Author: Robyn

6/6/07

* * * An hour and a half of weeding yesterday, and I got a bit more than half the row of onions done. I’ll get the other half tomorrow (I don’t weed two days in a row. Shaddup.), then maybe do the tomatoes, which aren’t too horribly weedy. We’ll see.

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Lanna Lee is doing a survey for a Technical Writing class. Go take it and help her out, wouldya?
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Fred thinks the spud is easing us into the idea of her moving to Rhode Island. She’s been spending the night at her friend’s house a lot lately – can’t say as I blame her, her friend lives in Madison which means she doesn’t have to drive 20 minutes to see her other friends or hang out with her best friend or hit Kohl’s or go to work, all of which is 20 minutes from home now – and the house is weirdly quiet without her here. I mean, don’t get me wrong, we ran around naked and screamed like banshees the first night she was away (sorry for that visual), but we’re getting used to it. Not liking it, really, just becoming accustomed. Luckily, she’s still willing to fit me in for our usual Wednesday-night-out dinners, so I’ll be spending time with her tonight and hearing all the gossip about her friends and work.
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From my comments: Robyn, I was going to ask if you planned to can anything, but Melissa beat me to it. 🙂 Seriously, it’s pretty easy. You have to shell out a little to buy some equipment (a big canning kettle with a rack to hold jars, lids, jars, etc.), but the stuff lasts forever, except for buying new jar lids for each batch (cheap). I’m sure Ball has a site you can check for instructions. Of course, if you have a big freezer, you might want to just freeze a mess o’ veggies. Although I am a teeny bit scared of the idea, I’m still willing to give it a try, so yes – I’ll definitely be doing at least some canning. Fred just planted cucumbers, and I love me some pickles, so I’ll probably can some pickles. And since we have a bunch of jalapeno plants, we might make some pickled jalapenos (not for me, though – I am not a fan of peppers). Also, lots of tomato sauce. We’ll be freezing stuff as well, but I definitely want to give canning a try!
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Right now, Maxi and Newt are laying in the back yard asleep, looking as though they just finished Thanksgiving dinner and don’t plan to move for six to eight hours. Over by the chicken coop? The remains of a rabbit. A BIG rabbit. When Fred came into the bedroom this morning to say goodbye, he said “Don’t go over by the chicken coop. There’s some circle of life going on out there right now.” When pressed, he told me that Maxi was in the process of eating a rabbit that appeared to be bigger than she is. And there was a line of chickens standing and watching her. When I got up an hour later and opened the blinds in the computer room, Newt was taking his turn at the rabbit, and Fred wasn’t kidding about the size of the damn thing. At this point there’s only one opening to the back yard that isn’t blocked by a gate, and we theorized that the rabbit got into the back yard and couldn’t figure out how to get out, and Maxi and/ or Newt took care of him. That last gate can’t go up soon enough for me, damnit. Speaking of Maxi and Newt, I have to say – they are some tiny, tiny cats. If they weigh more than 6 or 7 pounds, I’d be amazed. Considering that over the winter they got to the point where they were just this side of porky, to see them thinned out made me worry at first. I guess it’s all that hunting and good eating (rabbits, squirrels, LITTLE BABY BIRDS) that’s got them in such good shape. Compared to our cats (okay, okay, our INDOOR cats), who all weigh around 10 pounds, they’re teeny.
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When my parents were visiting, we went down to Tuscaloosa one day to visit with my aunt and cousins. We had lunch out, and then went over to see my cousin Delina’s new house. She used to live right next door to her sister but decided that she needed a bigger house, and so bought a house about half a mile (if that) down the street. The house is nice, but the back yard is what dreams are made of. I’ve seen realtors describe back yards to houses as being “park-like”, but didn’t know what that meant until I saw Delina’s back yard. It is AMAZING. Delina’s dawg (one of two). I covet this greenhouse (Fred said it’s more like a sunroom. Whatever it is, I covet it.) When we got home, I showed pictures of the greenhouse/ sunroom to Fred and said “Make me one of these!” I’m not holding my breath, though. Isn’t it the cutest thing? Like I said: park-like.
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The mighty, mighty hunter.
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Previously 2006: HOW ABOUT SOME MOURNING, PAUL? 2005: Dumbass things I have done today. 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: Ass in the Past will be the name of my 14th novel. 2000: Ah, the heart warms.]]>

