Author: Robyn

* * * Man, I hit the ground running this morning; thank god I need to update so I can sit on my ass for a little while! I got up at 6:30 because Fred’s taken today and tomorrow off from work, and he wanted to run to Lowe’s and the Co-Op to get a bunch of stuff. Since I needed a couple of bird feeders, I wanted to go with him, and because the earlier you go to places like Lowe’s the less people there are, he wanted to get there right after 7:00. On a side note, I needed a couple of bird feeders because the FUCKING SQUIRRELS figured out that they could chew the plastic hook off the top of the bird feeder that’s been hanging outside the computer room door for months now. I have no issues with squirrels eating out of the bird feeders – I know some people hate them, but I think they’re amusing to watch, especially when they hang upside down and cram as much in their faces as they can before they go scampering off. Anyway, they figured out that they could chew the plastic hook off the top of the (plastic) bird feeder and the bird feeder would fall to the ground, scattering seed and nuts everywhere, and they wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of hanging from their back feet to get to the food. I didn’t realize, of course, that they’d chewed the plastic hook off the top; I thought there’d been an issue with too much weight on the feeder and the hook (or rather, the part where the hook goes through, really) had broken. So I went out to K-Mart (did you even know K-Mart still existed? I did not.) and bought another bird feeder of the same kind, and a different bird feeder that I thought was pretty, and that held more bird seed. I hung the pretty feeder outside the computer room window and the plastic lantern-type (the exact same kind that had been hanging outside the computer room window) from the pecan tree out toward the back forty, and thought no more of it. Until the next day when I looked out the window and saw that the goddamn squirrels had figured out how to get the top off the pretty bird feeder, which made it tilt to the side, spilling seed and nuts all over the goddamn ground. Even though there was a lock-type thingy on the top that should have made it impossible, apparently the country squirrels (now with more salt!) are Einsteins and little things like locks on the top of bird feeders don’t even slow the motherfuckers down. And then I looked toward the pecan tree and saw that the lantern bird feeder I’d hung out there was laying on the ground and covered in cardinals, bluejays, and assorted other birds. When I went out to see what the fuck was going on, I found that the hook at the top of the feeder had been chewed off. Goddamn squirrels. So I needed to go to Lowe’s with Fred to get feeders that squirrels couldn’t get the top off of or chew the hook off of. I got a couple of nice feeders, and as of two hours after I hung them up, they’re still in one piece. After I filled and put up the bird feeders, I went around and cleaned out and refilled the bird baths and cat water bowl (when I run the water over by the garage, Newt loves to sit and watch the water trickle down the driveway. It’s apparently quite fascinating.), gathered up trash, emptied, cleaned, and refilled the litter box in the foster kitten room AND the litter box in the laundry room, carted all the dirty litter to the trash can, which I had to roll to the end of the driveway, it being trash day, and then back inside to clean up the kitchen, start some laundry, and then remember I’d locked Tommy in the foster kitten room (when I was coming out, he ran in and wouldn’t be shooed back out of the room so I yelled “Fine, motherfucker, you stay in there!” and shut the door) so had to go up and make sure no one was dead, shooed Tommy out of the room, and was just sitting down to check my email and start an entry when Fred called (he’d left earlier for a doctor appointment) and asked if I wanted to go to Nearville for breakfast. The restaurant we went to apparently doesn’t serve breakfast during the week – it’s a buffet place – so we drove around for a little while until they opened for lunch, and had a yummy breakfast/ lunch at 10:45. By the time we left half an hour later, we were the youngest people in the restaurant by about 150 years. And now we’re home, and I’m sleepy because I had too many carbs, but I must not sleep because that motherfucker I’m married to went out and picked green beans last night. And in three hours of snapping them last night, I only got a little over half of them snapped. So I’ve got to snap the rest, then can the fuckers. The best part of this is knowing that he didn’t think we were going to have “enough” green beans canned, so he planted an entire second row of the goddamn things.

* * * I made salsa for Fred last night – a bunch of tomatoes, three jalapenos, a huge onion, a couple of green peppers, fresh cilantro, all chopped and stirred together, salt, and a drizzle of lime. He pronounced it “very, very good”, but since I don’t like green peppers (or jalapenos, really) I’ll have to take his word for it. I did try some, but it was too hot for me. I said “If it weren’t for the peppers and cilantro, it’d be really good.” and he said “Then it would just be tomatoes and onion!” and I said “Exactly. That sounds heavenly.” * * * So, we’ve let Tommy in to hang out with the kittens a few times, and it seems to go well. It’s hilarious to see him amongst them, because he’s like Godzilla, he’s so much bigger than they are. They’re absolutely fascinated by him – even Maryanne, who hisses and hisses and hisses at him – and follow him around and sniff at him and just sit and stare at him. It’s seriously cute. Maryanne has a hissy fit. Tommy does not care. :sniff::sniff::sniff::SNIFF::SNIFF::SNIFF:: Spanky gets fresh with Tommy. Tommy explains who the boss is. (Hint: it’s Tommy.) Tommy does not care for the taste of fresh kitten in the morning. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: OR I may have thought to myself, well, every author is entitled to a horrid piece of excrement or two. 2001: I’ve been packing in a desultory and lazy fashion this week, and have about half the upstairs done. 2000: I think if any of the kitties lose their mind and go on a human-throat-gnawing spree, it’ll be her. ]]>

