Author: Robyn

8/16/07

* * * To be fair, regarding yesterday’s entry, I don’t think the new neighbor was prying or trying to get information out of me or intending to be rude when she suggested that we might be good christian folk. I think it was just a way of segueing into the information she wished to talk about, which is that she’s come back to The Lawd recently, after a praying session in her bedroom one night* and she had lost her way for a while, but now she’s back in good with The Lawd. I also kind of got the feeling that she was trying to feel me out – figuratively speaking – as to whether I’d come stomping over and lecture her about The Lawd if I saw her sitting on her back deck slurping down a beer. I can’t say why I got this impression, because it’s nothing I can put a finger on, but I did get the impression that her being in good with The Lawd doesn’t necessarily include attending church on her part, or preclude any of the fun stuff The Lawd supposedly frowns upon. However if I’m wrong, I might steal from Amanda and tell her that I’m a secular humanist, throw her the peace sign and shut the door. Or (more likely) I’ll tell her she should talk to my husband, because Fred KNOWS his bible and he’ll stun her with passages from the bible before he gently suggests she be on her way and closes the door. Having lived in the south for 11 years now, you’d think that people assuming I’m a churchgoer wouldn’t take me by surprise every single time – but it does. I find it kind of intrusive and a little embarrassing, as if they’d asked what color panties I’m wearing**. I understand they’re not intending to be intrusive – or maybe they’re just looking to drag me kicking and screaming back to The Lawd and don’t care if they’re intruding – but it feels intrusive nonetheless. In case it concerns anyone, I do believe in The Lawd. It might not be the way you believe in The Lawd and it might not be in an organized and approved fashion, but The Lawd knows how I feel and what I believe, and he said to tell you to shut the fuck up with all the praising and the prosthelytizing ’cause it gives The Lawd a headache. And they don’t make a Bayer Aspirin big enough to take away THAT headache. *I, myself, have also been known to praise The Lawd in my bedroom at night. ** Beige.

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Seriously, last Friday when I asked y’all who should play me in the TV movie, I half expected someone to say “Andy Dick!” (God I hate Andy Dick. He’s annoying and has never had one funny moment in his entire life.) Instead, you came up with cool answers that included Nicole Sullivan from Mad TV, Emma Thompson, Julianne Moore, Sharon Stone, Toni Collette, Patricia Heaton, Kathy Bates, and Mary McDonnell (from the Grand Canyon era). (By the way, Mary McDonnell in Dances with Wolves? SMOKING hot. Kevin Costner in Dances with Wolves? Thin-lipped and much, much less hot.) Y’all flatter me – the day I look like Toni Collette is the day I reTIRE from journaling and wander off to Hollywood to make my millions. But my favorite suggestion – favorite by FAR – was the reader who suggested Alice from The Brady Bunch. I’ll admit, at first I was all but then the more I thought about it, the more I decided I like the comparison. Because think of it – on The Brady Bunch, while those whiny Brady kids were wandering around howling about their broken noses (“Hey you guys! Ow, my nose!”) and putting on shows and fighting over the bathroom, who was there cooking up the pork chops and applesauce, making sure no one went hungry, and doing her best to make sure Mrs. Brady and her flip ‘do never found out about Mr. Brady and his predilection for the male gender? Alice, that’s who. When things were tense around the Brady household, when Greg and Marcia were battling over who got the attic for their bedroom, who remembered that not so long ago, that attic was actually only a crawlspace and Mr. Brady told Mrs. Brady that it would be perfect for a bedroom “If Greg was three feet tall!”, and there must have been some serious perm-haired voodoo going on to make it a full-height attic, but held her tongue and just made a wisecrack about the whole mess? Alice, that’s who. When Jan wished fervently that she was an only child and her siblings did their best to accommodate, when Peter and Bobby were screaming for Marcia to get her ass out of the no-toilet-having bathroom already, when Greg jettisoned his pesky brothers and sisters to become the one and only Johnny Bravo because he fit the suit, when Peter’s voice was cracking and throwing the entire Brady musical career into a tailspin (when it’s time to change, you’ve got to rearrange who you are and what you’re a-gonna be, after all), when Weird Cousin Oliver came to visit, when Jan wore that dead squirrel-looking brunette wig so that people would see her for the treasure she truly was, who did NOT go on a shooting rampage and tell those damn Brady kids that the next time one of them sashayed through the kitchen, drank a cup of milk, left the cup in the sink and then came back ten damn minutes later to get ANOTHER cup of milk, using a fresh cup the second time – and the third and fourth – she was going to cut their heads off and hang them from the front door? Alice, that’s who. Alice was always ready with the quick quip, the funny bon mot, the silly non sequitur, the humorous witticism, wandering through one Brady crisis or another, zinging them with a one-liner to break the tension, leaving them shaking their heads, smiling, and saying “Oh, Alice!” That silly, silly Alice. Always quick with the funny while we putter about with our goofy, unimportant issues. She feeds us, she watches after us, she makes sure we always have clean towels and horrible (but clean!) ’70s clothes, she lives in a room off the kitchen and always wears that damn uniform, I’m SURE she isn’t paid even a living wage, what ever would we do without our dear Alice? Let me ask you this, my friends: every evening when Mom and Dad Brady were lobbing half-hearted flirty comments at each other, when they were giving each other the driest kisses this side of my grandmother, when they were snapping off the lights and turning their backs to each other, silent tears coursing down their cheeks as they each fantasized in their own way about Englebert Humperdink, who was sneaking out the back door? Who was visiting Sam the Butcher at his shop, toting a load of naughty sex toys in her Grandma purse? Who was taking it BUT GOOD out back in the cooler while unsuspecting customers browsed the racks of meat up front? Who, with her sexy shenanigans and pinned-up ‘do that never ever moved, was making Sam (that sexy beast) slap her on the ass and howl “I’VE GOT YOUR PRIME RIB RIGHT HERE, MISSY!”? Why, that would be one Alice Nelson, that’s who. So reader Jamie, thank you for your apt comparison. I AM more like Alice than I had ever considered, and I wear the comparison proudly. And just like Alice, I get MY beefsteak wholesale, too. “Oh, Alice!”
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Tommy climbs into a cat bed. And he marches. And he marches. He marches some more. And when he’s done marching? A bit of marching. Marchmarchmarchmarch. March. March. MARCH. And the entire time, he’s shooting these heavy-lidded looks of love at whoever happens to be around. He marches to the tune of his own drummer, our Toms. “I’LL GIVE YOU THE P&L STATEMENT!” (Probably only KATG listeners will get that. And only if they’ve listened to last week’s shows. I sure do love that Brother Love.)
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Previously 2006: Questions answered. 2005: No entry. 2004: Oh, by the way? When you tell someone “Don’t worry, I won’t be back to read your journal”? Please. EVERYONE knows that means “I’m going to come back every six seconds to see the reactions to my asshole comment”. 2003: No entry. 2002: CHECK THOSE FEEDBACKS, people! 2001: 16 miles. Yeah, baby! 2000: I swear to god, that cat is half monkey.]]>

8/15/07

Now, really. First of all, I don’t EVEN know what would have made Mister Seller come to such a conclusion, because we’ve never thrown our hands in the air and Praised the Lawd, we’ve never been spotted walking into a church, we’ve never even discussed The Lawd and His Teachings with Mister Seller. If I’ve ever done anything but smile and wave in the general direction of Mister Seller, I would be amazed. Perhaps it was the lack of “Motherfucks” and “GodDAMNs” laced through Fred’s inquiry as to how much Mister Seller would be selling his house for that led him to this belief. Secondly of all, JUST HOW IN THE HOLY FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO ANSWER SUCH AN ACCUSATION? What, do I shake my head and sternly say “Mister Seller is quite mistaken. Please leave my house immediately, in the name of Satan and all his Minions.”? Shake my head and say “The day I step across the threshold of a church is the day lightning will immediately strike me dead.”? Shake my head and growl “Now, that is none of your GODDAMNED BUSINESS, WOMAN.”? Yell Allahu akbar and detonate myself? Instead, I smiled and nodded and changed the subject. Hopefully it won’t bite me in the ass in the form of her coming a-knockin’ on Sunday mornings, asking if I want to join her at church.