6/5/07

* * * I hardly think there could possibly be any more random facts about me that y’all don’t know, but what the hell – I’ve been tagged, and I’m game. Let’s see what I come up with, shall we? 1. My favorite part of going out to dinner is having leftovers for lunch the next day. I’d eat out for dinner every night and eat leftovers for lunch every single day, if given the choice. 2. When I get something stuck to my hand and it won’t fling off – like a little piece of plastic from a tampon or a grocery bag – I try flinging it off twice and then I get really annoyed and I yell “COME ON!” like the guy in the best! video! ever! (only I sound more pissed off than he does) and I fling my hand out really hard, and always the little piece of plastic is frightened by my anger and flies off my hand. 3. I subscribe to Consumer Reports and paid the $19 yearly fee so that I can access all the members-only parts of their web site, but when it comes right down to it, I buy what I wanna buy, no matter what the bastards say. After all, they’re not terribly impressed with the Dyson, and they are WRONG. They couldn’t rave enough about that freakin’ Kenmore Progressive canister vacuum, and I hate the goddamn thing. 4. I am struck with the very strong urge to write a book just so I can name the main character Jug Twitty. I imagine he’d be the hardass – but fair! – sheriff in a small southern town. Y’all don’t fuck with Sheriff Twitty, now. 5. When I am sitting on my ass doing nothing and Fred is outside busting his ass, I almost feel guilty. And then I remember all the ass-busting I did earlier in the day when he was sitting at work busting his ass in a nonphysical manner, and the guiltiness goes far, far away. 6. Ever since I watched the Water Buffalo movie, I have become slightly obsessed with Robert Thompson’s blog, and I’m not sure why. Partly the beautiful pictures from China and partly because of the wry tone of his posts, I suppose. It’s like a hidden gem in the middle of the internet. 7. Seeing what Christa Miller looks like these days causes me actual physical pain. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND why women do this to themselves. If I had a nickel for every time I wailed to Fred, “Whyyyyyyyy do they do that? HOW can they think they look okay?!”, I’d be typing this on a beach somewhere whilst being served pina coladas by a nubile manservant.* What gets me the most is the big goddamn rubbery lips some of them go for. People, if you love me you will NEVER have ANYTHING injected in your lips. I myself have the thinnest lips ever slapped onto a person (when god was handing out lips, he got distracted by a fart joke, I think), but I’ll live with the pain. I’d prefer it if y’all never got ANYTHING injected into your faces (HELLEW BOTOX), by the way. And leave your freakin’ noses alone. Of all the nose jobs out there, I can think of one (Ashley Simpson) that actually improved the nosejobee’s appearance. And jesus god in heaven, stop with the bad boob jobs. JUST STOP IT. Let’s age gracefully and look like human beings, shall we? I think I’m supposed to tag other people to do this meme, so if you’re reading this, consider yourself tagged. *Just kidding. I don’t care for pina coladas.

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From my comments: Did you guys think about doing raised beds in your garden? That’s what we’re doing, but our garden isn’t as big as yours. I didn’t think about anything when it came to the garden except “Can we make sure we plant zucchini, so I can make 10,000 loaves of zucchini bread?” I’m sure that Fred considered it because the man is an exhaustive researcher, and then maybe discarded the idea because of one reason or another. Also, won’t the cats be able to jump that fence? I know my cats would, but they’re professionals. I am an eternal optimist, so I was all “Oh, they won’t jump the fence!” when Fred raised the idea. And then ten seconds after he hauled his porky ass through the door, Tommy was climbing the tree (CLIMBED! THE TREE! WITH FUCKING SOFTPAWS ON HIS FRONT CLAWS! FUCKER!) and so now once Fred has the last two gates built and the back yard is secure, we’re going to let them out and keep an eye on them and see if it’s a problem. (I expect it will be, though my inner eternal optimist is all “But they can see what’s on the other side of the fence. Maybe they won’t be so desperate to get on the other side of it if they can SEE what’s out there!”) If it turns out to be an issue, we’ll run the electric fence around the back yard and collar up the bastards. Why didn’t you put down weed barrier before you planted? Weeding sucks! Because.. I don’t know? Alls I know is that there’s zucchini and it’s not growing fast enough to suit me. Momma needs a new loaf of zucchini bread! Also, I don’t know what laundry fairy is guarding your wash, but I have a formerly-white bathmat right now that is a lovely shade of pink from being washed with a red t-shirt. Do you not buy any clothes in bright colors, perhaps? Or do you always use cold water? Or…what? I want to know, because I don’t want a pink bathmat. I actually don’t wear many bright colors, though I do have a few red items. I think someone mentioned this in my comments yesterday, but I always wash any new red shirts or… shirts (I guess I don’t own anything red that isn’t a shirt!) alone at least a couple of times before I integrate it with the rest of the laundry. And unless I’m washing towels that are particularly nasty or cleaning rags, I always, always use cold water. I thought everyone always used cold water! No?
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What has caused me great mental anguish recently: I’m not EVEN a punctuation nazi, but goddamn. Surely someone had to approve that t-shirt before it went into production? I had half a mind to buy them all and burn them because I KNOW I’m going to run across someone wearing that t-shirt, and have to kill them. Well, except that I’m sure they’ll be wearing it IRONICALLY and all.
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The knowledge that he’s the Purtiest! Kitty! Ever! makes Sugarbutt a wee bit smug. “*urrrp* Oh! ‘Scuse me!”
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Previously 2006: I wanted to turn around and yell “NO I DIDN’T HEAR ANYTHING! Get out of my ROOOOOOOOM!”, like a grouchy teenager. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: Fred always says “You blame EVERYTHING on the fact that you’re about to have your period, having your period, or just HAD your period!” Well, duh. 2002: 26 things you may not know about me. 2001: No entry. 2000: Why, oh why, does writing snotty letters amuse me so?]]>

6/4/07

ACK! Your laundry isn’t hung properly! What’s that pair of pants doing in with all the t-shirts??? And what’s that red thing in with the t-shirts?? Is it a t-shirt? And is it rightside-up in with all the upside-down ones?? Real country wimmin know you don’t mix your clothes!!! On the contrary, my friend. That whole separating-laundry stuff is a line of bullshit perpetrated upon the American woman in an attempt to KEEP HER DOWN. I haven’t separated whites and colors (or shirts from pants? Huh?) in years and years, and my clothes haven’t suffered in the slightest. My whites are as gleaming white as they need to be (which is to say, not that gleaming, since the only white laundry items that exist here at Crooked Acres are Fred’s underwear). Though I was told that all my clothes were going to end up an ugly gray if I kept washing them willy-nilly without separating them out, that hasn’t happened yet. That red thing is my Big Dog nightgown, and it’s hung by the shoulders ’cause I don’t care whether there are clothespin indentions in the shoulders of my nightgown, but clothespin indentions in the shoulders of my t-shirts annoys me, so I hang the t-shirts by the hems. (However, if you wear clothes that cost more than $15 per outfit, I can certainly understand you wanting to separate your whites and dark/ light colored items. To each her own, I say.)

