Author: Robyn

6/20/07

* * * Do lawyers know – or care – that when they do things like spell the middle name of someone incorrectly throughout a document, it makes them look shoddy and uncaring about details? And when they send an initial document to the correct address and a following document to the incorrect address, it makes them look clueless and a little stupid and possibly like ambulance chasers who can’t afford good office help? Just curious.

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I stole this meme from Danielle, even though she didn’t tag me, and I didn’t realize until just now that Carol had! (Speaking of Carol, check out the bebbe kittens. So sweet they’ll give you cavities!) Instructions: Remove the blog from the top, move all blogs up one, add yourself to the bottom. 1. playgroups are no place for children 2. scenic overlook 3. pacer 4. sincere obscurity 5. bitchypoo what were you doing 10 years ago? I was… living in an apartment with Fred and the spud in Huntsville (it was technically Huntsville, but it was right on the edge of Madison), working as an office manager at Fred’s company. I can’t believe that in August I’ll have lived down here for 11 years. five snacks you enjoy 1. Raw green beans, fresh off the vine 2. Quaker cinnamon streusel mini rice cakes 3. Jack Links Beef Nuggets. 4. I’ve eaten way too much zucchini bread (I make it without the frosting, but add Ghiardelli milk chocolate chips to it) lately (I’ve promised to stop making it ’til I can make it with our own zucchini – and yesterday we got our first ripe one!). 5. Cheerios, without milk. five songs you know all the lyrics to 1. Friends in Low Places (shaddup) 2. All Cried Out (shaddup, I say) 3. Surrender 4. Always the Last to Know 5. Least Complicated five things you’d do if you were a millionaire 1. Donate a buttload of money to the no-kill cat shelter I volunteer for. 2. Send a buttload of money (anonymously) to people who are having a hard time of it right now. 3. Hire a cleaning service. 4. Buy a summer home on the coast of Maine. 5. Travel the world and see all the countries I’ve always wanted to visit. five bad habits 1. Chewing on my fingernails. 2. I am ALWAYS touching my face. 3. Procrastinating. 4. (Yeah, it’d be funny if I left the last two blank. Hee!) Jumping to conclusions. 5. Not watching where I’m going (which invariably ends with me kicking a cat. DAMN CATS. They see me walking towards them, they KNOW I have a bad habit of kicking them. You suppose they’d move? NO.) five things you like to do 1. Read 2. Watch TV 3. Walk around the back forty 4. Snuggle with the kitties (especially Miz Poo, who’s always ready for a snuggle). 5. five things you’d never wear again I think this requires illustration. So, in no particular order: 1. Pigtails. Not because I don’t want to, but I doubt my hair will ever be long enough again. Besides, I’ve obviously peaked when it comes to pigtaily cuteness. 2. A spiky wig, trying to look badass. (My defense: it was Halloween!) 3. A prom dress. That boy on the right side of the picture was my date (this was my Junior prom, by the way), and I had SUCH a crush on him. ::sigh:: 4. Any kind of maternity anything. This was the morning of the day the spud was born; we were about to leave for the hospital. 5. Perm. Good god I had big hair. 6. McDonald’s uniform. God willing and the creek don’t rise, I won’t wear another one of these. God, the polyester hideousness of it. five favorite toys 1. RodPod. 2. My camera (Sony Cybershot DSC-P200) 3. My laptop 4. iTunes (which I use in conjunction with RodPod and my laptop!) 5. My shredder. I am a shredding motherfucker and shred anything that’s ever even thought of having my name and address printed on it. five people to tag I don’t usually tag people but… oh, what the hell. 1. Nance 2. Jane 3. Elayne 4. Kathy 5. Amy
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While I was looking for those pictures above of myself, I found these really cute ones: “Our little beatnik” my mother wrote on the back. I was 17 months old. ADORABLE. Am I allowed to say that? I said to Fred “Holy crap! I have the same hairstyle that I had back then!” and he said “You should try to do the flippy things in the back” and I had to inform him that I TRY to get my hair to do that flippy thing, but it rarely cooperates. *sigh*
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Last week, I decided that the kittens needed to have a cat tree in the foster kitty room, so I went on eBay and I bought a good one – a BIG one – for $1 plus $55 shipping. I don’t even want to know how these people are making money, because they might overcharge a little on the shipping, but I don’t think they overcharged by much at all if they did, because the cat tree I bought was very very heavy. Anyway, the cat tree arrived, Fred put it together, and stuck it in a corner of the living room, and our cats immediately climbed all over it, and Sugarbutt fell asleep in the top platform. After a day of consideration, I decided I liked the new cat tree better than the old one, and we decided to keep the new one downstairs for our cats and take the old one upstairs for the foster room. I’d say that the cat tree was a big hit with the foster babies. The funny thing here is that it’s Maxi on the inside and Tom on the outside looking in. Usually it’s the other way around. Maxi checks Spot out. A moment later she decided he was alright, tried to rub against him, and he birthed a hissyfit of epic proportions. One of these things is not like the others, One of these things just doesn’t belong, Can you tell which thing is not like the others By the time I finish my song?
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Sugarbutt loves him a belly rub.
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Previously 2006: “Save your breath,” I said, gasping for air. “I don’t believe a word you say, you lying liar.” 2005: “Spot caught a copperhead!” 2004: No entry. 2003: Poor Gram. 2002: Oh, quit with the gasps of horror. 2001: Lynn is very very nice, but as I’ve mentioned, she doesn’t appreciate the beauty of silence. 2000: I was giving out dirty looks left and right, let me tell you.]]>

6/19/07

* * * I stayed up later than usual last night, because Fred had picked two and a half pounds of green beans, and I didn’t get them all snapped before bedtime. So once he went off to bed, I settled in on the couch, watched Big Love, and snapped away. I really like Big Love, I have to say, even though the idea of polygamy (heh – I almost typed “polygamory”) and the idea that people could be happy in that lifestyle blows my mind. I’ll be honest, as someone who doesn’t share well with others, the idea of sharing my husband with other women (except for his Bitchez, of course) makes me cranky. I don’t get polygamy, and the two most smackable faces in all of Hollywood (Bill Paxton* and Chloe Sevigny) star in it, but I really, really like the show. Odd, no? *Just thinking about Bill Paxton in Twister howling “We’re going INNNNNNNN!” drives me right to the edge of a homicidal rage.