look at and test-drive cars. Fuck if I can even figure out what I spent all day doing. I know there was tomato-canning (note to myself: cook the tomatoes before canning, next time, otherwise they shrink too damn much to make it worth it) and watermelon-rind-pickle-canning (we tested out a couple of the rind pickles before I canned them. They are REALLY good. They remind me a lot of apple pie filling; I bet they’d be good cooked in little handheld pies.) and lots of kitchen-cleaning and vacuuming, but other than that? I don’t know. Ah well. I’m sure it was productive, anyway. I canned more green beans on Sunday, giving us right around 45 billion jars of green beans. It’s a good thing Fred did a second planting of green beans! Otherwise, we might run out before we’re 95. The dehydrator has been running close to 24 hours a day. I had just gotten caught up on the yellow squash and zucchini when Fred brought more in. DAMNIT. I cut a ton of cherry tomatoes in half last night and started them dehydrating; those fuckers take FOREVER to dehydrate – it’s been 17 hours, and they’re not done yet. Okra, on the other hand, dry out pretty quickly. Speaking of okra, they have such pretty flowers, it’s a shame they’re hidden by the leaves of the okra plant. I bought a bunch of bananas at the grocery store on Thursday with the intention of dehydrating them because banana chips are GOOD, and better for you if there’s no oil or extra crap added, but the dehydrator’s been so jam-packed with stuff from the garden that I haven’t had a chance to dry the bananas yet. So Fred started talking about test-driving a Hyundai Accent late last week, and Saturday morning he decided it was time to go do it. After he spent the day working, he took a shower and we headed to Decatur. We took it for a drive, he decided he liked it, and we went inside to talk to the saleslady about how much he’d get for his SUV. Now, here’s the thing. There’s little on this earth I hate more than all the baloney involved when you’re buying a car and trading in your old one and trying to get the most you can for your old vehicle and all that. It makes me want to rip my hair out and run screaming down the street. Somehow I had forgotten how much I loathe that, and then when we sat down and the saleslady had some guy come out to talk to us about how much Fred’s old car would be worth, I remembered and my heart sank. And then the guy sat down to talk to us, and I turned into a pouty teenage brat. Because when it comes down to it, this whole thing was – in my opinion – Fred’s business and didn’t involve me and why on earth would I even need to pay attention. I noticed when the salesman sat down that there was some sort of crease across the top of his head – like a scar from an operation – and then I didn’t bother to look at him again while he talked and talked and talked. I looked at my shoes. I checked out my fingernails. I re-read the last text message I’d gotten from Liz. I considered texting her back (and only didn’t because then she’d text me back, and when she calls or texts me, Beavis and Butthead start laughing (that’s the ringtone assigned to her) and I didn’t want to be THAT obvious. I picked lint off my pants. I glanced up at Fred once or twice. “Is that all?” Fred said, in dismay when the guy named what they were willing to pay for Fred’s old car. “Kelley Blue Book is blahblahblah and blah-dy blah blah.” “Well,” the guy said. “Blah blah blah. And then blah. But now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll call Blah at our sister store and I’ll make sure I’m not missing something. I’ve been out of work for a little while. I got into a motorcycle accident and they put a lot of metal in my head, so it’s making me twitch – it’s not you that’s making me twitch! Ha! Ha! – and I want to make sure I’m giving you a good price.” I couldn’t help it. My head shot up and I looked at the guy like: and then I glanced at Fred, who looked like: and we stared at each other like: I can’t speak for Fred, but I know I was thinking “I hope that scar on his head doesn’t pop out and his brain doesn’t come sproinging at me, because then I’d have to bat it like a volleyball and I never was very good at volleyball.” After more salespeak, wherein I sat in my seat, mesmerized by the scar on the guy’s head, Fred asked if we could have a moment alone to speak, and then we talked about whether he really wanted to trade down from an SUV to a small car (yes, because it uses much less gas), and whether he liked the car. We went out to look at the car some more, and then we went back inside, and Fred told the saleslady he was afraid that going from an SUV to a small car would be too much of a shock, and then she suggested that we take the car for an extended test drive through Monday, and that way he could have some time to see what it would really be like, and he’d see whether he liked driving it to work and all that. So we provided our license and insurance information to the lady, she wrote it all down, and we left Fred’s car at the dealership and left in the Accent. I like the car – like it a LOT, actually, I drove it to Lowe’s yesterday and except for the fact that it’s a standard (I can drive a standard just fine, but prefer automatics; I tried to convince Fred that he’d be happier in an automatic, but he says he likes the “control” a standard gives him) I think it’s the bee’s knees. I told him I thought we should trade my Reno in for an Accent, and we could be dorks in matching cars (except that the one he’s been driving is a dark blue and I’d rather have the silvery sky blue), and I guess we’ll see about that.

* * * Good news: Tina Louise got adopted over the weekend! Yay! Next to go: Gilligan, possibly this week, depending on when room at the pet store comes available. * * * It’s a rough life, being a Toms. Even a rougher life, being a Sugs. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: Off to Maine! 2004: No entry. 2003: “That is a child who does not fear her parents nearly enough.” 2002: It’s a Poo! Inna box! A Poo inna box! What more could you possibly hope for? 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry.]]>

Good grief….you guys are sure in for touching the dead animals (mouse, bird), please tell me that you go in the house and wash your hands!!!! and What are you doing picking up worms and dead things with your BARE HANDS?! I picked up the mouse with my bare hand because (a) I was only touching its tail and (b) I was too damn lazy to walk all the way to the garage for a pair of gloves or a piece of paper towel. And I washed my hands.. eventually. After I ate breakfast and made dinner. I KID. Of course I washed my hands immediately! What kind of germ-carrying Typhoid Mary do you take me for?