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this comment comes from a city folk but aren’t there non-chemical sprays you can use to kill weeds around growing food items? I… do not know. Fred found some stuff at L0we’s that you put on the garden before you plant – which we’ll be using next year, for sure. As far as something we could spray on the garden now, I’m not aware of anything. But it’s a moot point since the weeds are juuuuust about under control. HA HA HA!
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Question for you or your readers: I’m in Southern California — is it too late in the season to plant tomatoes now? Anyone who wants to, chime in in the comments, but I’m going to guess that it’s probably not too late just yet. It’s never too late for tomatoes! Of course, I have no expertise behind my statement, so keep that in mind.
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About a month ago you had an entry about the Diva Cup. I looked into them and ended up buying The Moon Cup. I have to say I LOVE IT!!! It has changed my life! (One week out of the month) Did you ever buy one and, if so, do you like it? Because I am a procrastinating slacker, I have not purchased a Diva Cup yet. I’ve written myself a note to do so, and it’s on track to be lost among the other papers on my desk so that when my period starts later this week, I’ll curse myself for not ordering the damn thing, then run to my computer, look up the web page, get distracted by something else, and forget about it entirely for another month. That’s the plan, anyway. I’m sure I’ll get the damn thing ordered in the next, oh, six months or so!
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Do you think the master bedroom is actually finished? It looks to me like they’re going to paint the bottom half another color. It’s totally heinous, either way. I’m pretty sure that, except for putting up a chair rail, the master bedroom was done. The bottom color was different than the color it was painted when we sold the house, so I’m guessing it was intentional. Different strokes for different folks, I guess – I think I’d have a hard time sleeping in that room, though.
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You had pics up of your other house, will there be some of this one? There absolutely will! At this point, I have “before” and “after” pictures taken of this house, it’s just a matter of putting them together and posting them, something I haven’t had a chance to do. In the future, once I’ve gotten all the pictures hung up (still haven’t done that yet – ugh!) and the house arranged the way it’ll be, I’ll do a complete “tour” of the house. It’ll happen, I promise!
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Thanks for linking the graduation pictures. What does the medal on the red ribbon signify? It just has the school’s name on it, and all the graduating Seniors got one, so I guess it’s a souvenir.
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Couldn’t we get a picture with Fred in there too? In his old age, Fred has decided he’s camera-shy, because he’s a bastard.
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But why I’m REALLY commenting – did I miss something? Is that an engagement ring on her [the spud’s] finger? It is NOT an engagement ring, it’s just a ring. Don’t be trying to get my child ENGAGED at the age of 18, because I will not have it. Will not! She’s single and unengaged and happy to remain that way for the time being, thank you.
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*cries* The Spud got to wear purple! My highschool’s colors were purple and gold and the girls had to wear these CHEDDAR CHEESE yellow robes that were no WHERE near gold. Actually, she’s wearing navy blue. I guess it looks kinda purplish in the pictures, though – I have no complaints about the color of their robes, I thought they were quite pretty. I myself wore a black robe when I graduated from high school, I think. Borrrrring.
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I’m NO FAN of Paris Hilton, and I usually like Sarah Silverman, but wow – talk about needlessly cruel: (Not safe for work viewing.)
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So yesterday, what did I do? I spent three hours – THREE HOURS – weeding the garden, the row of green beans, to be exact. It wasn’t three hours all in a row though, thank god. I weeded for an hour, then took a break to accompany Fred to L0we’s, ate breakfast, goofed off for a little while, then went back out for another two hours. I’ll tell you what – bending over for three hours in one morning works the HELL out of your hamstrings (and don’t tell me to get one of those padded things to put on the ground and kneel, because that doesn’t work for me), and in fact all the muscles on the back side of my body are hurting today. I told Fred, by the end of the summer, I am going to have a GREAT backside, from all the bending and weeding. (And he dutifully said “Who says you don’t already?!” Good boy.) This morning I left the house at 6:45 to go to the pet store. It was a full house today, so I took my time getting all the cages cleaned out, and spent some extra time with each cat (especially the teeny black long-haired kitten who ran around like a little jumping bean. I love my cats, but why can’t they stay that little? Whyyyyy?). I had to kill a little more time waiting for the pet store to open, because I had a list a mile long, so I ran to Target and bought a few small things. From there I went back to the pet store, got all the stuff I needed to get (except for the cat door for the door leading into the back yard – one of the employees gave me a 15% off coupon that’s only good tomorrow and Wednesday, so I’m going to make Fred stop on his way home, which he HATES to do), went to Sam’s, went to the mall, went to the grocery store, and went to the post office. FIVE HOURS after I left the house, I was home again and had a buttload of stuff to bring inside the house. I love the buying of stuff, but I hate the carrying of said stuff into the house, and the putting away of the stuff. I need to hire a manservant who will carry all my shit inside and put it away (in the right places) for me. Maybe when I win the lottery. And now I’m going to slap up some pictures and call this an entry. Woot!
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Such a pretty Tommy-Tom. Check out the pretty, pretty SoftPaws. Good thing we put SoftPaws on his claws, right? So he can’t go climbing trees or anything. Right? BRAT.
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Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: Styrofoam peanuts = pure evil. 2003: It’s got to be the hormones in the air, that’s all I can guess. 2002: No entry. 2001: We call them the Naysayers. 2000: No entry.]]>

6/1/07

new Bitchypoo logo! This was yet another one created by the wonderful and talented Aly. Thanks, Aly!!!