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Speaking of green beans and the snapping of such, I blanched and froze another two and a half pounds today. I think we’ve got five or so pounds in the freezer, in all. I also blanched and froze three pounds of summer squash. I wish my damn canning stuff would GET here. (Should be here tomorrow, according to the tracking number.)
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Hellew.
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They TAUNT me, do you see? With the rolling around looking so cute my head explodes? And then I reach out to pet them and they hop up and run away. They will be the death of me. I mean, COME ON! They walk up and sniff my knee, and then they won’t let me pet them? Is this FAIR? Disapproves of “this Koontz fellow.” “I are… about this tall. No, a little taller! No, that’s right. This tall. I are this tall!”
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Previously 2006: I hate that fucker. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: Then, I stopped and thought about it, which hurt a little. 2002: I was an errand-running fool today. 2001: You always know you’re going to have a nice, clean system the next day if you’ve eaten you a big ol’ helpin’ of okra. 2000: Oh, that’s right. That was my bright idea.]]>

6/18/07

I wanted to tell you to please let your readers know about heat stroke in animals. Yesterday I received a phone call from my 14 year old that one of our beloved dogs was dead. I raced home to see if I could figure out what had happened and was convinced that she was poisoned. We took her to the vet and they did a necropsy (sp) (autopsy on animals) and determined that it was heat stroke. She was healthy, had plenty of water, and was used to being outside. The temp outside was only about 85. The vet said she got over excited and couldn’t cool herself down. Here’s the bad part, if we had known something was wrong all we had to do was hose her down to cool her off. Please let your readers know about this silent killer due to the hot summer we are expected to have. The vet also said that heat stroke can kill in less than 20 min. FYI (information found here): In case of an emergency, it’s important to be able to identify the symptoms of heat stress caused by exposure to extreme temperatures. Check the animal for signs of heavy panting, glazed eyes, a rapid heartbeat, restlessness, excessive thirst, lethargy, fever, dizziness, lack of coordination, profuse salivation, vomiting, a deep red or purple tongue, and unconsciousness. If the animal shows symptoms of heatstroke, take steps to gradually lower her body temperature immediately. Follow these tips, and it could save her life: * Move the animal into the shade or an air-conditioned area. * Apply ice packs or cold towels to her head, neck, and chest or immerse her in cool (not cold) water. * Let her drink small amounts of cool water or lick ice cubes. * Take her directly to a veterinarian. And probably it goes without saying, but just in case: pleasepleaseplease don’t leave your pet in a closed-up vehicle, even if you just need to run inside a store for a minute. Cars heat up far faster than you’d expect, and you don’t want to come back to your car to find a suffering or (god forbid) dead animal.

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Yesterday being Father’s Day, I the cats ordered four of these candy bars for Fred (four because to just order one would have been silly with the price of shipping)(in retrospect, perhaps a selection of “exotic” candy bars would have been better, rather than four of the same kind? What can I say, they’re cats. This sort of thing doesn’t occur to them.). Fred gave one a try and gave me a bite of it, and I have to say – it’s weird, and not (in my opinion) a good weird. I think he had a good Father’s Day. He got to do stuff outside, he made a trip to Lowe’s, and we had roast, mashed potatoes, and baked squash. Me, aside from making dinner, doing dishes, paying bills, organizing my recipe box, vacuuming, and cleaning out litter boxes, I did a whole lot of nothing. A WHOLE lot of nothing. It was exhausting, so I took a nap in the afternoon and then went back to my nothing-doing. Except for the part where I got on my hands and knees and cleaned all the hardwood floors in the downstairs portion of the house, that is. Sundays are made for doing nothing, I think, especially when it’s the middle of the month and you’ve only read four books the entire month. Shameful. (Speaking of books, I read all of Blaze yesterday, and I loved it. LOVED IT. It has no supernatural/ horror aspects to it at all, and it’s an homage to Of Mice and Men (also very much worth reading if you haven’t already). I highly, highly recommend it.)
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Back at the beginning of the month, Jenn left a comment saying that she had a recipe for green tomato chili and to let her know if I wanted it. Since Fred loves the hell out of chili, I asked her for it, and on Saturday I made a batch. It was a big hit not only with Fred, but also with me. It was FABULOUS, and I highly recommend it – and considering we have approximately 10,000 green tomatoes, I’m sure we’ll be having it all summer long. Recipe is here.
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I was in Hallmark last week, and I saw this magnet. And I stared at it, and I read it, and I read it again, and I read it yet a third time. I don’t get it at ALL. Someone explain it to me?
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Mister Suspicious: Maryanne (Fred can’t remember her name, just calls her “Blue Eyes.”) This reminds me of George from Seinfeld, coming out after taking a nap under his desk. Always a laydee. “YEOW! Now, that was SOME catnip!”
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Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: All I heard on the other end was laughter. 2003: “Motherfucker. He never told People how he was soooooo in love with me when WE were together!” 2002: A world where smiley faces and “fuckity fuck-fuck-fuck!”s will abound. I can hardly wait! 2001: Why, just this morning I was thinking to myself Why is Ben Affleck stalking and following me dressed like a Frenchman? 2000: No entry.]]>