* * * As you are the only person I know (well sorta) that is canning. Do you have any non-pressure cooker recipes for pickles? The daughter has grown some and now “wants to make pickles”. Actually, pickles don’t need the pressure cooker because the vinegar you add to the jar makes it acidic enough so that a trip through the water bath canner works just fine. However, of the pickles I’ve made so far, they’ve all come out mushy. I hate the HELL out of a mushy pickle, and I don’t know if it’s the recipe or me or the fact that I’ve been using zucchini (since the cukes aren’t ripe just yet) or what, but if anyone has a recipe for a nice crisp pickle, feel free to share! If you want to give it a trial run, here’s a pickle recipe, though not one I’ve tried myself. They’re all pretty similar, though, so that should give you a feel for what they’re like. * * * My recipe for dirty rice – get in the car, go to Trader Joes and get Tony Chachere’s Dirty Rice Mix. It is fabulous and the easiest thing EVER!! Don’t use Zatarain’s – yucky!!! Of course I feel that way about all of their stuff, so there you have it. I use either ground turkey or 94% lean ground meat. And make sure you put green onions(tops only) into it…mmmm, heaven. Look, you – stop teasing me with the Trader Joe’s! There’s no Trader Joe’s within miles and miles of here (there are some in Georgia), and every time y’all mention that place, I get sad and jealous because we don’t have one (yet!). For those of us who might want to give Tony Chachere’s a try, check Froogle for places to buy it online. (I can’t speak for Zatarain’s, though – I don’t believe I’ve had anything they make, at least not yet!) * * * Yay! Rain! Is the drought over? It might be too soon to say that the drought is really over, but we’ve certainly gotten plenty of rain in the past week. I mowed the lawn last Friday, then the skies opened up and over the past week I think we’ve only had a couple of days when it didn’t rain for at least a little while. The plants in the garden are loving it, and so is the lawn – it needs mowing again! On the down side, I had to use the DRYER to get my laundry done Wednesday, and then it was nice and sunny yesterday, so I spent all day doing laundry (sheets and towels) and hanging them out. The last set of sheets weren’t quite dry by dark so I left them out there. And naturally it started raining first thing this morning. After all that time spent wishing for rain, Fred’s now getting antsy because the rain is making the weeds in the garden go wild, and it’s too muddy to weed. It’s a conundrum! * * * Your previous years entry got me to wondering if you are going to go visit Tigers for Tomorrow again? We are, one of these days. We’ve talked about it, but just haven’t found the time to do it yet! * * * Just curious if you have ever eaten frozen squash? I made a casserole a few weeks ago with some and it was bad, the bad part being it tasted nothing like squash at all. I’ve always heard frozen squash will loose almost all it’s taste. As for the ones I had it was very true. I don’t know that I’ve ever had frozen squash, and I’ve heard that it looses its taste when frozen, too. Which is why I bought a dehydrator and am dehydrating squash from here on out. I don’t know that dehydrated squash will taste any better, but like Fred keeps saying to me, this is our learning year. If dehydrated squash tastes bad, we’ll plant fewer plants next year and just eat them when they’re in season! * * * I am so glad that you do what you do with the fosters and volunteering at the pet store. I want to do something like that, but I’m not sure I could take it. Do you ever get weepy over the kitties? Oh do I EVER get weepy over the kitties. I get weepy every single time I have to take a kitten to the pet store and leave it in a cage, because it’s scared and doesn’t understand what’s going on, and I can’t say “Look, I know it’s scary, but it’s for the best! Someone’s going to come along and fall in love with you, and they’ll take you home, and it’ll be AWESOME!” – well, I CAN say that, and I often do, but they don’t understand and I hate how frightened they are. But I do know it’s for the best and I trust the adoption counselors for the shelter (they don’t hesitate to say “no” to people, which is why I could never be an adoption counselor), so as hard as it is, I’ll keep on doing it. The difficulty in saying goodbye is very much offset by the fun part of being able to play with them and watch them grow. * * * Well, I had a dinner-related meltdown at my house last night! I didn’t get home until 8, and had things to do, so I had a plate of the meal my bf cooked, and when he offered me seconds, I refused, although I told him I liked what he had made. He went to bed, and I finished my business, and by that time (close to midnight), he’d woken up from his nap, ready to pout. I asked him what was wrong and he told me he was really angry because the meal he made was difficult. I inadvertently insulted him by not eating more of the food. He thought I’d eaten before I got home even though he’d told me he was going to cook. He said in the future he’d just make something easy, like eggs. Well, ho ho ho! We haven’t known each other long enough for him to know all my buttons, but fucking sulking like a giant-ass baby when I didn’t even do anything is probably my biggest, reddest button and he was jumping up and down on it. I told him that even if I had known how difficult the meal was to make, I still wouldn’t have had a second helping because it was rich and I wasn’t that hungry (and I had things to do so didn’t want to linger at the table). HOWEVER, IN THE FUTURE I GUESS I WILL HAVE THIRDS IF IT WILL KEEP YOU FROM THROWING A TEMPER TANTRUM, THERE THERE, HERE’S A JUICE BOX. I just had to put this comment in here because it cracks me UP. For the record, I’d never get pissed off if someone didn’t have seconds on whatever I made; I’d just figure Fred could take it to work for lunch the next day, or I could eat it myself. I’m going to adopt HERE’S A JUICE BOX and use it next time Fred’s acting like a big baby. Hee. * * * Ummm…pickled watermelon rind? Pickled watermelon rind! (You have to scroll down a bit) I’ve never made this stuff before, so I can’t swear to how good it is. I’ll have to let y’all know. * * * (Regarding the spud leaving) Great. Now I’m all teary-eyed. Thanks a lot! (Are you all teary-eyed? Hope not!) I got a little teary-eyed when I was saying goodbye to her, but I’ve been fine (except for the part where she’s driving a million miles to get to Rhode Island). Like I said, it’ll probably be this Fall before it really hits home that she’s not coming back. * * * For a woman that loves to go out to eat at any opportunity (and I, myself, join those ranks,) you sure do cook a lot. What, may I ask, is your favorite dish to cook and/or eat? I’d say either hamburgers cooked on the grill (because then all I have to do is make the hamburger patties; Fred does the cooking), or meat loaf, because I really like meat loaf and it’s something I can make ahead and just pop into the oven when the time comes. I like both Core meat loaf and Mini meat loaves. Meatloaf with a side of oven fried zucchini and some green beans sounds just about perfect to me. * * * Speaking of green beans, I opened a jar of the green beans I canned last weekend, and I am VERY pleased to report that they weren’t mushy at all. I cannot abide a mushy green bean, and so this weekend I’ll be opening a jar of the pressure canned green beans I made a few weeks ago to test the mushiness of those and compare the two. All things being equal, though, I think the sugar-and-vinegar beans (I rinsed the sugar-and-vinegar brine off the beans and except for a slight tanginess, you couldn’t tell they’d been canned in sugar and vinegar) are easier than the pressure-cooked ones, because I don’t have to deal with the pressure cooker. That pressure cooker always makes me a little bit leery; I don’t want it to explode and decapitate me. Because then I’d probably poop my guts out, and that just wouldn’t be a pretty sight. * * * Some sights from around the back yard area this morning: Just sitting there, all casually, atop the gate leading into the chicken yard. Bastard. I assume this cicada shed his shell and was hanging out for a few minutes ’til he was ready to take off. I don’t know why, but our sunflowers are falling over. Maybe the rain? I hate these goddamn Japanese Beetles. All they do is chew on the plants, then sit around on the weeds and fornicate, making new baby Japanese Beetles. UGH. Baby grasshopper. The girls are really starting to look like chickens, with their red.. head thingies (I don’t know what they’re called) coming up, and their red wattles developing. They should start laying eggs in the next few weeks, I think. * * * Gilligan, Maryanne, and Spanky are adapting well to not having Tina Louise around. In fact, they don’t really seem to notice that she’s missing. Gilligan’s starting to get more affectionate – he’ll sit and let me scratch behind his ears and on his back for a long, long time. He freaks out if I try to pick him up (I just want to kiss him!), but he’ll come over if I wiggle my fingers at him, and let me pet him. Definite progress! In the morning and evening, the kittens get a little snack of a spoonful of plain lowfat yogurt on a plate. They like it a lot, but Gilligan has decided he doesn’t like it anymore. That’s fine with Maryanne and Spanky – more for them! “I just don’t see what all the fuss is about, lady.” “You hear that, Elizabeth? I’m coming to join you, honey!” * * * Previously 2006: I think I need a nap. 2005: Hey. What’s worse than not being able to stop yourself from crying? WHEN A MOTHERFUCKER KEEPS LOOKING AT YOU TO SEE IF YOU’RE CRYING. 2004: She looked simultaneously confused and disgusted. “When do I eat CHICKEN eggs?” She wrinkled her nose. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: Sh’yeah. I’m sure Brad’s reallllly worried. 2000: Could that paragraph have been any more rambly and pointless? ]]>

