chicken forum – that they’ll learn to all lay their eggs in the nesting boxes. * * * Are you still playing Snood? Very rarely – usually when I’m on a long phone call. I did install it on my laptop, though, so I’m sure I’ll be playing a game or two on the plane to Maine, and while I’m in Maine next week! * * * So when I saw the side-by-side pix of you & Alice I thought, ok, that would be pretty good casting. & then I remembered back in ’96 when I saw Alice in a Broadway show, & I thought, yeah, “Bitchypoo:the Musical.” Cause Alice sings & dances. So what do you say? Hugh Jackman as Fred? My cat BC as Mr. Fancypants, cause they’re twins, & he’s already gay, so broadway’s where he belongs. Can I direct? But of COURSE. I’d like to hear more about the plot of the musical. Will the lead character be tone-deaf and unable to carry a tune? * * * Your question and answer Fridays remind me of Smart and Sassy – do you miss it? Not very much, to be honest. It used to stress me out a lot, trying to come up with decent answers to the questions, and I spent many a Sunday sweating over my answers and getting them sent to Nance. Some of those questions were HARD, and I swear to god, there were times I wanted to answer them all with “I don’t KNOWWWWWWWW!” I miss it sometimes in theory – I guess I miss its existence – but I don’t miss the trying desperately to come up with an answer at ALL. * * * Where did you get your purple comforter? I seem to recall you mentioning it and I tried searching past entries, but I cant find it! Does it hold up well to washing? It came from LinenSource.com – it’s this one, in “aubergine”. I’ve washed it three or four times so far, and it’s holding up very, very well. I LOVE IT – who would have ever thought I’d end up with a purple bedroom and purple bedspread? * * * My question, are your tomatoes “determinate” or “indeterminate” tomatoes. You may have said the variety, but I must have missed it. I don’t have a clue, so I asked Fred. He said “I THINK most of them are indeterminate. If they’re determinate, they haven’t determined yet.” (Which was a joke, I’m told.) I have no idea what that even means. (For those of you who are as clueless as me, the definitions are as follows, according to Fred: “Determinate tomatoes only produce a certain number of tomatoes. Indeterminate tomatoes put them out ’til first frost.” Interesting!) * * * Question? Hmm.. how about..are you keeping Maryanne? We are not. HOWEVER, there hasn’t been any room at the pet store for her (this time of year, there’s a huge amount of cats looking for homes, and the adoption rate slows, so there’s a bit of a bottleneck going on as far as room at the pet store), so I’ve informed the shelter manager that Maryanne will be staying here until I get back from Maine. Fred doesn’t want to be “the bad guy” who takes her to the store and leaves her in a little cage (can you see me rolling my eyes?), and she behaves herself pretty well, so she’ll be hanging out here for at least the next ten days. Clearly she’s miserable. * * * Do you ever feel like blowing off Maine some years and going someplace different? Nope, never. I LOVE visiting Maine (I must – I keep going back twice a year most years!), but I’d certainly like to go someplace different in addition to going to Maine! * * * I do have one question. I know this is a question better asked at one fat bitchypoo, but I thought I’d take a chance and ask. How much do you eat at a meal now, over a year after your surgery? When you hear about the gastric bypass, it seems like you only can eat a couple of tablespoons of food at mealtime. But sometimes I see your pictures of what you’re eating (which looks great, BTW) and I wonder if you’ll eat it all. It’s not huge portions by any means, but more than a couple of bites. Been thinking about WLS, and just curious. It really depends on what I’m eating. I can eat a lot more vegetables and carbs in one sitting than protein. If I were to sit down and eat nothing but protein, 3 or 4 ounces would fill me up. But I can eat a plate full of vegetables and still have room for more – vegetables and carbs chew down to almost nothing, whereas most protein doesn’t. If you and I were to go out to dinner, it very likely wouldn’t occur to you that I’ve had weight loss surgery. For dinner last night, I had half a pizza pork hoagie, and a handful of cherry tomatoes with mozzarella cubes. That’s a pretty average-sized meal for me (breakfast these days usually consists