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Y’all, anyone who has the same kind of glasses as my new ones, when I said they were “unattractive”, what I meant is that they were not the most attractive glasses for my dark-circled eyes. Not attractive on ME. You, I am sure, look SMASHING in them.
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Canned yesterday: five pints of salsa (Fred made me put three green peppers, one habanero, and five jalapeños in the salsa. Guess who won’t be eating any of THAT salsa? Also, I finished up my red cinnamon pickles and canned them. I’m going to let them sit for a bit before I give them a try. I hope they ROCK. The bread and butter pickles I mentioned in yesterday’s entry is this recipe. Clearly I made some changes to the recipe, and it works well for me. If you’ve got a kick-ass bread and butter pickle recipe that doesn’t end up with nasty, limp pickles, feel free to share!
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Why does Holly Hunter always talk out of the side of her mouth? It’s very odd. It’s annoying and distracting and I’m not sure I can continue to watch Saving Grace unless Kenneth Johnson (“Lem” to we lovers of The Shield; “Ham” on Saving Grace) walks nekkidly across the screen. Maybe he needs to stop and do some deep-knee bends, too. And if there were a nekkid embrace between he and “Butch”, and maybe a little kiss with some tongue… Um, what? What was I saying? I think I lost a little time there. I’m not sure a police detective who appears to be as well-regarded in her field as Grace Hanadarko (Holly Hunter) would be walking around with her frazzled hair flying in all directions. Surely she’d be dropping hair all over the crime scenes. Isn’t that, like, a no-no? Also, Laura San Giacomo’s character’s immediate and unquestioning acceptance of the idea that her dear friend is regularly seeing and speaking to an angel has my bullshit detector allllll the way over in the red zone. For the record, you come and tell me you’re seeing and talking to a tobacco-chewing angel named Earl, you’d better be bringing Earl along with you, and he’d better be prepared to do some nifty tricks (see above re: Ham and Butch and nekkidness), or I’ll be avoiding you but quick. In case you were wondering.
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Speaking of television shows, I’m still watching (and digging) Big Love, and I have got to say: that actor who plays Alby Grant is one creepy motherfucker. And he’s got some seriously mean eyes. I for sure wouldn’t want to run into HIM in a dark alley. Speaking of Big Love, I saw a woman at the post office yesterday who bore a striking resemblance to Mary Kay Place. I wanted to ask her how Roman was doing, but she didn’t look like she was up for discussing THAT particular topic. Lastly, you know how Nicki‘s kid (Wayne, I think?) always calls Bill “Father”? Every time he does that, it makes me nervous. Because how long will it be before they’re out in public and someone who doesn’t know of Bill’s polygamist ways hears the kid call him “Father” and the jig will be up? Doesn’t the child have friends to whom he accidentally lets it slip that his father is married to three women? PS: Melora Walters will always, always be Jessie from Boogie Nights to me. PPS: LOVE that crazy Lois. LOVE HER.
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Holy CRAP someone needs some o’ them tooth-whitening strips, pronto.
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Previously 2006: It’s been a year since we found Crooked Acres. Hard to believe. 2005: They are NAS-TAY, and trust me when I say that you’d be better off never bothering to try the nasty things. 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: Looking at this hormone-laden piece of meat makes me… well, it makes me kinda drool, actually. 2001: I just smiled and nodded and kept walkin’. 2000: Mustard algae. Why must he doubt me?]]>

8/14/07

many pickles, but if we go into next summer with plenty of pickles in the canning cabinet, then we’ll skip planting the cucumbers next year. I also made more tomato sauce, which is a time-consuming thing, but the more tomato sauce we have, the better. I blanched and froze green beans, and was going to make salsa, but Fred decided the tomatoes were too ripe and wouldn’t make good salsa (um, okayyyyy), so I’ll be doing that later this week. I shelled and blanched and froze three pounds of black-eyed peas. Shelling black-eyed peas makes me incredibly impatient after about half an hour, I don’t know why. It’s not a difficult thing to do, but I get all antsy, even if I’m watching a TV show I like. After an hour of it, I want to throw all the black-eyed peas against the wall and have a temper tantrum. I don’t (usually), I’m usually able to hold it together, but it’s a struggle. Fred and I are horrible people sometimes, I concluded over the weekend. I mean, I KNEW we’re horrible people sometimes, I just forget and was reminded anew over the weekend. We were watching a documentary, (the title of which I will not share with you, because you’ll look askance at me and be all “And who do you think YOU are, Hairy McScarey with the unplucked eyebrows and the crooked bottom teeth? And the big ass? And the flabby thighs? And the goofy hair? And I could go ON.”) and I was shelling black-eyed peas, and about half an hour in, Fred said “Are you interested in this movie? Because I think it’s boring.” I said “No, you can turn it off.” He stood up to do so, and I said “I’d find their plight more interesting if they weren’t quite so ugly.” And directly from Hell I heard Satan faintly calling “I’ll save this seat right here for YOU!”

* * *
Last week I had my appointment with the optometrist, as recounted in fascinating detail in yesterday’s entry (which I’m sure you all skimmed right past, you skimmy bastards), and at that time I decided to get new glasses, and so I picked out the frames and told them I’d be back Monday morning to pick them up. But the funny thing is that I picked out the frames and handed them to the chick who was helping me, and she gave me a funny look and said “These?” and made me try them on. Then had me take them off. Then told me to put them on again. And take ’em off. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to shake something all about when she gave me another funny look and said “You know these are kids’ frames, right?” I was all: And I said “I didn’t, but I do now. Huh.” She made me try them on again, and looked at me like I was lying to her when I said they felt comfortable, but then she did a “It’s YOUR life” shrug, and measured me for whatever the hell they measure when you order glasses. Yesterday I picked them up, and I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t provide “Old glasses” and “New glasses” pictures for you. Old glasses. New glasses. I don’t know – not all that attractive, but I seriously considered the cat’s eye frames and thought they looked horrid on me. Not that it matters, anyway, since I put my contacts in as soon as I get up, and keep them in ’til bedtime. Also, I clearly need a nap.
* * *
Maxi likes to spend the night sleeping on Fred’s car, then when he leaves for work, she climbs up on top of my car and spends the morning there. She is the Queen of all she surveys. Miz Poo likes to sit and hiss through the door at Newt, and Maxi when she’s around. Previously 2006: DON’T YOU HATE IT WHEN A JOURNALER SAYS THAT? 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: “Motherfucker!” was Fred’s response. 2002: Why yes, it IS a rough life, thanks for asking. 2001: No entry. 2000: Because I was so overworked over the summer, you know.]]>

8/13/07

We have chickens. Here’s why.

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As of today, I have lived in Alabama for 11 years! That’s 28.2051282051282051282051282051282051 (etc) percent of my life, but it doesn’t feel like a day over 27 percent. I’ve lived in Alabama longer than I’ve ever lived anywhere else. I still think of Maine as home, though.
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Friday night, I was thisclose to jettisoning cats left and right, tossing all of them out the door so they could fend for themselves in the great wild. At 9:00, we got up to make our usual trek from the front room to the computer room to check our email before brushing our teeth and going on to bed, when Fred stopped in the dining room and turned on the light. I am in the process of making cinnamon pickles, and one of the steps is to cover them with a syrup then let them sit for 24 hours. So I’d covered them with the syrup and put the bowl on the table and covered it with a cloth so nothing would get into it, and I left it there, secure in the knowledge that it would remain there, safe and unharmed. Except that one bastardly Booger had decided to jump up on the table, and when he did, he landed with his back paw in the bowl, and when he did that, the cloth went downward into the bowl, and his big stupid foot got all covered with sticky red syrup, and he thought to himself “Hmm. My back foot is covered in sticky red syrup. How ever shall I deal with this dilemma? I know! I’ll shake my big stupid foot so that sticky red syrup will go everywhere! And then I’ll jump down and I’ll run around in random directions, shaking my big stupid foot, until I have covered as much of the dining room, kitchen, and computer room with red sticky syrup as possible!” And then he did. So instead of quietly checking our email and then going to bed, we spent the next half hour wiping sticky red syrup off the floor, the table, the chairs. It is only by the grace of god that my laptop – sitting right there on the table not a foot away from the bowl – didn’t get a single drop of red, sticky syrup on it. I was ENRAGED. Wiping up all that sticky fucking syrup from the table, the chairs, the floor, I swore the entire time, and I’m pretty sure the words “WHY CAN’T WE EVER HAVE ANYTHING NICE?!” came out of my mouth. And what’s worse is that we got it all cleaned up, went to bed, and I realized I needed to get something out of the computer room. Walking across the dining room to the computer room, I discovered three more sticky spots we’d missed when we were cleaning. And then all day Saturday I’d find yet another random spot of stickiness, and I’d swear loudly and then have to go get the rag and the cleaner, and clean it up. I was so ready to send that fucking bastard out to live with the chickens. Ah hets him. “Ah hets you, too.”
* * *
Thursday I called Fred at work. “I think I have a brain tumor,” I said. “It’s not a tumah,” he said, as is standard. “Or I’m going blind.” “What makes you say that?” he asked. “I’m having a hard time focusing, my eyes feel strained and achy by the end of the day, and I’ve had mild headaches lately.” “Maybe you need reading glasses.” “Shut up. I don’t need reading glasses. I have a brain tumor.” “Maybe you should go see the optometrist.” “I have an appointment tomorrow at 9:15.” So Friday morning I got up, ran around the house to get shit done, made breakfast: It appears we have a chicken who consistently lays double-yolkers. and left for my appointment (note to self: find optometrist closer than Huntsville. There’s gotta be one.). I got to the eye place a little early, popped out my contacts, put on my glasses, and walked in. Since I was early, I had to wait even longer than the usual fifteen minutes, so I watched people pick out glasses, and read magazines. Turns out that I don’t necessarily have a brain tumor. Instead, it seems that my vision has improved since last time I was there. If I recall correctly, at my last visit my vision had improved since the time before. At this rate, I’ll have perfect 20/20 vision right around the time I turn 100. I just won’t be alive to enjoy it. I bought boxes of contacts in the new prescription and tried on several frames before I found ones that I liked. I ordered them, and will be picking them up later today.
* * *
Maryanne continues to make herself at home. Using the Litter Robot (I think she actually likes to get in there and just kick the litter around sometimes) Hanging out atop the cat tree. Working on the Look o’ Het. She’s so purty. (Not documented in pictures: this morning she picked a fight with Miz Poo, and Miz Poo slapped her but good, then she picked another fight with Miz Poo, and Miz Poo slapped her even harder, and THEN she picked a fight with Miz Poo, and Miz Poo smacked her so hard she went rolling across the bed. Not a fast learner, this one.)
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The boy cats, knowing what a bitchy little spaz Miz Poo is, love to tease her. They circle her, staying just out of reach of the Paw o’ Doom. Circle some more… Get a leeeeeettle closer… And then run off to nap, leaving Miz Poo to sadly ponder why no one will play with her.
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Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: Give me time, I’ll have fifteen different versions of “Xanadu” in my music folder. 2003: MY ARM HURTS. 2002: I think no one ever told Billy Bob that if you ANNOUNCE you’re taking the high road, then you aren’t taking it. 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry.]]>

8/10/07

deer shoes. Hmph.