6/15/07

Wait till you start finding stray dogs in your yard sitting looking for the owner to come back. Breaks your heart. We had one collie that sat a week in my neighbors yard and would not budge just looking and waiting for the owner to come get him. So sad. There’s something about country living that makes people think they can drop off their unwanted pets and they’ll find a good home. I wish I could find these idiots that do this and show them a picture of their pet looking so sad and abandoned. I hope this doesn’t happen to you, but if it does I know the strays will be in good hands till you find them homes. Oh Mary, don’t EVEN get me started. I don’t know if I wrote about this before or not – I meant to, but I don’t think I did – but when we moved into this house, we’d occasionally see two dogs roaming around together. They’d go across the back forty, sometimes drink water out of the pond, but if we called to them, they paid no attention to us at all. We thought perhaps they belonged to someone in the area and had travelling feet. One day I was going out to check the mail, and I glanced over at the church lawn (we live next door to a church), and one of the dogs was laying beside the road. I walked toward him, hoping he was just hurt and I could take him to the vet, but pretty quickly found that he was dead. It bothered me, having him lay there in the hot sun, and I said something to Fred about it. “Just wait,” he said. “Five bucks says when Wednesday comes along, someone will bury it.” Wednesday came along, the parking lot filled up, and at some point I glanced over to see that the dog was gone. Someone had dug a hole next to the dog, pushed him into it, and buried him. Not long after, a beagle showed up, and we’d occasionally see the other dog that ran around with the dog who’d been hit and killed (I assume he was hit and killed, given that he was laying right next to the road, anyway). When Fred went to talk to a neighbor about the beagle, he found out that the people who’d sold us this house? Those two dogs had belonged to them. When they left, they left the dogs behind. I cannot tell you how very much this infuriates me. I want to burst into tears, just thinking about it. These are the people, I have to add, who wouldn’t let us come to see the house on Sunday, what with it being The Lord’s Day and all. Which reminds me, last time I had a sit-down with The Lord, The Lord informed me that doing what might lead to business on Sunday is FORBIDDEN, but abandoning as many of His Creatures to fend for themselves and be hit by cars and lay dying on the side of the road is A-OK with Him! It’s in the Bible! Okay, look. Here’s the thing. People abandon their cats and dogs “in the country” because they think the dogs and cats will revert to their wild nature, and they’ll romp happily through the fields and catch mice and rabbits and live happily and die of old age. No. What’s more likely is that they’ll be so terrified at being dumped off in a strange place that they’ll hide in a ditch until they’re starving, chase a mouse across a road, be hit by a passing vehicle, and die by the side of the road in a great deal of pain. Or they’ll wander across the farm of someone who’s seen so many abandoned animals go after his farm animals that his response is to grab a rifle and shoot the animal you’ve abandoned. Or they’ll drink nasty, bug-infested water and they’ll die of dehydration caused by diarrhea. Or a coyote or raccoon will wound or kill them. Or they’ll just curl up in a ball in a wooded area and die because they WERE NOT RAISED AS WILD ANIMALS. They were raised as house pets, and they know how to kill a bowl of food, but there’s a shortage of bowls of food in the country, oddly enough. If they’re lucky, they might figure out the whole hunting thing. And then they have to watch out for coyotes, who will happily kill and eat them, or farmers who are sick of seeing abandoned animals on their land day after day, or any other myriad other things that could happen to them. If they’re very, very lucky they might end up on my front porch, where there’s cat food and water and people who won’t hurt them. People abandon their animals in the country because they think “at least he’ll have a chance! If I take him to the shelter, they’ll just put him to sleep!” Well, if you take him to the shelter, he’ll have a chance to be adopted by someone, and going to a safe home where he’ll be cared for. And if he isn’t adopted, yes. He’ll end up being put to sleep. Which is crueler – to take your animal to a place where he will be terrified for a few days, but might have a chance to be adopted, will have food and shelter, and in the end might be euthanized? Or to throw the animal who loves you out on the side of the road where he will be terrified, won’t know how to feed himself, won’t know how to find safe shelter, and very well might end up injured by a vehicle or wild animal, and will die in a great deal of pain? Make no mistake about it: if you dump your animal off in the country, you are a jerk. If you dump your animal off in the city, you are a jerk. If you stick your animal in a carrier and leave it by the side of the road so that a passing stranger stops to see what’s going on and finds a cat in a carrier that is so hot they can barely pick it up (this is how one of the cats ended up in the shelter I volunteer for), you are a jerk. Suck it up and take some responsibility and take your animal to a shelter. And HAVE YOUR CATS AND DOGS SPAYED AND NEUTERED. Millions of cats and dogs are euthanized every year. There’s no shortage of cats and kittens and dogs and puppies available. It’s not “better” for your female cat or dog to have a litter before you have them fixed. Being neutered doesn’t make your male dog or cat less of a male, for crying out loud. As much as I want to, I cannot give a loving home to every stray who will wander through my yard; and I think that irresponsible people who dump their animals should themselves be dumped out in a strange place and forced to fend for themselves.