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So, we closed on the house yesterday, with no problems at all. The new owners of the house were thrilled to be buying it, and they actually THANKED US for keeping the house in such good condition, how sweet is that? When they asked if we’d had a chance to see the new colors, I circumvented the not-really-my-style thing by exclaiming “He did a really good paint job!”, which is true – the painter did the best paint job I’ve ever seen. Maybe after 20 years of painting, I’ll be that good a painter, ya think? (Um, no. I won’t be painting every day for 20 years, thank god!) I walked through the house one last time when I went to pick up the vacuum cleaner the other day, and just felt… nothing. I might miss the location of the house a little (very convenient to lots of stores, it is), but the house itself, I won’t miss at all. I feel a little bad about that, because it’s a good house and it deserves to be loved. I think the new owners, who are moving here from a small apartment in Virginia, will love it. Without an unsold house hanging over our heads, I hope we can relax a little and just enjoy this house, which I absolutely adore. Speaking of this house, have I mentioned that we’ve started getting produce from our garden? We’ve had several bowls of spinach, and this past weekend Fred picked a huge amount of sugar snap peas. I like to eat sugar snap peas raw, either by themselves as a snack, or on a salad. The plants aren’t putting out a huge amount at this point, and given that I’m the only one who likes them, the jury’s out on whether we’ll be growing them next year. The tomato plants have really taken off, as have the summer squash plants (we’re eating oven-fried squash tonight with steak and sliced tomatoes (which didn’t come from our garden – we don’t have any ripe tomatoes just yet) and the pole beans are climbing like mad. Darn gardeners, always laying down on the job. The tomatoes, which are not growing fast enough to suit me (I’m sure it’ll be another story when we’re harvesting 63 tomatoes a day in a few weeks). I’m afraid the weeds are currently winning the battle. I spent two hours weeding this morning, and only got one row (the black-eyed peas) completed. Two hours of weeding is about the maximum I’m willing to do at this point, I think. At least it’s helping me get caught up on my podcasts. Fred thinks that once we get all the serious weeding done, it’ll only be a matter of maintenance, and we can just out every few days and pluck the offending weeds up and toss them out of the garden. When he said that, I’m not completely sure, but I think I heard the weeds in the garden giggling and bobbing their weedy little heads around.
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And now I have to go out and start mowing the lawn – once the guys who are delivering the wood for the fence gates get here, that is. They were supposed to be here between 8:30 and 9, and it’s now later than that. Why can’t people just arrive on time, whyyyyy? Oh, they just called. 10:30 or 11, they’re saying. I guess I better go get started on that lawn, rather than wait around for them to get here, first. Then I have to do laundry and hang it out to dry. Ah, the life of us country wimmins. The work never ends!
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The lawn is mowed (1 1/2 hours with the push mower, 1 hour on the riding mower – to be honest, there’s so much stuff to dodge in the yard that I think it’d be just as fast to use the push mower for the entire yard), the lumber is delivered, the laundry is hung out, I’ve showered and eaten lunch. I got so much dust on me while I was mowing that when I stepped into the shower the water was nothin’ but mud for the first five minutes. And of course now that I have the laundry hung out, it’s looking like rain. I’m not going to complain – we seriously need some rain ’round these parts. Plus, clothes that have been rained on and allowed to dry always smell amazing. I should vacuum the house, but to be honest I think I’m going to grab up Sugarbutt (heh – on Flickr, someone called Sugarbutt “Sugarfoot” and I laaaaaughed. For some reason it reminds me of how, at the vet’s office, they absolutely refuse to call him Sugarbutt. They call him Sugar instead, no matter how many times I correct them. Ah, well.) and take me a long country naps. We country wimmins, we like to nap sometimes. Especially when we’re not used to all this hard physical labor!
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It appears that Sugarbutt got started on that nap without me.
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Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: It’s just a good thing the air traffic controller didn’t start talking about the plane’s phalanges. 2003: Anatomy of a Smackdown 2002: No entry. 2001: Lovely ‘do, eh? 2000: I don’t want to sound like a nosy know-it-all.]]>