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Let the comment-answering begin! are maxi and newt on the cats/cast page yet? Of course not. They’re not our cats! (Heh) To be honest, the only reason they’re not on the cat page is because I haven’t gotten around to it, like the thousands of other things I haven’t gotten around to because I suck. I’m sure they’ll end up there one of these days. By the way, the link to the cat page is over there in the left sidebar, the picture of Tubby that says “Our Cats” on it.
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who would play you in the made for tv movie though??? and do you and fred *ever* sleep together? hate to get in your shiznick (not) but if you have separate bedrooms…is it an ode to the roaring ’40’s? except instead of separate beds… Angelina Jolie, of COURSE (hey, it’s MY fantasy world!). I don’t know – who do y’all see as the movie version of me? (BE NICE.) Fred and I will take the occasional nap together in the afternoons – that happens maybe once a month – and we’ve slept in the same bed on a couple of trips to Gatlinburg, but other than that, it’s him in his room and me in mine. It actually used to bother me, sleeping in separate rooms, but I’ve not only gotten accustomed to it, I actually prefer it. We both like our space (though I don’t guess I really use much space, since I can easily sleep with cats taking up half the bed) and sleep better apart than together. We still get plenty of laying-in-bed-talking time (which we do every evening before he toddles off to his room), and we like it. It doesn’t work for everyone, but I’ve had a LOT of people tell me they wish they could sleep in a separate room from their spouse or partner but the other wouldn’t go for it. Actually, someone sent me a link to an article about how more and more couples are sleeping in separate rooms – maybe Fred and I are trendsetters!
* * *
So do Spot and Spanky sleep with Fred? Does MaryAnn sleep by herself in the foster room or does she snuggle up with someone at night too? Spot and Spanky usually sleep… well, I don’t know where Spot sleeps, actually. Out in the front room somewhere, I think. Spanky will occasionally sleep on the cat bed that lays on the trunk next to my bed, and sometimes out in the hallway. They like their own space at night, I guess! Fred sleeps with his door shut so no kitties get to snuggle with him (he’s a light sleeper and has a hard time getting back to sleep when awakened). Until last night we were putting Maryanne up in the foster room at night, just because we didn’t want any of the racing around in the middle of the night. We decided to give it a try for one night and see how it went, and it went smashingly – no racing around, no fighting or growling or hissing, just sweet, quiet sleep.
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have you heard of the new craze in the canning community? once your pickles are pickled, pour off the juice and replace it with an equivalent amount of liquid sweetened kool-aid, like cherry or whatever flavor then let them sit in the fridge for a week. the thought kinda makes my stomach turn, but you might want to surprise fred with a batch of purple, grape-flavored sweet-n-sour pickles. I have to admit, I’m a little grossed out by the thought of Kool-aid flavored pickles, but I might try it with a jar just to see if there’s anything to the fuss. I’d probably be the one eating them, though – Fred doesn’t care for sweet pickles because he’s WEIRD.
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I once heard that daddy long legs [the spider in the picture] are actually quite deadly to humans but their fangs aren’t long enough to puncture our skin. I can’t verify whether this is true, and naturally I’m way too lazy to actually Google it [instead I’m typing it here, hah] but I will always believe that it’s true regardless of whether or not it is, and I will always be completely frightened of them because of it. Anyone know if it’s true? I had heard that very same thing, but apparently it’s a myth. This page will tell you more in detail, but rest assured that it’s a hugely widespread myth, but a myth just the same.
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So, you’re telling me: if I can separate the two feral kitten rescues for now, they will warm up to me more quickly? Hrrmmm. I might have to try this method. It does seem CRUEL and UNUSUAL since they love each other so much, but if it’ll help them get tame more quickly, I might have to go buy me another kitty crate! This is how I look at it – you separate them for a couple of days to see what happens, and if they continue to be miserable and scared and skittish, you can always put them back together, right? (By the way, that comment came from Styro, who rescues feral cats – check her out!) Also, while I’m thinking of it, the wonderful Miss Pink Ponsonby sent me an email (which, ahem, I have not responded to because I SUCK), and she said: I’ve been meaning for quite a while to write you and give you this never-fail cat taming trick. My mom and I have used it all our lives for taming feral kittens. (she had 18 cats at one time, Ugh! A logistical nightmare since they all had to have their own spot and they didn’t all get along and they had to sometimes cross someone’s territory to get to their spot…you know the rest.) Anyway, when you were talking about the latest batch of kittens being so shy and skittish and hissy, this is what you do when you get some wild-ass kittens: Take a terry cloth washcloth, the thin ones, and get it wet with warm water and then wrap part of it around your finger like when you clean your ears in the shower, and then when you are with the kittens, just PIN one with one hand and start ‘scrubbing’ their face with the cloth-wrapped finger. Gently of course. Believe it or not, this mirrors what their mom would do to wash them and calm them, so instead of making them feel trapped and freaked, they just totally put up with being scrubbed. You don’t pin them down hard, it’s just that you don’t do it by picking them up and holding them, just pin them where they are. They will shake their head and walk away and finish washing their faces and from then on out, they will start to think you are the Mom-Lady who gives them a tongue-bath and not a bad sort of demon, after all. I do this with any cat I get when they are a kitten, and it makes it so you can handle their faces and lips and clean out their ears all their lives because they think it is a mom-love action. You know, think about how the Momma Kitties hold down their kittens with a paw and just start licking. It’s the same principle. Believe it or not, it works! I have not yet given this a try – though I keep intending to – because did I mention I SUCK? And I’m a procrastinator? But I think someone out there should give it a try and shame me into getting off my ass and giving it a try with miss Maryanne.
* * *
As we were preparing to leave for the weekend & lining up critter care, I wondered, “How will Robyn & Fred EVER be able to leave the farm at the same time with all those critters needing daily tending?” I have wondered that verysame thing myself, but Fred is somewhat certain that if he asks at the corner store, someone will know someone who has a responsible kid who would be willing to stop by and feed the cats, scoop out the litter box, and let the chickens in and out every day for hopefully not too much money. Not that I’ll be able to drag Fred off the farm anytime soon, anyway, so it’s probably a moot point!
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I was wondering, how many people read your site on a regular basis? And how often do you get new people signing up for notification? According to my Sitemeter, I get about 1500 hits a day Monday through Friday, and about 500 on Saturday and Sunday. I assume the majority of that 1500 hits are people who are regular readers, checking in. I don’t know how often new people join the notify lists – I have it set up so that people can join without being approved by me, and I don’t go look at the lists unless someone asks for help with an email change. I prefer not knowing when people are joining or leaving the list, since I’ve heard that people like to register their displeasure with what you’ve written by leaving the notify list. And if I’m not notified when people join or leave, their displeasure goes right over my head. On a side note, at least three times people have gotten pissed off at something Fred has said on his own site and emailed me, asking me to take them off my notify list. Well, okay… as long as you’re going to be an adult about it, I guess.
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With all the veggies you grow are you having any problems with woodchucks? Just when I think I have the problem solved he moves back in. They love tomatoes and zukes! I haven’t seen any woodchucks, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there!
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My solution to non-vet cat attacking vet-cat: Mark is sickly and goes to the vet more often, and Steve is boss of earth, so when I bring Mark back from the vet Steve beats up on Mark more than usual. Sooo, when I get back from the vet with Mark, I put Steve in Mark’s carrier and take him out for a drive. Balance is restored. This is BRILLIANT. Next time I take someone to the vet, I’m going to come home, immediately toss Mister Boogers in the carrier, and take him for a ride. That should fix his little red wagon.