Chicken and Spinach Adobo for dinner. I called Fred to dinner, he took a bite of chicken, and made a face. “It tastes awful… chickeny,” he said. This is a common complaint of his, one I’ve never quite understood. One of the reasons we stopped buying free-range chickens from the farm in Hartselle is because they tasted, according to him, “too chickeny.” I guess he expected they’d taste like… what? Mint chocolate chip? That’s why we only bought one dozen eggs from the same farm, because he didn’t like the taste. I don’t remember exactly how he put it, but I’m sure he thought the eggs were too eggy. This does not give me high hopes for when our bitchez start producing eggs. Anyway, he took a bite, made a face, and commented on the chickeniness of the chicken I’d made for dinner. Which pissed me off, because I cannot FUCKING STAND IT when I make dinner – dinner I don’t particularly WANT to make, because I’d eat every single meal out, if given the choice – and he or the spud turn their nose up at it. It drives me flat-out fucking nuts. I think it’s RUDE. “You’re so goddamn RUDE,” I said. “Why?” he said. “I didn’t say you made it poorly, you can’t help if it tastes chickeny! It’s no reflection on your or your cooking!” Still, I was mad. “Because I made this fucking DINNER and you come in, take one bite, and make a face!” I snarled. “IT’S RUDE.” “It’s not RUDE,” he protested. “It’s just the way it is! I’m still going to eat it! Look!” And he took another bite of the chicken. And made a face at its chickeniness. “It IS rude,” I said. “And I’m going to put a poll up on my site and invite everyone to vote, and they’ll tell you it’s rude, too!” Fred grinned through a mouthful of chickeny chicken. “I thought you were going to say you were going to put a pole up my ass.” “If you don’t stop making that face, I MIGHT.” So, vote.