5/31/07

* * * Fred called yesterday before noon to let me know that the realtor had called and said that the new owners – today’s the day we close on the old house and pretty soon we’ll only own one house THANK YOU GOD – wanted to know if it’d be okay to put an air mattress in the house and sleep there overnight. He told her it was okay with him, and when he told me that, I remembered that I still hadn’t gotten the vacuum cleaner out of the house. This is not my beloved Dyson of which I speak, by the way. It’s some other canister vacuum Fred went to Sears and purchased when he was working on the stairs, because the Dyson wasn’t good at sucking up the dust or some shit like that. Some LYING bullshit like that, because my Dyson is perfect and awesome and it’s what I’ve been using ever since I got it moved into the house and it is perfection. The thing I hate about canisters is that that goddamn canister is always in the way. I don’t like the canister vacuum at all, but we paid way too much money for it to leave it for someone else. I suggested that he stop on his way home to get the vacuum, since he was going RIGHT BY THERE, but he whined and moaned and insisted that I should just make the 40-minute round-trip drive so he wouldn’t have to. I hate that goddamn house and I cannot wait to see the ass end of it for good. Anyway, I told him I’d do it and hung up the phone and stomped through the house, swearing and telling the cats how much I hate their daddy (they agreed that he’s a bastard), then drove to the goddamn house and got the vacuum. While I was there, I took the chance to snap pictures of the rooms. See, a few weeks ago the realtor called and said that the buyers wanted to hire a painter to come in and paint some of the walls before closing. In our realtor’s opinion, wanting to hire a painter was a good sign that they had no intention of backing out (not that we thought they would, but there’s always that chance), so we let them go ahead and do it. Let’s just say that the colors the buyers chose are… not really colors that appeal to us. The kitchen and living room are painted yellow, and it’s a pretty color, but I think it’s too bright and a tad overwhelming. I like the dining room colors, but the colors in the master bedroom, I don’t like at all. Also, when painting a room two colors, I thought it was customary to paint the top part the lighter color. Not everyone believes that, apparently. So, pictures. Click on any to see the larger version. The computer room. It’s more minty than it appears in the picture. The spud’s old room. I call this color latte – it’s kind of pretty. The master bedroom. I just… don’t know. Not my thing. Not conducive to a good night’s sleep, I’d think. Fred’s old room. It’s extremely close to the color it already was, but I’m 99.9% sure it was repainted. A little more beige than it was, I think. I like it, though I might have gone with a less bright yellow myself. Love the color, but I think it would be overwhelming. Maybe I’m just easily overwhelmed. The study upstairs. It’s another one that’s mintier than it appears. They seem to like minty green. I have to say, the painter did a really good, clean job of painting. He even vacuumed the house when he was done, with my vacuum. I don’t know a lot of painters who would vacuum a house when they were done!

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If you’re a fan of Lost, you’ve got to check out the BEST Lost recaps EVER. Speaking of Lost, that finale was amazing. I wish I hadn’t deleted it from the DVR. In fact, I think I’m going to download it from iTunes so I can rewatch it a thousand times. I heart Hurley.
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In honor of his late idol, Charles Nelson Reilly, Sugarbutt lets loose with a wacky laugh.
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Previously 2006: “TURN LEFT HERE OR I WILL EAT YOUR SOUL.” 2005: No entry. 2004: It was like being in a flying SUV. 2003: No entry. 2002: It was a stank that coated the inside of my nostrils, and was so thick and noxious that I could actually TASTE it. 2001: A buncha links. 2000: Something about that rictus grin just gives me nightmares.]]>

5/30/07

* * * By the way, I worried, when we bought this house, that the nightly teeth-brushing and contact-popping would be a pain in the ass, that we’d get in each others’ way because the bathroom only has one sink, rather than the two sinks we had at the old house. However, I am pleased to report that we don’t get in each others’ way hardly at all, and I only have to sigh and give him the stinkeye once or twice each evening, and only because he needs to keep up his stinkeye tolerance just in case. I’m not discounting the possibility that ten years of sharing the same sink might get Mighty Fucking Old, but for now it seems to be working for us.