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Regarding Maryanne . . . I was wondering, what are the chances since Fred is her favorite, that he relents and wants to keep her??? I’d say the chances are nil that Maryanne will be staying. She’s cute and playful (though still skittish) and we like having her around, but six cats (permanently living in the house) are our limit. She enjoys snack time, too. (What this picture doesn’t show is that Mister Boogers just did the classic growl-while-eating because Maryanne was too close to him. He’s such an ass.)
* * *
With all the canning (and prep work involved in canning), have you had any back problems standing for such long periods of time? If so, have you found anything that helps? I find I can’t wash a load of dishes at the sink without having to take a muscle relaxant and lie down after. I haven’t actually had any back problems, even on the days that I spend hours standing in the kitchen. I do have an issue with achy legs on those days, but a good night’s sleep generally takes care of that problem. It helps, probably, that I take a ten minute or so break every hour to sit down, drink something, and check my email or read something. Also – if you’re standing on a hard floor while you’re working, I highly recommend a little area rug to stand on. It helps more than you’d expect!
* * *
Here’s a question for you, but I bet it is one that you have answered many times over the years (hell, I may have asked it myself–excuse my senility if that is the case) : Why is it that your permanent feline residents are so calm about the cats that come and go? Are they just used to it? Do they ever start spraying or peeing in corners to express their angst? I don’t know that I’d ever refer to our cats as reacting calmly to interlopers. They’re always hissy and bitchy and growly at first, sometimes for weeks (they’re also a bit hissy and bitchy and growly with each other, so that’s nothing new, I guess), then they kind of give up. They don’t embrace the newcomers, but they seem to realize (a little more quickly with each new bunch of fosters, I think) that there’s no point in the hissing and the growling. At this point with Maryanne, as long as she’s not in their way or all up in their shit, they don’t care what she does. I even found Mister Boogers – gasp! – PLAYING with her yesterday. We haven’t had an issue with the cats spraying or peeing in corners as a reaction to the fosters BUT I will say that my parents’ visit with their dog seems to have triggered some issue with Spot. Since their visit – every couple of weeks, usually – we find something that he’s peed on. He’s fond of going in Fred’s closet, knocking something (a t-shirt, pillowcases) onto the floor and peeing on it. There doesn’t seem to be anything specific that causes it, and it annoys me, but I’m just grateful that the bastard isn’t peeing on furniture or directly on the floor. It’s always something that can be tossed into the washer, THANK GOD.
* * *
Question for tomorrow – is there any particular cat food you recommend to keep cats from randomly throwing up? I seem to remember you mentioning this issue from time to time, but can’t for the life of me recall any brand names that you said worked. With our cats, it’s pretty much a given that if it’s the cheap stuff – Meow Mix, or something along those lines – someone’s going to barf it up. I don’t know if it’s because the cheap stuff has more fillers in it, or what, but I’ve learned my damn lesson. For a while I was feeding them TimberWolf Organics Serengeti Herbal Feline Formula Cat Food (especially after the whole cat food scare) and Blue Spa Select as their second choice (we wouldn’t want them to get BORED), but since Sugarbutt started up with the farkin’ skin issues, we went back to what we were feeding them before: Natural Balance for Adults, and Nutro Natural Choice Senior.
* * *
Another blogger I read refers to her husband as her husband, and her five-year-old son as her “boyfriend”. Every time I read it, it feels….icky. Do you think this is strange at all (calling one’s son her boyfriend, I mean)? I value your opinion! I don’t know who the blogger is, and let me hasten to say that I’m sure she means it in a completely innocuously funny way, but yeah, if she’s using it often and not every once in a while in a joking “my little boyfriend” way – that’s a little bit icky. Maybe more than a little bit. Way to encourage that Oedipus complex!
* * *
Lord knows I NEVER interfere, but, the eggs should be stored with the blunt side up I’ve been informed that by Fred, and immediately went and flipped the eggs over!
* * *
Ok, I’m so NOT a skimmer but I don’t remember you saying anything about the litter robot thing. I need something new since my Littermaid died (lasted over 3 years, not bad) and I was wondering what ya thought. $300 is a bit steep but your thumbs up would go a long way. I did actually mention the Litter Robot back in June (Bonnie, you damn SKIMMER), but I’ll cut and paste and then add a little at the end. I said: Someone recently asked about the Litter Robot and how it’s working for us. It’s working out okay, I guess. I did what the literature (and some of y’all) suggested and let the regular litterbox get all kinds of nasty so the cats would be kind of forced to use the Litter Robot. The reaction there is that someone – I suspect either Spanky or Spot – registered their displeasure by peeing on the rug in the dining room. Since I don’t want the house to smell like cat pee, I started cleaning out the regular litter box again, because I learn quickly. At this point, the three youngest cats – Sugarbutt, Tommy, Mister Boogers – will use the Litter Robot, but the three older aren’t interested. I clean out the regular litter box every morning, and empty out the Litter Robot “drawer” at the same time, and since I’m only having to do it once a day rather than twice, I’m happy. In a perfect world they’d all use the Litter Robot, but they won’t, and I’m just happy that we have enough room in the laundry room for the Litter Robot and the regular litter box. Since I wrote that, I’ve actually gone to cleaning out the litter box and Litter Robot every other day (especially since the cats can go outside now and use the backyard as their giant litter box. Between the cat pee and the chicken shit, the back yard is SWEET, believe me), and then one day last week I actually found Spot using the Litter Robot. Now I don’t know who’s using the litter box and who’s using the Litter Robot, but it appears to be right around 50/50. I don’t dare to go to Litter Robot-only at this point (I’d have to buy a second one anyway, because one litter box really isn’t enough for 6 cats), but I can foresee that possibly happening in the future. That said, I would say that if you’re willing to give it a try, you ought to – Litter Robot’s got a 60-day money back guarantee, and if it doesn’t work out, you can send that sucker back!
* * *
Do you have a hard time avoiding stepping in chicken poop? I would imagine you would with all those chickens. It’s actually not that bad – I wear boots when I’m tromping around the back yard (I am SUCH the fashion statement), and generally watch where I’m going to avoid the chicken poop. Sometimes I’m sure I walk through it, but the boots come off at the door in the laundry room (I’m hoping that in the future, we’ll have a covered back porch to leave our shoes and boots on), so none of it gets in the house.
* * *
Fred’s mother gave us this big cast iron pot a few months ago. We had it sitting on a stump by the driveway, but the Fed Ex guy told us that those pots are expensive, and we might get it stolen if we left it there in plain view. So Fred carried it around and put it on the stump in the back yard. We filled it with soil and planted Irises we got from his father and stepmother. And then the chickens started getting up in the pot. Chickens like to take dust baths – Fred tells me it’s how they keep clean and keep things like mites off of them – and it’s funny to watch. They dig down in the dirt, roll around (just like cats), and then they get up, walk away, and shake their feathers, and a HUGE amount of dirt comes flying out of their feathers. Apparently they really like big pots of dirt. They’ve dug up all the irises except two, and they take turns taking dust baths in the big pot (Fred says “It’s like their bath tub!”) Damn chickens.
* * *
Speaking of chickens, they really REALLY like seeds. When I made tomato sauce last weekend, I saved all the seeds for them. “If you’re feeling eggy, son, just go ahead and LAY!” “HawhawBUGAWK! Did you hear that? I said “If you’re feeling eggy, son, just go ahead and LAY!” “HawhawBUGAWK! You are a funny motherplucker, Buffy!”
* * *
Tommy, camouflaged.
* * *
Previously 2006: And you know when I’m saying it’s hot, it must be like burning in the flames of Hell. 2005: I’m going to kill my husband. 2004: “THIS IS NOT THE FRONT OF THE SCHOOL,” I said. “THIS IS THE SIDE.” 2003: No entry. 2002: Stop making those gagging noises. 2001: Is it just me, or does Mother Nature not like it when the spud or I fly? 2000: No entry.]]>