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“Perhaps there is an escape route this way?” Tina Louise’s beauty mark (and scary claws!) up close. Tina Louise slumps against me, looking for some lurve. Interested… but still suspicious.
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Da Boogs, dead to the world.
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Previously 2006: Not to mention that I woke up three separate times with my tongue COMPLETELY DRY. 2005: Due to Poop Watch version 2.0, there is no entry for today. 2004: Damn weather! 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: It’s the wild monkey sex, I must confess. 2000: “It’s NOT a cult, Mom!”]]>

6/14/07

* * * Questions and comments: If you don’t mind my putting in a plea for another organization- Solar Hot Pots has been trying to get the UN interested in their products for Darfur for years. Women would not need to have to collect wood at all for these stoves. Of course I don’t mind at all – thanks for sharing the link.

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So how do you find homes for your little foster cats? Do you usually take them to the pet store? Also how do you get little foster kitties? I think it would be cool to have little foster kitties, but I also wonder how hard it would be to give them up when the time comes. Well, occasionally someone will see a picture on here and fall in love and adopt the cat (only to get her home and find out she’s a hellbeast, mwahaha!), but that’s actually only happened once (because Nance is a suckerrrrrrrrrr). At this point, I take the cats to the pet store when they’re ready to be adopted out, and the shelter I volunteer for has adoption counselors who are careful to make sure that the cats will be properly loved and cared for. I get the foster kitties from the shelter I volunteer for – Chall3nger’s House – and they pay for the spaying/ neutering and shots and any medication the cats need. There’s (unfortunately) an endless supply of cats and kittens who need good homes, and I’m only one of many foster homes that volunteer for this shelter. It is very VERY hard to give up the kittens, I won’t lie. The first time I had to take a batch of kittens to the pet store, I got all teary-eyed and had to leave the store before I started full-out boohoo-ing. It’s always hard, but it helps to know that they’re going to very good homes and will be loved by good people. (Yeah, there are a lot I’ve seriously wanted to keep but couldn’t. I joke that Fred’s a bastard for not letting me have all the kittens I want, but thank god for him because if it were left up to me, I’d probably have 300 cats by now.) My concern right now is these four kittens I’m fostering now. Tina Louise will now let me pet her and even pick her up for a minute or two, and Spanky will grudgingly allow you to pet him for a few seconds, but the other two are just wild as hell and run if you try to touch them. ::sigh::
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So – what will happen if Joe Bob is still at the store? Come on – you live in the country and what’s one more kitty? You loved Joe Bob. I loved Joe Bob. We all loved Joe Bob. Poor kitty – who’d return such a sweetie? If Joe Bob is back at the store, I’ll pick him up, kiss him, love on him, clean out his cage, and leave. I do love Joe Bob – how can you not? – but I can’t keep every cat I’ve ever fostered or I’d end up on the news as one of those hoarders.
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i was just wondering — are you doing the kitten fostering in the attic-type room or do you have them in another room in the house? The kittens are in the room that was the guest bedroom. We moved the bed into the closet (and it ROCKS that the closet is big enough for us to put the bed in there (laying on the floor, not set up) and there’s nothing in the room itself now except a big dresser (where I keep kitten supplies), a few cat beds, and a thousand cat toys (plus the litter box and food, of course). When we’re watching TV at night, we can hear the kittens racing around like little wild things.
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I’ve ordered supplies for canning, because I am far too lazy to haul my ass to the store and actually buy the stuff I need in person. Fred got some advice from a woman on the forum where he hangs out as far as what we need, so once everything gets here, I’ll be ready to do some canning. And I hope the stuff gets here quickly, ’cause the beans are coming in fast. I’ve frozen at least four meals’ worth (yes, mother, I blanched them first) and we’ve eaten them for two meals in the last week. Rumor has it that canned beans stay fresh-tasting longer (according to the aforementioned gardening guru) and I need to get some canning practice in before the tomatoes start getting ripe. If we can stop plucking and eating the green tomatoes like this long enough to let some get ripe, that is. I intend to do lots of marinara sauces and canning of fresh tomatoes and stuff like that. When we die of botulism, you’ll know who to blame. The squash is ripening quickly, and we’ve had tons of oven-fried summer squash, stir-fried (in olive oil with onion and garlic) summer squash, and I’m going to make and freeze a batch of this stuff. This gardening stuff is a pain in the ass sometimes, but so far I’m liking the results.
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As you can see, Spanky is a deeply suspicious fellow. Maryanne and her pretty blue eyes. The kittens love them some camera strap, mmhmm.
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Tommy, dead to the world. If you look closely, you can see his tongue poking out of his mouth. Sugarbutt’s favorite place to sleep, on top of the refrigerator in the laundry room.
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Previously 2006: Do I know how to live large, or what? 2005: It took me a minute to get it. Duh. 2004: Have I mentioned that I have a big ol’ crush on Roland? Yeah. There’s me, being geeky again… 2003: Still no Fancypants. 2002: Well, did you feel the earth crack open? 2001: I guess not everyone is as much a wimp as I. 2000: I feel like I spent all day running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off and got nothing accomplished. ]]>

6/13/07

here.