HOW RUDE!
Is it rude, when someone’s been slaving over dinner, for someone else to come in, take a bite of said meal, make a face, and comment disparagingly on the chickeniness of the chicken?	Yes. God. SO RUDE. No. God. You’re so TOUCHY. I don’t know. God. I don’t CARE. I just like to click!
	Current Results

* * * Saturday, after we’d been to see TransSNOREmers, we went to the grocery store to pick up a few things, then decided to go to Big Lots to see if they had any cheap-ass furniture we could use as a canning cupboard, at least temporarily, since all the stuff I’ve canned is starting to really take over the huge-ass mantel in the dining room. We were looking for a parking spot, and Fred said something horribly politically incorrect. I don’t even remember what it was, only that it annoyed me, which is the only reason he ever says horrible things, to get a rise out of me. “I’M GOING TO WRITE ABOUT THAT,” I said, annoyed. “I’m going to write that you said that, and my readers will rise up and you will be SORRY.” He just smirked at me. “If they knew half the awful shit you say just to be an ass, you’d be HUNG,” I said. He grinned. “Oh, I already am!” I walked right into THAT one. * * * To answer the question about Sugarbutt’s trip to the vet – I mentioned that I thought he had ringworm, because we discovered over the weekend (because it always ALWAYS has to happen on a holiday or over the weekend, doesn’t it?) a big raw spot on his neck. Well. It ain’t ringworm. It’s a goddamn blahdy-blah ulcer, like the one that affects Miz Poo’s lip. Caused by allergies. I didn’t realize it until I was looking him over with the vet, but he has a couple of spots on his lip too. DAMN IT. She gave him a shot of steroids, and his neck is already looking about 10,000 times better. I hope it was a one-time thing, but I’m afraid it’s not. If he has an issue again, I’m going to ask if we can do an allergy test on him like we did on Miz Poo. Like I said to the vet, why is it ALWAYS my favorite ones? (She suggested I’m a carrier. Heh.) * * * Note that the damn chickens CERTAINLY make themselves at home when Fred lets them into the back yard every afternoon. We’ve got a Buff roosting on the side of the pot that holds the one roma tomato plant we’ve got – they also like to peck at the damn plant, and oddly enough (NOT) it has stopped producing tomatoes. There’s a Speckle on the table, rooting through the black beans Fred left there to dry, and on the chair is another Speckle, about to lay a big chickeny poop on that chair, I’m sure. You can check the picture out on Flickr to see the damn chickens in better detail. * * * Tina Louise is now at the pet store. When I put her in the cage to check it out (and then took her out and cuddled her; I didn’t just throw her in the cage and take off, no – it was an hour-long extravaganza of coaching her to look cute and be friendly with a heaping helping of feeling guilty liberally sprinkled on top), she walked around the cage hissing, and when people walked by she’d hiss some more. She checked out her litter box and I was afraid she might decide to hide in there, but she didn’t – she came out and looked around some more, and finally I had to leave or else I’d clutch her to my bosom and run out of there and maybe hide her in the closet and keep her forever and ever. The word from the adoption counselor (they do adoptions Tuesday evenings), someone was quite taken with her, but since they got to the store just before it closed, they were going to come back Friday and maybe adopt her or Eragon (the cat who was abandoned by the side of the road in a cat carrier in the middle of the summer in Alabama, grrrrr), or hopefully both. Here’s hoping! Break my heart, why dontcha? * * * Speaking of foster kitties, remember Jack Frost, one of the Christmas kitties? This is one of my favorite pictures I’ve ever taken. In fact, it’s the picture on my checks right now. Well, he was returned to the shelter last week because his owners were moving and couldn’t or didn’t want to take him with them. (Grrrr.) This is Jack Frost now. Fred says he has a Mister Boogers hatin’ look. * * * Sugarbutt, hiding in Fred’s bed. He does this whenever the doorbell rings or a stranger enters the house. * * * Previously 2006: I thought I was going to die from the sheer annoyance factor. 2005: But really, is there anything less threatening than giving someone the FINGER? 2004: No entry. 2003: Ever have one of those days, or is it just me? 2002: He can’t close a drawer all the way to save his life. 2001: What next, I ask you? 2000: Surely y’all know me better by now?]]>

Edited to add: I don’t know why I thought it was square. Here it is (if that link doesn’t work, search on “Kool Dogz Ice Treat Maker”). Though why you couldn’t just use a plain ol’ $5 bucket from Target, I don’t know.