8/9/07

* * * There are many reasons I love my husband – his intelligence, his sense of humor, his hard work, his love of animals, his nice butt (it’s so cute and round and squeezable) – but the thing that makes me look at him with Eyes of Love is his brilliance with computers. That laptop I bought last month and which made me tear my hair out and threaten to sell it on eBay? After hours of hard work on his part, he’s made it work the way it should, so now the wireless network stuff works, I can watch movies on it, and it runs like the wind (a slow middle-of-summer hot and sticky wind, maybe, but it’s much, much improved). If it weren’t for him, I can promise you this – I’d still be surfing the internet on the $50 286 I bought from Liz’s husband, using a BBS to get online, and never having a clue what web pages look like. I don’t say it often enough, but I think it every day – thank god (and the internet) that man came into my life.

* * *
It appears as though the house next door has sold. Fred came in from the garden yesterday and said “Someone’s been looking at the house for quite a while.” I went and looked out the kitchen window to see what I could see, and the man who owns the house next door was standing on the porch next to his wife, and they were talking to a man and woman. “Are they old?” I asked Fred, since I couldn’t see their faces. We’ve been hoping that an older couple would move in next door. A QUIET older couple. “I don’t think so,” he said. I peered through the kitchen window some more, then went up to the front room – where there’s a recliner next to the window – and sat down and watched them talk. I’m such a Gladys Kravitz, I swear to god. The man appeared to be in his late 40s or early 50s, and the woman appeared to be around our age if not a little younger. “Is she pregnant?” I asked Fred. “I don’t know. Yeah, she kind of looks it, doesn’t she?” I watched some more. “Pregnant or fat, I can’t tell.” (I’m allowed to say that, since it wasn’t so terribly long ago that I was mistaken as pregnant.) I watched some more, and they kept standing there and talking. TalkingTalkingTalking. Finally, the woman walked across the front yard. “She’s walking across the front yard toward the sign!” I said. And then she pulled up the “for sale” sign and put it behind the house. The two men shook hands, and soon after, they left. Looks like we’re going to have new neighbors. I hope they’re nice neighbors. I hope they’re quiet neighbors. I hope they’re neighbors who respect property lines. I hope they like cats, since Newt and Maxi like to hang out under their deck. I hope they’re friendly and nice, but not so friendly they get all up in our shit. (The Gladys Kravitz in me hopes they give me something interesting to watch when I’m standing in the kitchen doing dishes.) When they’ve moved in, I’ll make cookies and take them over and welcome them to the neighborhood. I’ll make Fred go with me, because he’ll fill any awkward silences with babble, and he’s good with strangers. Y’all keep your fingers crossed for good neighbors, ‘k?
* * *
Good lord, the sound that cicadas make feels like a drill through my brain. We have discarded cicada shells on just about every fence post, I see a fresh new green cicada every once in a while (they’re creepy, but cool looking), and now I think it’s just time for them to get laid, move ON and stop making that goddamn noise. Speaking of bugs, I discovered a huge-ass spider living behind the coffee maker. Considering how often I clean behind the coffee maker (um… never? I think the last time that coffee maker was pulled out and cleaned behind was in May, when my parents were visiting), that spider’s probably the third generation of spiders who’ve lived back there. She doesn’t live back there anymore – there was a small web back there with bug debris in it, and as I believe I’ve mentioned many a time, if the spider doesn’t keep her web clean, she’s not welcome. So I squished her. Damn bugs. We had our first bird in the house (first bird brought in by the cats, I mean) yesterday afternoon. I was making dinner and turned around to find Mister Boogers and Sugarbutt circling a very quiet small bird, laying on the carpet with its beak open. I gasped (which always makes Fred mad because it scares him, but I cannot HELP it, it’s an automatic reaction!), and then Fred scooped it up and took it outside. He tried to get it to latch onto a branch in the bush next the porch, but it wouldn’t, so eventually he left it on the ground next to the bush. Later, it was gone. I don’t know if it flew away or was gotten by a cat or what, but it was gone and its dead body was nowhere around, so I’m happy. Speaking of birds in the house, I fully expect that one of these days one of those damn chickens is going to come through the cat door. They like to hang out on the back steps (there’s a bowl of water there), and every once in a while when I open the door to go out, Frick is sitting on the top step. I tell you what, a goddamn chicken comes in the house, she’s going to get booted back outside, tout de suite. I’m stupidly soft when it comes to spoiling animals, but chickens in the house? NOT GONNA HAPPEN. My floors aren’t always sparkling clean, but they don’t have any damn chicken shit on them, and I’d like to keep it that way. Bad enough that we’ve got Spot, who reacts to a vacuuming of the entire house by walking onto freshly vacuumed carpet and dropping three pounds of cat fur. I should make Spot go live in the chicken coop, now that I think about it.
* * *
Yes, miss Maryanne has made herself at home here, but no – we’re not keeping her (I know y’all don’t believe me – but we’re not!). She’s doing her best to fit in, though. Miz Poo lets her inner hellion glow through her eyes – miss Maryanne does the same. Mister Boogers hets. Maryanne hets. Maryanne’s favorite Anderson cat continues to be Tommy. She LURVES her some Tommy.
* * *
Previously 2006: Hey, as long as she’s going to be an adult about it, right? 2005: “WAIT FOR THE BUS,” I said, then hung up. 2004: I do love the stumpy little bastard, but I wish he hadn’t killed that poor damn bird. 2003: No entry. 2002: Finally, I said “Would you CALM DOWN? I’m not going to divorce Fred and marry the cute waiter. Jesus!” 2001: (Dr. Phil likes to go for the sound bites and has drama queen tendencies, but I love him) 2000: Pictures from Maine.]]>

8/8/07

yelling “Who want a postcard?! WHOOOOOOOOOOO want a postcard?!”, because that’s what I think of every time I type “Who wants a post card?!?!”

* * *
Last night I read for a little while after Fred went to bed, and then I turned out the light and snuggled with Miz Poo for a little while. I was about to drop off to sleep when I heard my cell phone ringing from the computer room. I thought about getting up to run for the phone, but I was sleepy. The only one who would call me that late at night would be the spud, and if it was an emergency, she knows the home phone number and could call me on it. I was again just about to drop off several minutes later, when I heard the chimes that indicated either a text message or a voicemail. Since the sound had jolted me awake, I decided I’d get up and pee, then check my phone to see what was going on. I expected that it was a text message from the spud, who’d decided she wanted to tell me something, but it wasn’t important enough to wake me up. I got up, shuffled to the bathroom, then went into the computer room and grabbed my phone. To my surprise, it indicated that I had a voicemail, so I called to listen to it. Now, I haven’t been drunk in perhaps 13 or 14 years (the very last time I was drunk, I was living with my sister on Goddard Street, I’d had a fight with Liz the night before she left for boot camp, and Debbie and I visited her friends who lived out in the country, and I got SHITFACED (the spud and her cousin were spending the night at their grandparents’ house)). But I remember very clearly that shitfaced feeling, when everything that’s going on around you fades into a white noise with the occasional word chiseling through into your brain, so that the next morning you wake up and think “Did someone say something about fuzzy trees? What the fuck?” That’s exactly what listening to this voicemail message was like – a white noise of various sounds, with the occasional word breaking through. I listened for at least two minutes and the only clear thing I got out of the message was someone saying “Red velvet. Red velvet!” I hypothesize that someone was in a bar or at a party, tried calling a friend, and didn’t realize they hadn’t hung up the phone. I sat and listened, but after two minutes it was starting to mess with my head – I was beginning to feel a little spaced-out – so I deleted the message and hung up. Then I checked to see the number that had called, did a reverse lookup to see who it was (someone in Alabama, but it’s either a cell phone number or unlisted), and then went to bed. I should totally post the number here so y’all could call it, yell “Red velvet. Red velvet!” and hang up. I should, but I won’t. (I’m no fun.) I think we all know that if my life were a movie or a book, this would only be the beginning. This morning the cops would have shown up bright and early and asked me what my connection to Howie LeBlanc was, how I knew him, and “Lady. Don’t LIE to us. We’ve had enough of the bullshit. You had a five minute conversation with him!” and my “No I didn’t! It must have been a wrong number! I only had a voicemail!” protestations would have been met with “I think not. Who leaves a five minute voicemail for someone they don’t know? And how is it that fifteen minutes later someone shot Mr. LeBlanc in the head and no one saw anything? The last thing he did, apparently, was talk to YOU on the phone!”, and they’d drag me off to jail. I would have used my wiles and intelligence – but more likely, pure dumb luck – to escape from jail, pursued by a cop-gone-bad, intent on getting me alone to find out just WHAT secrets Howie LeBlanc told me during that five-minute conversation, and that cop-gone-bad (but secretly only PRETENDING to have gone bad, he’s undercover, see? He’s really a good guy!) WOULD NOT REST until I spill the truth. (And if the cop looks like Neal McDonough and has to take his shirt off or something, well, that’d be okay with me!) (It’s okay, he’s on my list. And my list is laminated!) Then, after my manymanymany protestations of innocence, of not knowing Howie LeBlanc, I SWEAR IT, OFFICER, riiiiiight as the fuzz was on the verge of believing me, he’d stumble across some small piece of information – probably imparted by Fred, who cannot tell a lie – that blew my story WIDE OPEN and it’d come out that Howie LeBlanc was in reality my half-brother – my father’s son with a stripper, shhhhh, don’t tell Mom! – and he was taking money from me, threatening to tell my mother about his existence, and I was giving him hush money so she’d never have to find out. And the code phrase for “Give me more money, bitch”, can you guess it? “Red velvet. Red velvet!”, of course. Mister Boogers and I would have to go on the lam until we could prove that Miz Poo did it! In the library! With the candlestick!, but all would end well and I’d be back at Crooked Acres bitching about having to do the dishes before you knew it.
* * *
I guess it’s a good thing Fred and I have separate rooms – ’cause there ain’t no way two people and all these cats (usually Sugarbutt comes up and sleeps next to me for part of the night, too) would fit on one queen-sized bed.
* * *
Previously 2006: Ooooh, my blood pressure is rising just thinking about it. 2005: the line “I ate 212 almonds last night really fast and then puked them back so they were still kinda whole. I just washed them off and ate ‘em again. I’ve seen dogs do it.” made Fred shoot applesauce out his nose. 2004: No entry. 2003: “Hey, little kitty!” I said excitedly, as I am prone to dorkdom. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: I will.]]>

8/7/07

* * * Did I mention that with the first three eggs that were laid (lain?) by our chickens, I made Fred an egg sandwich? He declared that the eggs were not, in fact, “too eggy”. Actually, he said they were the best eggs he’d ever had. Sunday morning he found an egg and told me I could have it. (I know the days are coming when we’ll be saying “You need to eat more eggs! We’ve got too damn many of them!” to each other, but those days aren’t here yet.) I scrambled it with a little salt and pepper, and I have to agree with him – that was one damn fine egg. I’m looking forward to eating more of them!