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At 4:45 this morning, I woke to the sound of Fred walking into the bedroom. “What?” I said, taking out one ear plug. “We have a problem,” he said. Which is when I realized I heard faint cheeping. “Is that a bird?” I said. “It’s four tiny pink featherless baby birds in a nest that fell out of the chimney.” I pondered that for a moment. “It was in the house?” “Yeah.” “And the cats weren’t going nuts?” “No.” I sat up and turned the light on, and sure enough – he had a handful of nest and brand-spanking-new baby birds, squirming around and cheeping for their momma. “There’s no way these things are going to live,” he said. “I don’t want them to suffer. What the hell do we do?” “Why don’t you put the nest in the bush next to the porch?” I suggested. “The nest is broken,” he said. “They’ll just fall out.” We dithered about it for a few minutes, I said “GODDAMNIT!” many times, and finally I told him to just lay the nest on the front porch. Either the mother bird would find and care for them – not likely – or something would kill them, hopefully quickly. He went to work out, and I went back to sleep, whereupon I dreamed about raising baby birds who turned into kittens who jumped off furniture in an attempt to fly (one of them was a dead ringer for Sugarbutt as a baby). An hour later, Fred woke me so we could medicate the kittens before he left for work. “I think Newt got them,” he said. “When I came back to the house, Newt came from that direction, the nest had been moved about five feet, and it was empty.” Our country kitties: killing machines. If they’re not murdering little baby birds, they’re killing moles and leaving them on the cement pad out back. (Apparently we have a New York City-sized population of moles on our property, judging by how often we find dead ones on the cement pad.) Now. I KNOW y’all aren’t going to say that we should have tried to keep and raise the baby birds. I’ll repeat: they were brand-spanking-new, barely moving, and no. Just no. That would be lunacy. Still, I feel bad for the little guys, and the stupid momma bird who built a nest in the chimney. Also, I feel bad for us, for hiring chimney sweeps who can’t properly install a chimney cap. Stupid chimney sweeps. (Sorry, no pictures. For once, it didn’t occur to me!)
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I spent two hours weeding amongst the summer squash and zucchini plants yesterday and got about two-thirds of the row finished. This morning I finished the row of squash – note to 2008 Robyn and Fred: plant the squash and zucchini much further apart next time, dumbasses – weeded the row of whatever the hell’s growing next to the row of squash (black-eyed peas? black beans? Fuck if I know), and then went between the row of squash and whatever-it-is with the Dutch Hoe and chopped up the weeds between the rows. The squash plants are pretty much on top of each other – being as we’re first-time gardeners, we didn’t know they would get quite so big – so I had to climb in amongst the plants to weed. The plants were absolutely covered with bees investigating the squash blossoms, but they completely ignored me. If you had told my family, back when I was little and would run screaming “Beechies! Beechies!” every time I saw anything the slightest bit creepy-crawly, that I’d be working* in and amongst bees, that I’d look out my bedroom window every morning to see if the spiders who’ve set up webs right outside my windows have caught anything good, that I’ll see a spider web in the corner of my bedroom and leave it there (as long as the spider keeps it clean, that is), that I’d see a wasp and just smack it with a fly swatter rather than run screaming from the room, that I’d see a big nasty weird-looking bug and get as close as possible to shoot a picture of it, they’d have known you were on drugs. Nothing like living in the country to get you over your fear of bugs, I’m telling you. If I flew into a tizzy every time I saw a weird bug, I’d be in a permanent state of running around screaming, and the human body ain’t made to sustain that level of tizziness. *Possibly the “working” part of that would have shocked them more than anything.
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The kittens are doing well – they’re still little wild things when it comes to medicating them, but we’ve established a rhythm wherein Fred chases them down, picks them up by the nape of the neck, we wrap a small towel around them (to protect me from flailing claws), I squirt the medicine in their mouth, and then we put them down and let them run away, which they do while hissing the entire time. Poor monkeys. They forgive easily – at least Tina Louise does, since I have yet to get my hands on any of the other kittens. Yesterday I took a nap in the kitten room with them (a catnap, of course) and when I woke up, Maryanne was sitting about two feet away staring at me with hatred. It’s a start. That’s a very Mister Boogers look on her face. i has a taste “Dude. Seriously. All the freakin’ time with the DANCING. And not only dancing, but DISCO dancing. It’s no wonder I run around hissing all the damn time. ‘Left the cake out in the rain and now I’ll never have the recipe again’, my tail.” More kitten pics hither.
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“I yam a bird and I yam gonna fly! Cowabungaaaaaaaaaa!”
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Previously 2006: “I’d like to suggest, in the most non-harassing way possible, that we go for a hike after dinner.” 2005: Gives a whole new meaning to the term of endearment “Shithead”, doesn’t it? 2004: No entry. 2003: Still no Fancypants. 2002: What the FUCK is going on with Meg Ryan’s hair?! 2001: House hunting. 2000: Any way you slice it, it’s going to be one hell of a long drive.]]>

6/12/07

go check her out!