* * *
So my parents have come and gone. We did lots of eating out, shopping, and TV-watching (though we didn’t go to the movies at all) while they were here. The best part of it all is that my father was a working MACHINE, and he and Fred got a bunch of stuff done – trees cut down, the areas around some of the big trees cleared, and – my favorite – the fence around the back yard put up. My father keeps saying he’ll be back in the Fall, and given how much he really likes the hard work that he and Fred did, I don’t doubt that he will. Fred went from “I think your parents are kidding about buying the house next door!” to “I think your Dad should buy the house next door so he can come over and help me with stuff!” My father said several times that they should buy the house as a winter home – but really, it ended up costing too much for them to seriously consider it. I think I mentioned that they were going to bring their dog – Benji – with them, and I was concerned about how the cats would react. Let me repeat: I was concerned about the cats. What I should have been concerned about, apparently, is that Mister Boogers and Maxi and Newt – especially Maxi – would kick Benji’s butt every time he looked at them funny. Sometimes it was understandable, as in the first time Benji went running toward Maxi and Newt and they felt threatened, so immediately unleashed the Paws of Doom and had him spinning in circles yelping. (I didn’t see it myself, but apparently it was quite the sight to behold.) Sometimes Benji would be minding his own business and a cat would decide he needed his butt kicked, such as the time we were all on the cement pad eating dinner. Maxi and Newt always join us when we eat outside, and my parents brought Benji outside because – well, why not? He’s a good dog, he (mostly) behaves himself, why shouldn’t he get to hang out with us? Anyway, Maxi and Newt were over by us, and Benji was over by my parents. Maxi decided Benji needed some discipline, so she puffed up and showed him what was what. By day three, poor Benji wouldn’t walk by any of the cats on his own. And he’s such a good dog that he didn’t even dream of going after any of the cats. I only saw him bare his teeth once, and that was while he was eating, and Mister Boogers began vigorously sniffing his (Benji’s) butt You can’t really blame a guy for not liking to have his butt sniffed while he’s trying to eat. So as much as Benji is a good dog and behaved himself and didn’t pee in the house (my big concern, but he’s not prone to that, I guess), I came to the conclusion, for the umpteenth time, that I am SO not a dog person. He’s a sweet dog, but I just don’t like having a dog around. It’s with no small sense of irony that I report that late last week, a beagle (or beagle mix) dog showed up on our front porch and has been hanging around ever since. She and Benji had a good time (and Benji didn’t let the fact that he’s been fixed slow him down at ALL. If y’know what I MEAN.) and I tried my best to talk my parents into bringing her home. My mother might have gone for it, but my father wasn’t up for it at all, and in the end they left without her. The lady two doors down is interested in keeping her, but she has no way to contain her (interesting fact about beagles – they don’t like to be fenced in, and they have got some LUNGS on them). I don’t know if the dog was a dropoff, or if she ran off from her home – she’s wearing a blue collar, but no tags – and doesn’t know how to get back or what. Fred’s under instructions to call and place ads in the local papers; hopefully that’ll bring a tearful owner thrilled to be reunited with little Trixiebelle. She’s a sweet dog and I don’t mind having her around, but it annoys me when we go for our nightly walk and Maxi and Newt don’t accompany us because the dog’s with us. I mean, they’ve kicked her butt, too, and she avoids them and all, but they don’t go out of their way to hang out with her in the vicinity, and I really like having them follow us around. For the time being, I guess we’ll feed her (she’s been eating cat food on the front porch, but I dug out the bag of dog food left over from when we had Jake and filled a bowl for her), but that dog is NOT coming in my house, and once the gates are up in the back yard, I’m not allowing her in the back yard. And the first one of you idiots who’s all “Oh Robyn, just ADMIT IT! You have a dog!”, I’m going to hunt you down and kick you in the knee. I don’t have a dog, I don’t want a dog, I’m not a dog person, and I won’t feel bad about it. However, if anyone out there’s interested in taking her, BY ALL MEANS let me know. She’s good with other dogs, she’s not aggressive, she’s pretty submissive in fact, and she’s a sweetie pie. I’d drive at least a couple of hours to bring her to a good home. She likes to roam, though. She’d probably be happiest on a farm or in a pretty rural area. She has no street smarts – she’s not completely up on the idea of staying out of the road, though I think Benji taught her the basic idea of it – so a heavily trafficked area might not be the best idea for her. Beagles are supposed to be good hunters, aren’t they? Well, she might be a good hunter, but she doesn’t know squat about fetching a stick. You know you want her. There are all kinds of cat and dog pictures over at Flickr. Also, you can check out a buttload of the spud’s graduation pictures, here.
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Miz Poo: “I don’t see why that damn dog gets to go outside and we can’t. UNFAIR.” Mister Boogers: *fume* “Ah hets dawgs.”
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Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: Every time I type in “u” instead of “you”, I die a little inside. 2004: No entry. 2003: What happens if you put a box on the floor? 2002: “Where was it, Bessie?” he asked, trying to draw me into the trap with him, so he could perhaps trip me and then run away, leaving me there for her to latch onto. 2001: What do you s’pose a realtor’s house looks like? I always assumed it’d be a real showplace, with everything just so, all appliances gleaming and so on. 2000: Every time I blow-dry my hair, it sounds like the phone is ringing. ]]>

5/22/07

Do I look old enough to be the mother of a high school graduate? (Don’t answer that!) Congratulations, spud! They grow so goddamn fast, don’t they? ]]>

5/18/07

got tagged to do this 10-things-about-me thing. I thought about not doing it, because I seriously, seriously doubt that there are ten things about me that y’all don’t already know, but then I woke up this morning (got myself a gun/ Mama always said I’d be the chosen one) and couldn’t think of a goddamn thing to write about, and the meme isn’t called the “Ten things you didn’t already know about me”, after all, is it? No it’s not. So here’s 10 things about me. 1. I love cats. DUH. 2. I also like birds. I love to sit at my desk and look out the window at the birds frequenting the feeders. I think mockingbirds are my favorite, followed by those bright yellow finches and chickadees. I can’t seem to lure bluebirds to my yard, no matter what I offer. Stupid bluebirds. 3. I always have to force myself to go out and mow the lawn, but once I get going, I enjoy it. I’d probably enjoy it more if it didn’t take me three motherfucking hours. 4. I told Fred I put sunblock on before I went out to mow the lawn yesterday, but I totally didn’t. Shut up. I don’t wanna hear it. 5. I love the hell out of Miz Poo, but I think Sugarbutt’s my secret favorite kitty. He’s just so freakin’ happy all the time. Who can resist a purring kitty who’s SO THRILLED to be alive every moment of every day? 6. I spend too goddamn much money on shit I don’t need. I’m trying to improve on this, but it’s harrrrrrrrd. 7. I wish our house was further back from the road than it is. 8. I’ve been up at 6:00 almost every day this week. I hate being up that early, but I sure do get a lot accomplished. 9. I wake up at 2:19 every single freakin’ morning having to poo. YOU ARE WELCOME. 10. And one evil thing about me: There are various people who’ve said things about my relationship, some at the very beginning of it, some fairly recently, some at varying times in the middle. Some things were said directly to me, some to someone I know (who passed it along), some in places I stumbled across. Some of these people are people Fred or I know in real life, some are not. Every single one of these people has said something derogatory about my marriage, whether it’s how Fred and I relate to each other, or the fact that we sleep in separate bedrooms or whatever. And without fail, every single one of these people are now divorced. And sometimes I childishly want to email or call them, and say “Well. I guess you don’t know what constitutes a happy marriage AFTER ALL do you, Smuggy McAsshole? HA! HA! I WIN!” I don’t know what I win, though. Hopefully it’s not a divorce. I’m supposed to tag 10 people. If you’re reading this, consider yourself tagged.