* * *
I’ve made so many goddamn pickles lately that I’m not sure I need to see another cucumber for two years. And yet Fred keeps on bringing those bastards in. Not only does he bring them in, he put forth the idea that since they grow so quickly he could plant a second batch (since the current cucumber plants are infested with vine borers), and apparently my brain was on vacation, because I was all “Okay!” NOT OKAY. After making yet another batch of dill pickles over the weekend, I said to him “Did you actually plant another row of cucumbers yet?” and he said “Yeah, I did. Why?” and I said “Except for pickles, I do not even LIKE cucumbers, why the fuck are we even growing them?” and he said some bullshit about “learning to like” cucumbers, but I bet if I convinced him that cucumbers give me horrid gas, he’d be out there ripping those fuckers up in a heartbeat. Just because we CAN grow something doesn’t mean we SHOULD. I’m going to cross-stitch that and hang it in the (not yet built) garden shed to remind us of that little fact next year. (I still haven’t given the order to rip up the cucumbers, though. It seems so WASTEFUL.)
* * *
I am sad to report that Gilligan and Spanky were still at the pet store yesterday morning. Not only that, as soon as I walked through the door, they both zipped into the litter box and hid there. I sweet-talked them, I let them sniff my fingers, I tried petting them, and nothin’. They don’t remember me and they don’t want anything to do with me. The only time they showed any sign of anything other than abject fear was when Jack Frost (who still hasn’t been adopted) wandered by their cage. Spanky ran over to the bars and looked lovingly at Jack Frost (these kittens, I’m tellin’ ya, they really love the grown-up cats), but when I went over to open the door to the cage, Spanky zipped back into the litter box. Probably a good thing; Jack Frost has no use for little kittens. Or any other cats at all, really. I’m going back to the pet store on Wednesday, covering for the Wednesday evening cleaners (who are on vacation); I’m hoping that they’ve been adopted before then by some soft-hearted sucker cat lover. Maryanne – or “Little Miss”, as Fred calls her – pretty much has the run of the house these days. We put her in the foster kitten room at night, then Fred lets her out when he gets up at the crack of dawn, and she stays out all day. She’s a quiet thing, and every once in a while I have to go looking for her just to make sure she wasn’t “accidentally” killed by one of the big cats. She prefers to spend her time upstairs, sometimes on the cat tree in the foster room, sometimes on Fred’s bed, sometimes just hanging out on the stairs.
* * *
It always starts out sweetly with these two, usually a grooming love session in the kitchen. ::licka::licka::licka:: (It totally looks like Sugarbutt is nursing, here. He’s not. I swear it! It’s all innocent grooming. Apparently Tommy is a dirty, dirty boy.) And it always degenerates into kicking and biting and yowling in about ten seconds flat. Brudderly love. Nothin’ like it. ]]>

8/6/07

* * * GodDAMN the flies are about to drive me fucking mad. It’s not that the house is swarming with flies, but I’ve usually got one dive-bombing me when I sit at my desk and there’s invariably another one buzzing around in the kitchen. I’ve got fly swatters in both rooms, but I’m not terribly coordinated and I rarely get the goddamn things on the first try. (Miz Poo, upon seeing me pick up a fly swatter and walk toward her, whines and runs away. Like I beat her spoiled ass on a regular basis! I don’t, but I oughta. She deserves it.) Flies, to me, are the nastiest fucking things on earth. I can handle most any kind of bug (which is not to say that I deliberately get close to them or pick them up with my BARE HANDS or anything, but I they don’t usually make me want to take a boiling-hot shower), but the thought of flies flying about my house makes me want to barf. Possibly it’s because when I was a kid, I was ADDICTED to tuna sandwiches, and one day I was making my lunch and I took the container of tuna out of the fridge, and there was a dead fly floating in a pool of mayonnaise, and I do believe I haven’t eaten a tuna sandwich since. The thought makes me nauseous. I can’t even stand the smell of tuna anymore. BLEGH. The flies are worst in and around the chicken coop, not surprisingly. And not surprisingly, I don’t go out to the chicken coop unless I have to. (Did you read that we’ve started getting eggs?) What’s worse is that the fucking flies buzz around slowly and lazily in the heat outside, then they come inside and they’re rejuvenated by the air conditioning, and they turn into speedy little motherfuckers, buzzing around and easily dodging my klutzy attempts to get them with the fly swatter. God, I hate flies. ::shudder::

* * *
BUG PICTURE ALERT. Also not fond of these. But they tend to keep their distance and not dive-bomb me, so we live in harmony. Unless there’s one in the bathtub, whereupon I direct Fred to either pick it up and take it outside, or kill it. I’m not going near the goddamn thing – you see how LONG their fucking legs are? I don’t want them TOUCHING ME with those things. ::shudder::
* * *
We had black-eyed peas, cornbread, and sliced tomatoes for dinner on Sunday. I sliced the tomatoes, but Fred made the rest. It was SO FUCKING GOOD. This is the first time in 11 years that I actually tried a piece of cornbread and liked it. Hey, know what’s funny? When I cook, I do the dishes. When Fred cooks? Guess who does the dishes? (Hint: It’s not Fred.)
* * *
Cat news: 1. Sugarbutt’s biopsy results came back. The vet (who called at 8:00 Friday night – dedicated woman!) said that results showed the sore on his neck and lip are allergy reactions. She said that it was almost surely a food allergy, and asked what he eats. We discussed changing his food, she told me I needed to come back late this week to have his stitches out, and if he needed another steroid shot, she could do it then. I hung up, whined to Fred about doing the changing-the-food dance for weeks and months until we figured out what he was allergic to, and then the lightbulb went on over my head. The sore on his neck showed up pretty soon after I started giving the kittens yogurt for their morning and evening snacks – and every time I got a plate of yogurt for the kittens, Sugarbutt would come sniffing around, so I’d give him a dollop of it, too. We decided to stop giving him yogurt – couldn’t hurt, right? – and so far, he seems to be MUCH less itchy. I haven’t seen him scratching even once since mid-Saturday. If this problem is solved this easily, I will pat myself on the back so hard I’ll probably pull something. 2. Mister Boogers is OBSESSED with being in the chicken yard. We usually let the cats out for most of the morning, then when it gets hot, we shut the back door until late afternoon – they tend to not want to be out there when it gets really hot, and leaving the back door open just makes it hotter in the laundry room and kitchen. Yesterday after we’d closed the back door, Mister Boogers sat on the dryer and looked mournfully into the back yard. I had to go out to hang up laundry on the clothesline, and the bastard took the opportunity to go flying out the back door. I hung up laundry, figuring I’d catch him and bring him inside when I was done, and even though I yelled at him, he climbed over the gate to the chicken yard, sniffed around, and ended up under the chicken coop, WITH THE CHICKENS. The chickens don’t care at all, and he’s not that interested in the chickens, just in being under the coop, where it’s nice and cool. He hung out for ten minutes, then climbed back over the gate and went inside with me when I was done hanging laundry. 3. I took Gilligan and Spanky to the pet store on Friday. They were FREAKED OUT and immediately climbed into the litter box to hide. Break my heart, why don’tcha? I don’t know if they’ve been adopted yet – I’m heading out to the pet store in a little while; I’ll report back on them tomorrow. The last of the pictures I took of them before we left for the pet store are here. 4. The only reason I never separated the kittens – like someone suggested a while back – is because we couldn’t stand the thought of a kitten sitting in the guest bedroom, separated from his or her sibling, all sad and lonely with no one to play with. We are idiots. When I got back from taking Spanky and Gilligan to the pet store, I went up to see Maryanne. I brought the carrier in with me, because I like to leave a carrier in the room with the fosters so they’ll get used to its presence, so that when the time comes I can snatch them up and toss them in there and they won’t know what hit ’em. Anyway, I put the carrier down and opened the door. She hopped down off the cat tree, went into the carrier, sniffed the towel where her brothers had so recently been, made a sound of confusion, and licked the towel. I felt like the most heartless, evil bitch in the world. And THEN. What did she do? She came over to me to be petted. She came OVER to ME to BE PETTED. On PURPOSE. And she was a little skittish, but she let me pet her. And then she flopped over and made me pet her some more. And then she rubbed against me and purred and meowed. Then, when Tommy tapped at the door to be let in, instead of hissing and running from him like she’d done every single time we let him into the foster room in the past, she ran over to him and rubbed up against him. It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle in August, is what it is. We’ve pretty much let her have the run of the house the last few days and she’s been playing and running and meowing (girlfriend has some LUNGS, and plenty to say) and just generally making herself at home. She’s still a bit skittish – she doesn’t like you walking toward her or standing over here – but if you get on her level, she’ll come for some loving. She lets Fred pick her up and hold her, and she and Fred (and Miz Poo!) took a nap together yesterday. I will never doubt the advice to split up skittish kittens again, I swear it. “I am a pretty, pretty princess.” “And I am the Queen, bitch.” She’s not a lap-sitter, but it’s early days yet. I think she’ll get there!
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Someone left a perfectly good cat’s head on the side stoop! (I know y’all KNOW that the rest of Newt is laying (attached to his head) on the second step, but for the idiot (yeah, I know you’re there, Skimmy McDumbass) who thinks that, seriously, there’s a goddamn cat head laying on my stoop and I’m taking a PICTURE of it*, hi. His body is resting (attached to his head) on the second step. It’s a funny picture, see? Ha! Ha! Ha?) *Oh, ALRIGHT. I think we all know that if someone HAD left a cat head on my side stoop, probably I would have taken a picture of it. I wouldn’t have shared it in my journal, though, ’cause I’m not THAT much of an ass. Bugs? Yes. Cat heads? Not so much.
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Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: The morning I wake up and find a cricket in bed with me is the day I start closing the cat door at night, believe you me. 2003: I HAVE THINGS TO DO THAT CANNOT BE ACCOMPLISHED WITH A PORTLY POO IN THE WAY. 2002: No entry. 2001: Yeah, like YOU don’t have a voice in your head that reads things to you… 2000: No entry.]]>

8/3/07

Jane a happy birthday! (Happy birthday, Jane!!!!)