* * * From my comments: Have you seen the Animal Planet show “Meerkat Manor“? It’s been on a for a few seasons, but I just discovered it. [snip] Both cats then proceed to watch the show INTENTLY. We had five episodes Tivo’d and they sat there watching the entire time. It’s like kitty crack or a kitty soap opera. They LOVED it and it really was the cutest thing to see them watching, their little heads moving back and forth to follow the action. I’ve watched a couple of episodes of Meerkat Manor, and I think it’s about the cutest thing ever. We only watched a few episodes, though, and then the DVR stopped recording it, and it completely left my mind that I’d ever watched it, and now I think I’ll go set the DVR to catch some more episodes. The cats weren’t interested in it, though – our cats are rarely interested in what’s on TV. Unless we’re watching a loud movie with lots of bass, and then That Badass Mister Boogers gets all scared and runs out of the room. * * * My 15 year old cat became depressed while I was away for two weeks and he lost a lot of weight. He stopped eating but would drink water. I have been force feeding him baby food, between 1 and 2 jars a day if I am lucky. He seems like he put on a pound or two but I still feel his spine when I pet him. I have not taken him in to the vet because I know they are going to tell me terrible things. If he is going to die then I don’t want to torture him first. He is alert, loving and I still can get him to purr. Do you have any advice? My only advice is to take him to the vet. It’s better to know what you’re dealing with – and it really could be something easily cured, it’s not necessarily something horrible or anything that will require a lot of treatment (ie, torture). You’re honestly going to be better off knowing what’s going on, rather than not knowing, and thinking the worst. * * * I think you should name a future foster kitty pattypan. I don’t know why, but it cracks me up every time I read it. I think that’s an EXCELLENT idea. Maybe I’ll name the next bunch of fosters after things from the garden – Zucchini and Pattypan and Sunflower, maybe? * * * I know you probably addressed this but your ‘past entries’ reminded me…. do you miss the pool? Will you be putting a pool in at the new place? Surprisingly, I don’t miss the pool we had at our first house, at all. There are times when it’s really hot out, and I think it would be nice to go for a swim, but for the most part, I don’t really miss it. There are no plans to get a pool at this point, but who knows? Things change! Now if we could buy that quarry (the one we used to swim at, that has since been closed to the public), that’d be something else entirely. * * * Gosh Robyn, you really haven’t said much about the Spud moving to Rhode Island. How are you feeling about the whole thing? How soon does she plan to come and visit? I’m not sure I’d be handling it as well as you seem to be. Is she driving to Rhode Island by herself??? The other night in bed, Fred and I were discussing what we were having for dinner for the rest of the week, and he said “What are we having Thursday?” and I said “A big bowl of PAR-TAY.” I KID. I’m dealing surprisingly well with the situation, though I’ve been weepier than usual over the past week or so. The thing is that we’re used to her going away for several weeks every summer, so it really just seems like the same sort of thing. I expect it won’t really sink in that she’s gone until August comes, and rather than coming home to get ready to start school, she’ll still be gone. I don’t know when she’s planning to come visit – she hasn’t said anything about it, so we’ll see. She’s not driving to Rhode Island by herself, there’s no way on earth my nerves could take it if she was doing that. Her father is flying down from Rhode Island tomorrow, they’re spending the night in a hotel, and hitting the road early Thursday morning. If he wasn’t flying down, I was fully prepared to step in and tell her I’d drive to Rhode Island with her. She hasn’t made any long road trips – not to Birmingham or Nashville, even – and the idea of her driving all that distance by herself? No way I could handle that! * * * It’s almost time for the spud to go, huh? 🙁 Will she have a gaggle of cats waiting for her at her new home, or is she gonna have to go cold turkey? Which of the cats at your house is she gonna miss the most? Are any of the 6 (eight!) “her” cat? Her father and stepmother have two cats, so she won’t go catless, thank god. I’m not sure which cat she’ll miss the most, though I think it’ll probably come down to Miz Poo or Mister Boogers; both of them like to hang out in her room, and I know Mister Boogers tends to sleep with her (he’s a bed hog, she has reported). None of them are really “her” cat, but they all like her plenty. They think she’s the cat’s pajamas! Maxi thinks she might like a trip to Rhode Island, though. * * * Warning: Grossness ahead. Avoid this section if you’re eating or have a weak stomach. This morning I got up at 6 (which I’ve been doing more often than not lately; even if I WANT to sleep in, my eyes pop open at 6. Ugh.), puttered around the house, and then went outside to fill the bird feeders and clean and refill the bird baths. I had just filled a bird feeder when I looked down and saw two worms squirming around. “Hey, the chickens would like those!” I said, and picked them up. Let me pause for a moment to reiterate – I PICKED THEM UP. Worms. I picked them up. With my veryown hands. WHO AM I AND WHAT HAVE I DONE WITH THE REAL ROBYN? So I picked up the worms and walked into the back yard, and as I crossed the lawn to the chicken yard, I saw a rather large, dead mouse laying there. Fred leaves a couple of gates to the back yard open at night so Maxi and Newt can come and go as they please. Apparently Maxi, the mighty mighty hunter, had killed a mouse and kindly left it for our indoor kitties to snack upon. Luckily, they hadn’t found it yet. I tossed the worms to the chickens, who looked at the worms, then looked at me, and said “Lady. Seriously. This is all you’ve got? WORMS? Give us something good. Give us some CHICKEN or some egg salad, for the love of BUG-AWK.” Then I walked back to where the dead mouse was laying, and I regarded it, and I pondered. Did I leave it there until Fred got home and let him deal with it? No, because our indoor kitties might decide to snack upon it and then come inside and barf up mouse pieces all over the house. I considered getting a shovel, picking it up with that, and tossing it into the ditch, but finally I told myself to MAN UP, NANCY, bent over, and picked it up by the tail. Involuntary, I shuddered and made the GOOD CHRIST THIS IS NASTY face, and high-stepped it for the unfenced area of the yard. I got through the gate and then stood for a moment to consider what I wanted to do. Did I want to carry it alllll the way to the ditch, or did I want to leave it near the tree for Fred to deal with? As I stood there, the corpse of the mouse turned a bit in the breeze, making its tail twist between my thumb and forefinger, and it felt EXACTLY like the tail was moving – as if the mouse had come back to life and was considering the best way to gnaw my face off – and in one smooth movement I did a two-step dance move that looked like something from Lord of the Dance, screamed a hooting sort of shriek, and flung the mouse away from me. It landed next to the nearest tree and I winced and gagged and shuddered, and decided to leave it there. I headed to the garage to get more bird seed to fill the bird feeders, and on my way to the garage I saw a second – much smaller – dead mouse. I kicked it over by the other one; Fred can deal with them both when he gets home. An hour later, after a quick trip to the recycling center, I walked from the driveway to the door and looked over to see Newt. Who was hunched over the bigger of the two mice. Chewing on it. BLEGH. The mighty, mighty huntress. * * * I took the kittens to the vet for their rabies shots yesterday. When I walked in, I said “Just so you know, these kittens aren’t friendly at all. They’re pretty wild.” and the vet assistant looked worried, and she said “Do they scratch?” I said, “They don’t really scratch, they just kind of hiss and growl and flail around a lot.” “Oh great,” she said, and opened the carrier. She reached in to grab Gilligan, and they hissed and backed up, and she withdrew her hand. “They’re YOUR fosters,” she said. “I think YOU should get them out!” I reached in and grabbed Maryanne, who hissed and flailed, but once I got her out and was holding her by the nape of the neck, she just looked angry. They all got weighed and got their shots, and then were happy to be back in their carrier, huddled together and full of hatred. In a few hours I’ll be running Tina Louise to the pet store, and hopefully someone will fall in love with her goofy little face and her beauty mark and adopt her immediately. Fingers crossed! Gilligan in the hammock. “I am highly suspicious of your intentions, lady.” Mister Suspicious and the Lovebug. * * * I got this little stair thingy on eBay from the same people I got the cat tree from, and I put it in front of the window next to my desk in the computer room. See, there used to be a recliner there, and Spot liked to lay on the back of the recliner and look out the window, but we moved the recliner to the front room and so Spot’s been hanging out there instead. So I saw this stair thingy and thought it would be perfect for Spot, because he’s old and doesn’t move as easily as he used to. Only, Spot could NOT be less interested in it; instead, Tommy and Mister Boogers fight for dominance of the stair thingy. They like to snooze on the top step and sometimes dig through the trash and see if there’s anything interesting. Why he doesn’t just go to the front porch to stay dry, I don’t know. * * * Previously 2006: Playing with tigers. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: How to kick a sock’s ass. If it had an ass. 2002: “What’s your name?” he asked. 2001: No entry. 2000: Leave it to me to have sex dreams about the gay guy, huh?]]>