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Things that have recently made me laugh: 1. Fred emailing me this picture, saying “This is how I feel today.” 2. This picture, because “nom nom” is HILARIOUS. 3. An email from reader Jennifer, who said When I saw the picture of your new foster kitty, I thought she reminded me of someone. I was on perezhilton.com and figured out who it was. I don’t know if it’s the pouty smirk or what- but they look alike to me. (That’s Ashley Olson) Clearly Maryanne is the missing Olson – they were triplets, not twins!!! 4. When my parents were visiting, my mother, the spud and I went shopping one day. I ended up in Steve & Barry, looking at the t-shirts. I saw one that was just perfect for Fred, but I didn’t buy it, because I knew he’d never wear it, but he talks about his so often that I took a picture and sent it to him instead. 5. I realized this morning, as I was responding to an email, that when I type a smiley in an email, I actually smile in real life. I think this makes me a dork of the highest order.
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Cool ways to spend your money: 1. Buy a Susan G. Komen for the Cure Promise ring. 2. In Darfur, Sudan, many women living in refugee camps have no choice but to put themselves in the path of government-supported militiamen, Janjaweed, as they rape and slaughter their way across the region. “To fuel their traditional cooking fires, women spend as much as seven hours a day foraging for scarce wood, and while they’re out searching, they’re vulnerable to rape. The men can’t go instead because the Janjaweed kill them outright. And the women have become so desperate, they’re selling their food rations to buy wood.” Energy analyst at the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory in California, Christina Galinsky, worked with her colleague, Ashok Gadgil, to develop a simple stove that reduces the amount of fuel consumed in cooking by up to 75%. There are 2.2 million refugees in Darfur who need about 300,000 stoves. (O Magazine, June ’07). It costs $30 to donate a stove to a woman and help keep her safe.
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Recent questions and comments: Can we have a beagle update pleeeeeease? I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of the beagle, which I guess means she hasn’t escaped. The woman was so happy to see her when Fred and I brought her over there, that I assume the beagle’s living a very cushy life and probably has the run of the house.
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Why aren’t you using a hoe to chop the weeds out by the roots? Because I’m weeding between the plants, not between the rows, and there isn’t enough room between the plants for a hoe. Even weeding by hand (and using a hand cultivator), I’ve managed to accidentally pull up several plants; I can only imagine how much damage I’d do with a hoe.
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ACK! Still not separating your hanging-out clothes??!!?? It’s all about the aesthetics, girl! A well-hung line 😀 is a thing of beauty and as good as a hen house any day! Give it a try and stand back and admire your creation! And … you’ll have the admiration of all your neighbors as they drive by! Fred will beam with pride! Nope, still not separating my clothes, still not planning to do so. I mean this with love and all, but you laundry nazis kinda need to get a life. How can whether I separate my clothes or not have y’all in such a tizzy? Fred couldn’t care less whether I separate the clothes (and if he did care, I’d invite him to separate them to his heart’s content), and if he started beaming with pride over laundry, well, he’d need to get himself a life. If he has clean laundry in his dresser, he’s happy.
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Is that a red toaster?? Where, oh where, did you get it? I’m a complete sucker for red appliances. I got it on Amazon, of course. When I moved into this house, I didn’t want to bring the old toaster with me, because it was (1) A piece of crap and (2) white. Since my kitchen colors are red and yellow, I’m slowly moving all the appliances over to be red or yellow (when Fred’s black coffee maker starts to go bad, I’ll likely get a red one to replace it), and it’s a lot easier to find red appliances than yellow (my yellow KitchenAid mixer being the exception, of course).
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Damn that cookie looks good, was it? It was very good – I used this recipe – but the frosting left a little to be desired. I was making basic buttercream frosting, when Fred mentioned at the last moment that he wanted chocolate frosting, so I just dumped a bunch of cocoa powder in the frosting. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great. I used Ghiardelli milk chocolate chips in the cookie, which only made the cookie better.
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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.
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No foster kitten pics, sorry – I didn’t really have a chance to get pictures today, I’m sure there’ll be plenty tomorrow. The kittens are doing okay, except that they’ve all got upper respiratory infections, which means we have to treat them with doxycycline, which tastes NASTY* and thank god I’ve got Fred to help me, because there’s no way on earth I’d be able to medicate those kittens on my own. As it stands, Fred has to grab them by the nape of the neck, we wrap a small towel around them to stop the claws from gouging us, and I squirt the medicine in their mouths and they turn into wildcats, Fred puts them down, and they run away hissing. Only five more days of this! Urgh. *Good christ. They can do FACE TRANSPLANTS, but they can’t make doxycycline palatable to kittens? That’s fucked up.
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Previously 2006: He’s such a nosy little fucker. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: Wouldn’t it be funny if as soon as we put all the flyers out in the neighborhood, he came swishing home? 2002: “NO,” he said with great certainty. “That was YOU!” 2001: But look at that little face. How can you not see it and just grin like a fool? 2000: Which is better than it could have been – we were afraid his foot was slowly rotting off.]]>

6/11/07

Sopranos spoilers; skip to the next section if you haven’t seen the final episode. I think that was a shitty final episode and I think David Chase is a flaming asshole. I think Tony needed to die and I especially think AJ needed to die a long, drawn-out, very painful death. I was glad to see Phil die (I kinda liked the over-the-top aspect of it) and I really wanted to see Tony die. I mean, really REALLY wanted to see him die, don’t ask me why. Ah well. At least Entourage will be back next week!