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This meme is one I cut and pasted and saved at some point in the past. I don’t know where the hell I got it, but I think that since it’s another “10” meme, I’ll go right ahead and do it. Why the hell not, right? 10 FAVORITES Favorite Color: I usually say yellow, but I think it’s a tie between yellow and blue. Favorite Food: Depends, but I always like chinese food. Favorite Month: January, ’cause it’s all about ME. Favorite Song: Right now, it’s Shpadoinkle Day (from Cannibal! The Musical!) (The sky is blue/ and all the leaves are green/ the sun’s as warm as a baked pataytuh/ I think I know precisely what I mean/ when I say it’s a shpadoinkle day!) Favorite Movie: Eh. I don’t know that I have one favorite, but I always enjoy O Brother, Where Art Thou. (We thought you was a horny toad!) Favorite Sport: None of them! Favorite Season: Fall, followed very closely by Spring. Favorite Day of the week: Wednesay. Things are calmest then, and I can usually take a lazy day (“Aren’t they ALL lazy days, Robyn?” Har. Har.) Favorite Ice Cream Flavor: Vanilla, or sometimes vanilla with Oreo chunks. Is that called Oreo ice cream? I think it very well might be. Favorite Time of Day: Dusk. 9 CURRENTS Current Mood: Tired. Current Taste: Wintergreen gum. Current Clothes: Gray cotton pants, green t-shirt that says “My imaginary friend doesn’t like you either.” Current Desktop: This Sugarbutt picture. Current Toenail Color: Plain. Uh, not painted, I mean. Current Time: 7:34. Current Surroundings: Computer room, Miz Poo in a cat bed on my desk, birds outside the window eating. Current Thoughts: Vacuum, clean the floors, dust. What else do I need to do before they get here? 8 FIRSTS First Best Friend: First one I remember: Candi Rhoades. First Kiss: John Bowie. First Screen Name: Robyn (or Nybor, if someone else was using Robyn). First Pet: Suzy, my birthday present when we lived in Guam. She had a litter of kittens, one of them being Charlie, my first beloved orange tabby. Good ol’ Charlie. He just disappeared one day. First Piercing: Right ear, followed by the left. First Crush: I can’t imagine. I had crushes on just about every male I wasn’t related to. First CD: I don’t remember! 7 LASTS Last Coffee: I don’t know – years and years ago. I don’t like coffee at all. Last Drink: Alcohol, I assume this means. I don’t know when that was, either – years and years ago. I keep telling Fred that we should go out to a restaurant where I can get a drink and see how long it takes me to get plowed (people who’ve had wls are notorious lightweights), but I have no follow-through on that. I don’t particularly want to get drunk. Last Car Ride: Yesterday morning. I drove to the pet store, stopped by the grocery store, and came home. Last Kiss: At 6:00, when Fred was leaving for work. Last Movie Seen: Uh. The Grudge 2? No, we only watched about three minutes of that one. Music and Lyrics was the last one, I guess. Last Phone Call: The spud, calling to let us know she was going to study at her friend’s house after work last night. Last CD Played: The Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack. 6 HAVE YOU EVERS Have You Ever Dated One Of Your Best Guy/Girl Friends: Nope. Have You Ever Broken the Law: Yep. Have You Ever Been Arrested: Nope. Have You Ever Skinny Dipped: Yep. Have You Ever Been on TV: Yep. Have You Ever Kissed Someone You Didn’t Know: Nope. (How boring am I?) 5 THINGS Thing You’re Wearing: My red Big Dog “Her Royal Highness The Queen But You Can Call Me Mom” nightgown. Thing You’ve Done Today: Cleaned out the litter box, put some laundry in to wash, procrastinated cleaning the bathrooms. Thing You Can Hear Right Now: The washer going. Thing You Can’t Live Without: My iPod (though of course I COULD live without it – I just don’t wanna.) Thing You Do When You’re Bored: Read, surf the ‘net, find kitties to pet. 4 PLACES YOU’VE BEEN TODAY 1. The bathroom. 2. The bedroom. 3. The laundry room. 4. The clothesline. 3 PEOPLE YOU CAN TELL ANYTHING TO 1. Fred. 2. Debbie. 3. Liz. 2 CHOICES 1. Black or White: White – black shows the cat hair too damn much. 2. Hot or Cold: Hot (right now, I am COLD. It got really cold overnight. I hate when that happens.) 1 THING YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE Go on a world tour, hitting countries like Australia, New Zealand, Scotland, England, Ireland, Greece, among others.
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I just called my parents. They’re west of Knoxville, so I guess I have four or five hours to get the house dusted, vacuum, and clean the floors before they get here. From my comments: is this the second time a gay couple looked at that house? because when I read this yesterday, I could have sworn that I’d read it before. Except not in that deja vu way. I mean for real. Probably you’re remembering Fred’s entry from a few weeks ago when I called to let him know that there were a couple of men looking at the house, and he suggested they might be a gay couple. Do we have gay couples on the brain, or what? As for the potential neighbors: $50 says there’s either a treasure or a body buried under the cement slab, and they’re only pretending to be interested in the house so they can get to it. And for God’s sake, woman, what did the note say?!?! If there’s a body under the cement slab, they’re welcome to it! The note, paraphrased, said “Dear Robert, you’ve been leeching off Momma and Daddy since last April, haven’t paid a lick of rent, haven’t offered to pay the electricity or water, and we want you the hell out of there. You have ’til the 11th to get your shit and get out, and if there’s any of Momma and Daddy’s furniture missing, we’re going to take your ass to court to get money for the stuff you stole, and WE KNOW you sold (the people who sold us this house)’s dog run, because we have a witness who saw it happen [that would be Fred]. Any shit you leave behind, we’re going to move into the shed in the back yard. This is bullshit, you’re an asshole, and you SUCK.” It was said much nicer – they’re good christian folks, after all – but that’s the gist of it. If I were you and Fred … I would be looking at planting some sort of “screen” between the properties. Bamboo comes to mind – it grows amazingly fast, and there are species that if you plant them properly so they are contained, it won’t spread outside the area where you need it. We’re talking about planting something along the property line – maybe fast-growing evergreens. I’d love to see bamboo there, but when I suggest it, Fred looks at me like I’m a lunatic. He’s not a fan of the bamboo. Could the bird be an Indigo bunting? I believe it is! I’d share more pictures of him, but he’s very skittish and if I get up and walk toward the door, he sees me and flits off. I’m not going to give up, though! I’m going to be in Nashville in mid-September with my husband. He has a work thing to attend. We’ll be staying at Opryland Resort. Any suggestions for me for fun stuff to do solo during the days he is in meetings? I live in Oregon and I’ve never been to the South. Thanks in advance for any suggestions. I have no suggestions for things to do during the day (though I think there’s plenty of shopping to be done!), but I’m sure someone else will have plenty of suggestions!
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Okay, I’m off to finish cleaning the house. Updating will be spotty next week while my parents are here! Y’all behave yourselves.
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Vampire Kitty likes to spend his days on top of the cupboards, where it’s warm and relatively dark.
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Previously 2006: I walked over to them and threw Cheerios at them, and they looked at me as if I were mentally disturbed. 2005: Which he proved by dancing lightly about the room once I’d said we should just stay home. 2004: He asked questions, he really listened to the answers, and he was just really a nice guy. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: She’s obviously picked up her mother’s bad attitude. 2000: My day in pictures.]]>