SoftPaws would prevent them from climbing, but you’d think wrong. I guess all they need is their back claws to get them up the tree, and use their front paws for holding on. The worst part of the whole experience was finally getting ahold of Tommy and starting to climb down the fence, and Tommy losing his shit, clawing at me, getting free, and leaping onto the ground from about ten feet up. He was perfectly fine, but I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Goddamn cats.

* * * I don’t know that my day got much better after that. I spent ten hours canning and freezing shit, and I am SICK TO FUCKING DEATH of waiting for stuff to come to a boil on my shitty stove. I had mixed together the water, vinegar, and sugar for this recipe and I kid you not – it took an HOUR AND A HALF to come to a boil. By the end of the day I’d canned five pints of green beans, another five of corn, vacuum-packed a bazillion ears of corn for the freezer, and a ton and a half of summer squash, zucchini, and pattypan squash. Then I peeled and seeded a ton of tomatoes, cut them up, put them in the stock pot and let them cook for a few hours, and if we get an entire serving of spaghetti sauce out of all those goddamn tomatoes, we’ll be lucky. That’s what I get for slacking all day Saturday, I guess. Saturday morning I got up and was gearing up to do some canning when Fred mentioned that Transformers was playing in Nearville at the theater where we’d attempted to see Live Fred Free or Die Hard last week. Also, it was starting at 10:00, and it was my opinion that no one was going to get their lazy asses out of bed to get to the movie theater at 10:00 on a Saturday morning, so we’d practically have the theater to ourselves. I took a shower, spent some time with the fostermonkeys, lazed around reading a book, and then it was time to go. As I’d suspected, there were few other people in the theater, though a group of seven or eight preteen boys showed up about ten minutes into the movies. The movie, well, what can I say about a movie I wasn’t interested in seeing in the first place? That cute little Shia LaBeouf is a cutie pie, and I think he was well-suited for the role. Megan Fox is a hottie, I guess, though I don’t know why they didn’t just have her carry a sign around that said “I’m a raging hottie and I know lots about cars and I’m every boy’s wet dream! LOLZ!” and be done with it. I didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on during the action sequences, though I’m sure if I were a geek and a 13 year-old boy, watching things transform into other things would have been cool. Mostly I enjoyed the funny parts and my mind wandered during the rest of it and I found myself wishing I had a book and flashlight with me, more than once. I’m sure Fred will want to own it so he can watch the transforming parts over and over again, which is when I’ll be catching up on my reading. * * * I was supposed to take Tina Louise to the pet store on Saturday, but Friday afternoon the shelter manager realized that none of them had had their rabies shots yet and so I was about to shoot out the door to take them to the vet when the spud called to tell me that she’d been in an accident. She called me before she’d even gotten out of the car, apparently, and I asked her how bad it was, and she got out of the car, looked, and started crying. “It’s bad!” she said. I told her to call the police, hung up, and called Fred. He was closer to where she’d had the accident, so he left work and went to where she was, and I sat and worried that she’d totaled her car, five days before she was to drive it to Rhode Island. When Fred called me back a while later, he told me it was just a fender bender. Her rear fender was dented and her left rear reflector was broken, but it was definitely drivable and not bad. So the spud has to do all the fun grown-up things she didn’t have to do when she got into an accident two years ago (poor E’gar!), like get the accident report, open a claim with the insurance company, get an estimate. She’s supposed to be doing all that today, and hopefully she’ll get it all done before Wednesday. Welcome to adulthood, right? Anyway, I didn’t take the kittens to the vet, so Tina Louise got a reprieve and got lots of snuggles this weekend. I’m taking them all to have their rabies shots this afternoon, then Tina Louise will be going to the pet store tomorrow. I hope like hell she gets adopted before next Monday, because I would HATE seeing her little monkey face in that cage next Monday. Also going to the vet’s this afternoon will be Sugarbutt. Not only is he due for his yearly checkup and shots, we found a raw-looking spot on his neck over the weekend that looks an awful lot like it could be ringworm (pleasegoddontletitberingworm), so he needs to have that looked at. I suspect that it will be a FUN drive to the vet, with the kittens looking terrified and Sugarbutt looking terrified, and having to hold Sugarbutt down (the cat don’t take too kindly to strangers) so the vet can look at him, and trying to hold the kittens down so they can get their shots. Why do I get to have all the fun, I ask you? * * * The Sugs in question. You’ll note a bare-ish patch on his arm. I don’t know what’s up with that, either. I thought it might be a grooming thing, but he’s got a patch like that behind his ear as well, so I don’t know. Hopefully the vet will! * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: I am smooth like a Barbie doll, and as far as I’m concerned, everyone else in the world is lacking nipples and sexual organs. 2003: Although, my father used to say to me ‘Nando, don’t be a shnook. It’s not how you feel, it’s how you look! And roo look mahvelous! 2002: Because, my friends, I am a squeezer. 2001: Any excuse to hold up the Laziest Gal in the South title. 2000: No entry.]]>