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When it comes to this whole Paris Hilton thing, I swing between feeling sorry for her (SHUT UP, I can’t help it. She’s such a fucking idiot that I feel sorry for her – to think you’re getting out of jail, only to find out they’re throwing you back in, well, it’s gotta suck in a big way) and wishing David Chase would kill HER off. I mean, did you KNOW that all you had to do to get out of jail is cry in your cell every night? I did not, but I’ll keep that in mind for next time I’m tossed in jail for driving without a license. Driving without a license not once, but twice, I mean. Oh wait, I mean driving without a license AND SPEEDING. Goddamn idiot. Like Mommy and Daddy can’t afford a driver for her? I guess you can tell how I’m feeling toward her right now, huh? And while I’m babbling about entertainment news, those Lindsay Lohan/ Vanessa Minnillo pictures? Those are supposed to be so horrifying that Nick Lachey is “standing by” Vanessa Minnillo? Seriously? Fucking yawnsville. Not much going on in celebrity news this week, obviously.
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I was cross and felt at loose ends yesterday. We went to Lowe’s and spent far too long there, looking for things on our list. When we got home, I ran to the grocery store, then made a loaf of zucchini bread and some potato salad and puttered around the house and did this and that and put clean sheets on my bed and Fred’s bed (which is the one and only thing you will ever hear me badmouth about having separate beds – it means you have to wash twice as many sheets. NOT FAIR.) and washed the dirty ones and hung them out to dry, and read a little and balanced the checkbook and set up the new bird baths, and all I could think was that there was something to do that I hadn’t done, but I never did figure out what that was. Saturday, we did a lot of driving around looking for a truck for Fred, and ended up getting one. It’s a nice, shiny truck that looks a lot better (and runs a lot better, too) than you’d expect a 14 year-old truck to look. The air conditioning runs really well, too. Now I’m trying to convince Fred that we should trade his main vehicle in for a yellow Volkswagen Beetle for me, and he can drive my Reno back and forth to work to save on gas. I don’t seem to be convincing him, though, damnit. Ah well. It took, basically, a matter of a couple of hours before That Bastard Tom Cullen was jumping the fence in the back yard. As long as we’re out there keeping an eye on him he behaves himself, but the instant you’re not paying attention, the shithead is over the fence. This means Fred will be running the electric fence just inside the fence, and we’ll be putting a collar on Tommy, and probably Mister Boogers as well. I don’t think we need to worry about Sugarbutt – he’s very skittish outside – and Spot can’t jump or climb that well due to his arthritis. Miz Poo seems to be happy to hang out in the back yard, and Spanky has hardly even gone out there. If we have to buy more collars we will, but hopefully Tommy and the Boog are the only ones we need to worry about. Maxi and Newt like to hang out in the back yard with our cats, and what’s funny is that at least once yesterday (we let them out while we were eating dinner – we eat dinner in the back yard a lot these days) Newt saw Tommy out of the corner of his eye, apparently thought he was Maxi, and rubbed up against him. At one point I think Mister Boogers mistook Newt for Sugarbutt, because he went over to him, stood over him (Newt was sprawled on the ground), and gave him the squinty-eyed “I’m about to show you who the boss is” look, and then seemed to realize that he wasn’t looking at Sugarbutt. Naturally Miz Poo showed her ass a few times, growling at Maxi, who just looked at her like “You want to try me, bitch?” Miz Poo is all talk, so she backed right off. Speaking of cats (and aren’t I always?), Tina Louise actually asked to be petted this morning. I was sitting on the floor and she came over and slumped against my knee, then let me pet her for the longest time. Little Spanky will let you pet him on the head for a few moments before he goes bounding off, but I’ll be darned if I can get my hands on Maryanne or Gilligan. They’re calmer about having me in the room than they were at first, at least. They’ll come out and play and occasionally come over to sniff at my feet before they go skittering off. And they’re so freakin’ cute, I am almost overcome with the need to pick them up and squeeze them, every time I go in that room. I haven’t yet, but I can only be strong for so long, people! “All full up on the petting for now, thanks.” Maryanne’s pretty markings. “You want WHAT? A snuggle? Oh, it is to LAAAAAUGH!” “Please, can it be adoption time now?” “I SAY, you want to adopt me now, RIGHT?” In ur internetz, plotting ur downfall. A ton more uploaded pictures, over at Flickr.
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“I think you does not unnerstand, lady. Ah HETS THEM KITTENS. HET.”
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Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: WAS IT REALLY FUCKING NECESSARY TO CLOSE THE POST OFFICE ALL DAY TODAY? 2003: Fancypants goes missing. 2002: Look! It’s PMSing South Park Robyn! 2001: Poor people are so funny, aren’t they? 2000: No entry.]]>

6/8/07

check out his pictures). We’ve decided that in the evenings after the indoor cats are indoors, we’ll open a couple of gates to the back yard so that Maxi and Newt can come and go at will. When I went out earlier to hang towels to dry, Newt came over, whined at me, and flopped onto his back for a belly rub. When I think of what a skittish guy he was last Fall, when he’d run away whenever we tried to approach, it gives me hope for the skittish kittens.

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Potential Sopranos spoilers below; skip if you haven’t seen the most recent episode. I hope AJ dies in the final episode, and I hope it’s particularly painful. He is one whiny, self-absorbed little bitch and I cannot stand him. If Paulie Walnuts makes it out alive, I’ll be happy. I don’t care who else dies, just leave Paulie alone, damnit!
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The brilliant Rose suggested in my comments for yesterday that I name the two unnamed kittens “Thurston” and “Lovey”, and I spit out my water when I read that, because that is PERFECT, but alas. Both those names have been used in the past, and since the idea is to use names that haven’t been used before, I can’t use them. Then I checked the used-names list, and do you KNOW what names haven’t been used in the past? GILLIGAN AND MARYANNE. Perfect! The kittens continue with their skittishness but last night I got Tina Louise to come over and sniff my hand. I touched her tail and the side of her little face before she skittered off, but they’re getting used to me. It helps that I sit in there and read and just ignore them (or at least pretend to) while they play. When Tina Louise came over to me last night, it was a so-very-casual stroll on her part, like “Oh. Hm. Look at these towels here. I think I’ll flop down on them. Why, looky here. There’s a person there! Color me surprised!” Maryanne disapproves. Water=good! Is that a face of disgust, or what? More kitteh pics, here.
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For Fred’s birthday, I made a gigantic chocolate chip cookie and frosted it. Sugarbutt thought he should get some, too. (By the way, that bottle of “Move Free” is glucosamine and chondroitin, not a laxative. In case you were wondering.)
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Previously 2006: Apparently I’m high. And in desperate need of makeup. 2005: By this time the investigator’s eyes had glazed over, and he was clearly thinking “This has WHAT to do with reliability?” 2004: When I was on the pier, the bream darted forward to partake of my delicious thighs, and I stomped across the pier as fast as I could, saying “STOP IT, YOU FUCKERS!” and I stomped up the steps to the top part of the pier, and waited for Fred to take his face out of the water. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: But. It. Was. Too. Far. From. Huntsville. 2000: Oh look, it’s Robyn, bitching. How unusual.]]>