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The kids in this area are going back to school this week and next. After 11 years of living here (exactly 11 on the 13th, actually!), it still blows my mind that school starts so early. In fact, it started around the 20th the first year we lived here, and it’s gotten earlier and earlier every year. Just doesn’t seem right to send the kids back to school in the heat of August so they can swelter on the bus and then freeze in the air-conditioned school. (Then again, thank god for air conditioning. I can’t imagine how much school would suck if there were no air conditioning!)
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Let the comment-answering begin! Who/What inspires you? Oh, man. No offense, but I hate questions like this, because I try and try to come up with something Deep and Meaningful, and end up with a big cartoon question mark over my head. I guess being in Maine inspires me – I always feel most creative when I’m there. A well-turned sentence inspires me, especially if it it’s surrounded by a lot of bland, blah sentences. Sometimes people inspire me, but I don’t know when or who I’ll be inspired by; it seems to be mostly random. What animal do you think is your spirit guide/totem? Why? I had to look and see what a spirit guide is, and found this definition: Nonphysical souls who support our growth, help us complete our life tasks, and in general provide the spiritual assistance we need. Often we are spirit guides to others when we are not incarnate. And of course I want to say that the cat is my spirit guide, but if I have a spirit guide, I sure don’t know about it, so I’m going to have to go with: Fuck if I know. Also, What is your most FAVORITE recipe in the world? My favorite recipe to make would probably have to be reservations (har har HAR), because I seriously do not care for cooking at all. My favorite recipe to eat would be… burgers from the grill, with ketchup and a nice crisp slice of onion and tomato, warm from the sun. Not very exciting, huh?
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Is that chicken poop on the front of Fred’s shirt in pics 3 and 4? YUCK! Nope – it’s paint.
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Holy crap in that third picture it looks like Fred is waiting for the chicken to give him a high-five. THAT needs to be in a banner post haste! He was actually protecting his eyes, because he was afraid the chicken was going to peck at them and he’s partial to his eyeballs.
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Speaking of The Two Coreys’ reality TV show – have you seen the new “Scott Baio – I’m 45 and Never Been Married Show?” It is a complete train wreck where he hires a life counelor to help him figure out why he messes up every relationship he has ever had. She makes him go back and meet with all these women to ask them what he did wrong. Turns out Joanie really did love Chachie. It’s really horrible but I can’t turn away! THAT is the show I keep meaning to set up the DVR to tape, and keep forgetting. I’ll have to set up to tape – Keith and the Girl were talking about it last week – and give it a try. I understand Scott Baio’s a bit of a douchebag.
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What size shoe does Fred wear? The pic of him with the chicken on his back his foot looks huge. Just curious. He wears a size 12. wink-wink-nudge-nudge
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How did you learn to create a web site? Self taught or did you take a class? I bought a WYSIWYG (What You See is What You Get) html editor called HoTMetaL Pro, fooled around with that for a while, whined at Fred, demanded that he help me out, and looked at a LOT of source code to see how that whole html thing works. It’s mostly self-taught, but if I ever run up against a roadblock, Fred will eventually help me out if I bitch at him enough. He installed WordPress on my sites, he moved the design up for me – basically anything that requires anything more difficult than FTPing something up, or hitting “publish”, he does for me. I think everyone needs a Fred to help them out (but I’m not offering my Fred – I keep him busy enough with my shit!).
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We have 3 cats, and 2 dogs and recently moved into a house with hardwood floors throughout. I sweep every day, twice a day, and still there’s balls of fur fluff everywhere. I know my broom isn’t up to the task, but surely there must be the broom of all brooms out there just waiting for me to discover it. What do you use? I use my Dyson, at least every other day, and sometimes I use the Dyson, then follow that up with a run with the Swiffer Sweeper. It’s not a perfect solution, but it works well enough to keep my head from exploding. I’ve considered buying a Roomba, but I’m still on the fence about that.
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Okay, question: I was wondering how much your cats shed and if you have to brush them constantly? We have only two cats and a very large house, and there’s always cats hair everywhere. I especially notice the white fur from our cat Buddy Squeak (who looks like Spanky’s twin–mostly white with some orange). Do you notice the white fur from Spanky and Spot all over the friggin place, too? Actually, Spot is our big shedder. Fred could brush him every day (though he really just waits ’til Spot gets all ratty looking, then breaks out the brush) and get a huge handful of hair every time. I have to vacuum the back of the couch (Spot’s favorite place to sleep) every other day, or I just can’t stand to look at it, there’s so much fur on it. Mostly, I vacuum every other day and on the “off” days I turn a blind eye to the cat hair. You’ve gotta, or it’ll drive you NUTS.
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Do any of the other cats freak out when you take one to the vet? I took my younger cat to the vet last week. We were only gone for a half hour, but the older cat then hissed and growled at the younger for *a day and a half*. Not only is it annoying, but the younger one just gets this pitiful look of confusion and dejection, like “Whyfore do you hate me, big sis?”. Mister Boogers acts like the hugest asshole whenever one of his siblings comes back from the vet. He chases the poor victim around, sniffs wildly at him (or her), and then starts growling and hissing. It usually only lasts a couple of hours, but it’s annoying as hell and I usually have to yell at him to leave Sugarbutt (or whoever) alone. The other cats get interested when someone comes back from the vet, but Mister Boogers is the only one who acts like a jerk. I’m guessing they smell that “doctor’s office” smell on the cat who’s gone to the vet, and the smell doesn’t bring up happy memories for them!
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Just wondering if Jack Frost is still at the shelter? As of yesterday, he was still at the pet store and hadn’t been adopted.
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Just curious – when you have multiple fosters and not all can go off to be adopted at once, how do you pick who gets to go to the pet store and who stays behind with you? Usually they do all go together – if one of them stays behind, it’s always for a specific reason. Maryanne’s not going to the pet store with her brothers because I think she’s not ready; we need to give her more one-on-one attention to see if we can stop the hissing and growling, and maybe encourage some friendliness. When we have a mother cat and kittens, the kittens will often go to the pet store before the mother, because kittens get adopted faster, and we like to give the mother cat some down time before she goes off to sit in a cage. The only other time that I can think of that someone stayed behind is when Sugarbutt and his brother (who wasn’t Tommy) and their sister went to the pet store, but Tommy stayed behind because he was limping. (I still suspect that he’s too smart for his own good, and was faking that limp!)
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Fred looks like he’s growing a mustache! Is he? Though I keep encouraging him to grow a ’70s porn-star mustache, Fred has thus far refused. He just doesn’t shave on the weekends, and his five o’clock shadow was showing in that picture.
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I don’t know if you’ve answered this or not..but are your chickens purely for egg consumption, or will they also be gracing your table? I feel so guilty asking that. For the time being (assuming the damn things ever start producing eggs), they’ll just be for egg consumption. Eventually they’ll probably be dinner, or so I’m told. (Yesterday afternoon, Fred tried to tell me that he thought he’d have no problem killing a chicken. To which I’m saying: “Sh’yeah RIGHT.” He’s also talking about having a second flock, just for eating. We’ll see about that.)
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Fred looks all hot and sweaty in his chicken pictures. Did he stink, too? Ha ha! I’m sure he “cleans” up well. I guess country living is good for both of you – keeps you so busy with country folk stuff. Just don’t get “too salty” on us. I do not believe Fred has ever been stinky a single moment in his life. The man is CLEAN – he showers in the morning and again in the evening after he’s been working outside. Sometimes he takes a shower in the middle of the day too cool off and prevent stinkiness. With all the showering, he’s going to get old-man skin, I tell him. But at least it’ll be CLEAN old-man skin!
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OMG!!! We watched Zodiac on Friday night too and I had the EXACT same reaction. Pot bellies? Check. Chloe – what are you here for? Check. Nap-taking on the couch? Check. You missed one though. I could not understand half of the dialog. Did everyone talk in a mushmouth??? The only saving grace for me was that I got to see Dermot for a few glorious moments. I don’t remember having a problem understanding what people were saying, but then again, I did doze during the movie, so maybe they did and I just snoozed through it!
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No comment about Fred practically picking his nose in the first Chicken Man photo? Come on, how could you waste a perfectly good opportunity to make fun of him? He was NOT picking his nose. He was. Um. I don’t know what he was doing, but I assure you, he knows better than to pick his nose when I have a camera in my hands!
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By the way, why was he walking around with a chicken on his shoulder? Because he’s a freak.
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About the squash casserole: I have a (probably stupid) question about the squash casserole. When I’m sauteeing summer squash, I leave the skin on, but I’m guessing you cut it off before boiling and mashing it for the casserole? Nope, I leave the skin on the squash before boiling and mashing it – the skin softens up just fine, and mashes along with the rest of the squash. Rest assured that if the squash had to be peeled first, I’d have never made that recipe in the first place; that’s too much effort. About that squash casserole — does a regular 9 x 13 inch dish work, or do you need one of those really big ones for that recipe? I use a 2 1/2-quart Pyrex dish for it, but Janet (hi, Janet!) reports that she uses a 9 x 13 dish, and it works just fine.
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I just searched your site for “flea” and “fleas” and found nada. Lucky you! My boys (meow men) are 11 and 12 and I personally haven’t seen a flea in 19 years. This week I’ve seen… 30 – and hundreds of larvae (yuck). The cats go outside very rarely, like 4 or 5 times a year. I let them out last weekend, but now that I know what this is, I realize the fleas started 3-4 weeks ago. Before then they hadn’t gone out in almost 2 months. So, anyhoo, I tried to de-flea them without killing them (the cats, that is) – so now I still have fleas. Do you have any tips? From fosters, pet store, outside kitties? HELP! I’ve never had a flea issue – anyone who’s dealt with them, feel free to leave advice in the comments!