* * * Those of you who suggested the Corn Zipper in yesterday’s comments, it is clear to me that great minds think alike. Mine should be here later today, and hopefully it’ll be exactly what I need. Especially since Fred picked another ten ears of corn yesterday (which I put in Food Saver bags, husk and all, vacuumed and sealed, and stuck them in the freezer. The food dehydrator should be here later today, and it can’t be soon enough – I need to get those cherry tomatoes a-dryin’, because we’ve got a metric ton of them. I’m also going to try my hand at drying zucchini and yellow squash, and maybe some pattypan, too. If I post an entry on Monday saying that one of the cats disappeared over the weekend, it is NOT because I dehydrated one of them, then vacuum-sealed them in a Food Saver bag. I’d never do that (unless they were being veryvery annoying, of course).

* * * Comments: Can you not get regular, NORMAL bugs like little ants, or maybe a house fly? What’s with all of the prehistoric monsters??? Well, we get those too, of course, but who the hell wants to see pictures of a little ant or a house fly (we usually get a couple of flies in the house every day. I’ve become quite skilled with the fly swatter!)? I want to ook y’all out with a picture of a big, nasty bug! * * * Are you sick of the gardening questions yet? 🙂 Do you water your garden by hand, or do you let the rain (lack thereof this year, I hear) take care of it? I’m not sick of the gardening questions, as long as y’all realize I’m no gardening guru and very well might not know what the hell I’m talking about! We’ve had so little rain this spring and summer that Fred’s been using soaker hoses in the garden. He usually waters a couple of rows every day. He uses a regular sprinkler for the cantaloupe and watermelon section of the garden, because those plants are growing kind of willy-nilly. * * * I LOVE zucchini, but have never had patty pan squash. Not to sound stupid, but how do you cut that up? Do you eat the rind? Thanks! I usually cut it up so that I get the biggest slices, if that makes any sense – holding the squash so the stem is pointing to the side, I cut it straight down, in slices, and I don’t peel it first. So far we’ve eaten it oven-fried and also sauteed with garlic and onion. The taste is similar to zucchini or yellow squash, but I think it holds together a little better than those do. I love the pattypan squash oven-fried, but I think next year we don’t need to plant quite as many of them – we have a ton in the freezer, and I’m not sure if it’ll work to oven-fry them this winter. I guess we’ll see! * * * does Sugarbutt get up on your cabinets without leaving scratches on the sides??? My orange tabby kitten Boudreaux has wrecked a very nice buffet (sideboard) by digging his back claws into the side for leverage when he jumps up on it. Grr. I actually had to go look at the cabinets to see if there were any scratches; there aren’t, maybe because Sugarbutt jumps up onto the counter, from there to the top of the refrigerator, and then from there to the top of the cabinets, and none of those jumps are all that high. * * * Say goodbye to Tina Louise, y’all. She’s off to the pet store tomorrow. * * * It’s tough to be a Toms. * * * Previously 2006: If the vet tells me that Tommy’s overweight, I’m going to say, with great dignity, “We prefer to call him ‘portly’.” 2005: Mia. 2004: There were a couple of parts that had me laughing so hard I could barely breathe – especially the line “I see you have a little swimming mouse”. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: Have I ever mentioned that I’m kind of a dork?]]>