of a couple of scrambled eggs and, if I’m hungry, a piece of toast or some blueberries – lunch has been a couple of scrambled eggs on a low-carb tortilla with a piece of cheese and some cherry tomatoes on the side. I’m loving the cherry tomatoes. Also, the eggs!). At more than eighteen months after surgery, I would say my meals consist of right around as much as I SHOULD have been eating before I had surgery. * * * Do you dread and hate going to get your hair colored as much as I do? I hate the thought of sitting there and having to come up with conversation (I have one of those hairdressers that gets offended if you try to sit there and read a magazine and zone out and not talk to him. Aargh!)? I dread it, but only because it’s SO BORING, and yeah – trying to make conversation with the stylist. She’s pretty good about going off and leaving me to my book when the color’s sitting on my hair, but the whole process from beginning to end takes an hour and a half or so, and like I said it SO FUCKING BORING that I hate going. I’m so un-girly that it amazes me that I keep going every six weeks. I always threaten to let my hair revert to its natural color and start cutting it myself, but I imagine I’d end up looking like I’d just been released from an asylum if I ever tried to cut my own hair. * * * What happened to the links to other sites that you read? I used to go there all the time and check out other blogs (sorry–journals 🙂 that way… Over there in the left column (under the picture of Tubby and the one of Sugarbutt) is a picture of Miz Poo that says “Blogs I Read.” Click on it! (And let me know if those pictures aren’t showing up for you!) * * * How do you cook your black-eyed peas? They are a new thing for this Yankee. We either throw them in a pot of water with a cube or two of chicken bouillon and a chopped onion, bring the water to a boil, then turn it down and let it simmer for a couple of hours (and if we’re eating them as our main entree, we add a ham hock (warning: VERY fatty) or some chopped ham to the pot). The way we prepare it if we don’t have much time is to put it in the pressure cooker with some water and a chicken bouillon (sometimes a chopped onion, as well) and pressure cook it for about 15 minutes. Both ways will give you somewhat mushy peas, but we like ’em like that! * * * Do you guys have to pay for your water or do you have your own well? I remember reading about watering the garden and know how big it is was thinking that you must pay an arm and a leg for water. We have a well, but we haven’t gotten “the guy” out to get it running for us, so we have to pay for the water we use. And even though the garden’s big and Fred waters a row or two every day (he uses soaker hoses rather than sprinklers), and even though I feel like I am ALWAYS running the water in the kitchen and watering the plants on the front porch and in the front flower bed, our water bill last month was about one-third of what it was when we lived in Madison. In Madison, we got water from Huntsville. In Smallville, we get it from the county. I can guarantee we use more water in this house. I can only imagine how much the water bill will drop once we get the well running and use that water to water the garden! * * * Late burning questions. When are you leaving? How long are you going to be gone? Will you post while you are in Maine? Have a great trip! My flight leaves tomorrow at 6 am. I’ll be gone ’til the 28th, so 10 days (I wanted to be there for both my nephew’s birthday and my father’s, so ten days it is!). Unless there’s some sort of issue with both my laptop and my father’s computer, I’ll be posting at least once while I’m gone. * * * Tommy, so very sad that his Momma is leaving. Spot, prostrate with grief that his Momma is leaving. Da Boog, unable to face a daily life without his Momma around… Or not. “PAR-TAY!!!!” * * * Previously 2006: I also thought my brother made up the word “fart” when I was a kid, so apparently I think he’s a real trend-setter. 2005: You know who really just completely repulses me? 2004: The only way it’d be better is if we could call and vote on who’s the most annoying. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: Wouldn’t it have been ironic if I’d made assurances to the spud that we would probably all live for a long, long time, then promptly tripped over the cat, fallen down the stairs, broken my neck, and died? 2000: Man, I’m so unmotivated today (nothing new there). ]]>