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I am looking forward to your virtual house tour for the new house…when are you doing that? (I know it is a lot of work) Um… one of these days? It’s not that it’s a lot of work, really – probably it would only take a couple of hours – it’s that I have to be in the right mood to get it done. I’ll see if I can’t buckle down and get it slapped together in the next few weeks!
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Have you tried a food mill for your tomatoes? It makes quick work of getting rid of the seeds and purees the chunks. I actually just received my food mill on Tuesday. I ran my tomato sauce through it, and it worked amazingly well – no seeds in the sauce, and the chunks are gone! I’m making more tomato sauce this weekend, so I’m looking forward to using it again.
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Thanks for the chocolate chip cookie recipe, too! I hope it works well with Splenda. I’ve been substituting it for sugar (brown and white) in baking, and it usually works fine. Does Splenda give you digestive fits? I was wondering if you had any trouble with it after your WLS. I’ve never made the cookies with Splenda – if anyone does, let me know how it works out! I have no problems with Splenda at all. In fact, as long as I don’t eat too much of it, I’m okay with sugar. Corn syrup, on the other hand, makes me really gassy and sick. Bleh.
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I want to know How do you get such cute pictures of the cats, do you lay hanging down from the picnic table? The close-up pictures of the cats – especially the outside pictures – I take by bending over, holding out the camera, and snapping the picture. Most of the time I don’t even bother to look at the preview screen on the camera before I snap it, and I’m often surprised by the pictures I get. (And I still delete about three for every one picture I keep, so you can imagine how many crappy ones I get with this super-duper photographic technique!)
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Robyn, I was reading your post on my cell phone this morning (it works pretty well!) and I misread your header about the “Frank and explicit discussion of menstrual cycles…” I thought it was a link to “Fred’s explicit discussion of menstrual cycles.” In fact, I came back to your page tonight so I could click over to read what Fred had to say. Imagine my disappointment when I found out that Fred wrote about something else! (Or embarrassment.) Conclusion, reading your blog posts on my smart phone = cool, but not as accurate. Is Fred going to have an explicit discussion of menstrual cycles? Not only will Fred not have an explicit discussion of menstrual cycles, he prefers to never think about anything to do with menstruation at all. I can guarantee that he read your question, and his eyes hit the words “menstrual cycle”, and he skipped to the next question. I should totally say something about him in this paragraph, because I know he’ll never read it. Oh, the secrets I could reveal, and he’d never know…
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Ok, I love my diva cup, but there is no way in hell I will wear the pin that comes with it. I mean would you wear an OB pin?? I think not. I think the diva pin is cute – but yeah, I’m not going to be utilizing it as a fashion accessory. Some one would either think I was calling myself a diva, or they’d ask me about it, and I’d end up standing in the middle of Target trying to explain it to a complete stranger. I prefer discussing my menstrual tools to complete strangers on the internet, not IN PERSON, thank you.
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I’ve been going back and forth with the idea of a Diva Cup for a while, and I just can’t decide. Can it be used overnight? I don’t like to wear pads ever, so that would be very important in my decision making… It can absolutely be worn overnight – and I share your hatred of pads, so being able to wear the Diva Cup overnight without worrying about leakage is AWESOME.
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Good morning Robyn, have you tried WALKIE-TALKIES? I understand they are great. Actually, cell phones would work better, but Fred only carries his around with him sporadically when he’s working outside, and I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to tell him something vitally important and called his cell phone, only to hear it ringing from the computer room. I should take a moment to point out that I’ve lately perfected my “Hey!”, so that I can step out onto the back steps, say “Hey!” with the right volume and pitch, and if he’s anywhere but in the back forty, he’ll hear me and come to find out what I want (I don’t abuse my “Hey!”, though – it’s usually just to tell him that dinner’s ready. I think we need a dinner bell. Would that be goofy?)
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Is it possible you and Fred have hearing loss from noise? Lawnmower, chainsaw, tractor and so on? I can’t recall if you ever mentioned wearing noise reduction type things. We both use hearing protection when we’re working with the loud stuff. Fred, in fact, has these big dorky (um, SEXY! I mean they’re SEXY, baby!) headphones that he wears when he’s on the tractor or riding lawnmower.
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That last photo of Spanky (awesome!!)-there seems to be an octopus or a hand on the bed slat…what is that??? Your question gave me the creeps, so I had to go back and look. It’s a hair clip! The spud liked to keep hair clips in handy locations for hairclipping emergencies.
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I think you should keep the doll bed for the cats and as a keepsake! Maybe Spud’s daughter can play with it one day! Oh, I’m definitely keeping the doll bed – my parents made that bed, I’m certainly not going to get rid of it! If the cats continue to use it, I’ll have to make a little bitty quilt to go on it, though – I wouldn’t want the quilt my mother made to get all cat-hairy!
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couldn’t you have sent your laptop back? Had we realized in time that there was an unfixable issue with the wireless networking stuff, maybe. But we (I) waited so long to start fiddling around with the computer, that we blew through the 30 days we had. At this point, I’m probably going to sell the damn thing on eBay and buy a damn Dell, since so many of you had good things to say about the Dells. Those of you with Dell laptops – tell me what you have and why you love ’em.
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1. You don’t post entries on the weekend. Do you stay off the computer for the entire weekend? How much time per day would you say you spend on the computer, now that you are busy with Crooked Acres? No, I don’t remember the last time I stayed off the computer for an entire day (though I often say I’m going to just turn it off for an entire day – it’s such a time suck, I could probably get twice as much done during the day if I wasn’t running to check my email or do some journal-reading). On an average day, depending on what I’ve got going on that day, I spend around two hours, solidly, on the computer in the morning writing my entry for the day, reading email, checking on the journals I read (something I remain woefully behind on), and surfing. Once my entry’s uploaded, I tend to go off and do whatever needs to be done around the house, and come back to the computer occasionally to check email or look something up. That probably adds another hour, total, to my computer time for the day. 2. What do you and Fred weigh now? I have a weight-loss website where I talk about all that (OneFatBitchypoo). I don’t know how much Fred weighs, but I’m sure if I said “Tell me how much you weigh. Someone asked!”, he’d indicate his weight with one middle finger. Two, if he was feeling froggy. 3. Have you ever checked out the “lifecams” on justin.tv? and would you ever think of wearing one yourself around Crooked Acres? I’d never heard of justin.tv, but according to the site, The live video player streams live content produced from any combination of a camera, computer, and Internet connection. Justin.tv’s technology allows a connection to be established whether Justin is on the go, in a static location, or Lifecasting from a combination of both. Watch the live video player to see Justin’s life broadcasting 24/7. I can’t imagine ever being interested in doing that, and I can’t imagine anyone wanting to watch it – my life’s not that interesting. 4. What veggie will you NOT grow next year that you did this year and why. Every vegetable we’ve grown, I want to grow again next year. I don’t want to grow quite as MUCH of some stuff (less pattypan squash, for one), but so far I’ve liked everything! Oh no, wait – we did try to grow onions, and they didn’t really work out for us. Like Fred said, there are some things that are just too much work to grow, given the cost of buying them in the store. Onions are a pain to grow (you only get one onion from each plant!), and they’re inexpensive in the store, so I don’t think we’ll be growing any of those. 5. What do you think of Star Jones and all the hoopla about how she lost her weight? Star Jones annoys me, but I think if she wants to discuss how she lost the weight (has she said? I know a lot of people are insisting it was weight loss surgery), she should. And if she doesn’t, she shouldn’t – but she also shouldn’t be surprised that people want to KNOW and ask her every time she turns around, because she’s a public figure – sort of – and when you lose that much weight, people are going to want to know the secret. 6. You guys do an awful lot, where do you get all your energy???! Fred likes meth, but I prefer the crack cocaine.
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My sister was COMPLETELY turned off by Saving Grace because she prefers her TV Preaching type shows without the cussing and gettin’ nekkid. Guess she was expecting something more like Touched By An Angel – she ended up with REALLY Touched By An Angel and got all offended. I thought it was -eh- but I might keep with it for awhile. Somewhere – I don’t remember where – someone referred to Saving Grace (before it aired) as “Touched by a Cranky Angel”, and of COURSE I repeated that to Fred, and now every time he sees a commercial for it, he laughs and says “Touched by a Cranky Angel! Ha!”
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I noticed that in yesterday’s post you mentioned Corey Feldman acts like he has a “HUH-YOOG” stick up his a**… did you pick that up from Stephen King’s Lisey’s Story? Because I’ve been reading it and there’s a lot of “smucking” and “puffickly huh-yoog” scattered all over the book. I don’t know why, but it annoys me. Did you read it? Did you like it? I have Blaze waiting for me, but I’m making myself finish Lisey’s Story before I get to it. I don’t think I picked that up from Lisey, but yes – I did read it. And yes, the “smucking” and “puffickly huh-yoog” sort of stuff did annoy the everloving shit out of me. I find that sort of thing a little too cutesy and I think it was overused in the book. That said, I did like the book, but I’d have to say I liked Blaze more. A LOT more, now that I think about it.
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Did I miss any of your questions? I got sidetracked when I was cutting and pasting questions, so if I missed any, re-ask them and I’ll get to them next week, promise!
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A luna moth fluttered into the back yard. Fred tried to pick it up and move it out of the reach of the chickens, but it freaked out, and he couldn’t keep hold of it. He finally left it alone, and after a few tentative pecks at it, the chickens left it alone, too.
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(Why, yes. Someone DID figure out that text thing in Paint Shop Pro!)
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Previously 2006: I’m sorry, but my Aunt Fanny am I a size 40C. 2005: I suspect people as beautiful as Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have to be a little bit nuts, anyway. 2004: WONDERFUL. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: A Day in the Life of a Bitchypoo. 2000: Maine recap.]]>