6/7/07

* * * Another hour and a half of weeding this morning, and the onions are done. I also weeded the tomatoes, though I didn’t do a perfect job of it, just grabbed what I could. I also knocked about 6,000 little bitty cherry tomatoes off the vines while I was weeding (okay, maybe more like three) – it’s a good thing we have an entire row of tomatoes, I guess. Maxi and Newt like to keep me company while I weed. This morning they chased each other through the garden, then settled down for naps under the squash plants. The squash plants are now so big that if they’re under one of them, you can’t see them until you’re right up on them. Kinzie asked in yesterday’s comments: So will Maxi and Newt be disallowed from the backyard once the gate goes up? Or will they be climbing the fence to get in and out? If they do that, won’t MB and T try to follow them out? etc, etc. No, we’ll let them into the back yard as much as they want to be there. They’ve interacted with our (indoor) cats plenty by now, and though there’s the occasional hissing, they all get along fairly well. In fact, when we let our cats out to hang out in the back yard last weekend, Miz Poo and Maxi were within five feet of each other for several minutes and no one got hurt. Amazing! I don’t know if they’ll start climbing the fence to get in or out – so far, they seem a little confounded by the fence and I haven’t seen them climb it yet, but who knows what’ll happen once the last gate goes up? If Tommy and the Boog (sounds like a cartoon, doesn’t it?) start climbing the fence (and they are definitely the two who would do it, have no doubt), we (Fred) will run the electric fence around the yard and collar those bastards up. By the way, Fred has let Maxi in the house a few times. It goes pretty well, until Sugarbutt spots her. Right now, Maxi will come in and look around if Fred coaxes her (or picks her up and carries her inside), but she has no apparent desire to be in the house. The fact that she and Newt get along with our (inside) cats means that if the weather gets nasty this winter, we can bring them inside and not be too worried about them all killing each other.

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By the way, Maxi and Newt ate that rabbit down to the bone yesterday, then Maxi helpfully dragged the remains across the yard so they were sitting next to the steps. Gah. (And yeah, we’ll be deworming them soon. We do it every three months or so, just because the fact that they eat squirrels and rabbits and LITTLE BABY BIRDS means that they no doubt pick up worms. I’m on it, yo!)
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Guess what? New fosters!!! Unfortunately, these kittens are the scaredest, skittish-est, hissingest cats on the face of this planet. I haven’t been able to pick them up and snuggle them – anytime you get even close, they hiss and run away to hide. I’ve only had them less than a day, though, so maybe they’ll improve. So far I’ve gone in and just sat and read so they could get used to having me around. Fred got them to play near him last night for a few minutes, but these aren’t kittens who are coming around asking to be petted, for sure. Two of them are named so far, and I still need to come up with names for the other two. Meet: Tina Louise, so named because of the “beauty mark” next to her nose (though to be honest, I haven’t gotten close enough to her to be able to tell for sure that it’s part of her coloring rather than some shmutz she hasn’t cleaned off yet), and “Ginger” was taken. She’s got some set of ears on her, huh? Spanky, named after our Spanky just because. He appears to be the bravest of the bunch, but if you get too close, he’ll hiss, too. I wanted to name this one “Spot” after our Spot, but that name’s been used before, so I’ll have to come up with something else. This one’s a male. No name on this one yet, either. This one’s a female, and the most skittish of the bunch. The story on this bunch is that their owner called the shelter and said she had three kittens and that they were inside and had been handled plenty. When she showed up at the shelter, she had four kittens, the mother cat, and a RABBIT with her. The truth came out that the kittens had been living behind a washer and dryer and hadn’t been handled at all. They’re about 10 weeks old, they’ve been fixed, and they use the litter box just fine. If I can tame them at least to the point where they don’t hiss like little wild things every time you look at them sideways, I’ll be happy.
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I know I’ve mentioned this before, but the thing about buying a new house or refinancing the one you have is that your name is sold to various companies who then inundate the shit out of you, trying to get you to sign up for their bullshit mortgage protection programs. I fucking HATE THAT SHIT. Yesterday Fred got a letter from one of the companies who expressed that they were “concerned” that he hadn’t accepted their offer, and – reminder, Fred And3rson! – he only had until the end of July before the offer was null and void and no longer available to him. GODDAMN I HATE THAT BULLSHIT. So I typed up a letter that said “I understand your concern that I have not accepted your offer. However, I recommend that you learn to live with the pain that my nonacceptance causes you, as I remain uninterested. Had you spelled my name correctly, I might have been interested; alas, now we’ll never know. Please remove my name from your mailing list immediately.” and I forged Fred’s signature. And then I mailed it back to them in the prepaid envelope provided. FUCKERS.
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Okay, I need to go hang out laundry (NO! I did NOT separate that shit out! So there!) and then bond with my hissy little babies. See ya!
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“Ah hets kittens.”
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Previously 2006: Pictures. 2005: She’s a bad influence, that one. 2004: I have faith in you! 2003: Things that sucked. 2002: Here’s the thing. If you get yourself involved with a man you know full well is married, a man who doesn’t file for divorce until 6 months after he’s met and started dating you, then you don’t get to play the victim. 2001: My very first House Anxiety dream! 2000: Ah, world traveler, me.]]>