5/17/07

Man, was yesterday a busy one for me. I left the house early to run to the recycling center, then came home for a few minutes and cleaned up the kitchen, then had to head to Madison for my hair appointment. (Yes, I intend to keep the same hair chick. I’d have to move to Beirut before deciding that the drive was too much, because once I find someone who does a decent job on my hair, I like to stay with them FOREVER.) Once my hair appointment was over, I went to Fred’s office to drop off Danielle’s old computer – he gave it to a coworker, who’ll either donate it to a school or find a family member who needs a barely functional computer – and from there I went to Sam’s, then to TJ Maxx, then Petsmart, then to Target, then to Bed, Bath & Beyond. At this point it was 1:30 and I had to choose whether I wanted to go home and have lunch, then drive back to Madison to meet Danielle at Kohl’s, or just hang out at the old house in Madison until it was time. Ultimately I decided to go home, have lunch, and take a shower to depouff my hair. I did so, bonded with the kitties for a while, then headed back to Madison. I wandered around Kohl’s for about an hour before Danielle showed up, and then we started some serious shopping. She’s graduating next Tuesday, and needed to have a black or navy blue skirt or dress to wear under her robe. She didn’t have either, thus the shopping trip. It didn’t take long to find a skirt and top she could live with, and then we headed over to find black shoes. The first pair she tried on were too small. “Take off your socks and try them on,” I said. “Well, you’re not supposed to do that,” she said, casting a look at a passing store employee. “I guess I’ll just wear black socks to graduation.” I looked at her to see if she was joking. She wasn’t. “Um, NO. You aren’t wearing SOCKS to graduation with a skirt!” “Well, what am I supposed to wear?” “Either go barefoot, or wear hose!” “Hose?” she said with no little amount of confusion. “PANTYHOSE?” I said, giving her the bug-eyed look. Then I reconsidered – how would the child KNOW what pantyhose were? I haven’t worn them Fred’s grandmother’s funeral six years ago, and it’s not like Danielle wears skirts all that often, either, and when she does, she usually goes bare-legged. Hard to blame her for not knowing about pantyhose when I’ve never suggested she wear them in the past, I guess. She tried on a second pair of shoes, which fit, and we grabbed a couple pair of pantyhose, and we were done! Last night Fred and I were laying in bed talking. He had also stopped by Kohl’s on his way home to pick up clothes to wear to graduation, and he told me what he’d bought (khakis and a button-up shirt, if you must know), and then he said “Are you wearing a dress?” I lay in silence and wondered how far Alzheimer’s treatments have come in the past few years. “You are, aren’t you? I remember you talking about the shoes you bought, or something?” I lay in silence and wondered how fast early-onset Alzheimer’s progresses. Also, whether sundowning usually happens so late in the evening. “Shoes with heels or something?” “Come ON!” I said. “I’m going to have them haul you away to the nursing home! YOU WERE THERE WITH ME AND PICKED OUT THE SKIRT FOR ME!” Last month when Fred and Danielle were still living in Madison, the home inspector was doing his thing, and I decided to go to Kohl’s to find an outfit to wear to graduation. Fred couldn’t go home, ’cause he’d be in the home inspector’s way, so I told him to come to Kohl’s to help me choose an outfit. I tried on the outfit I’d chosen – a black skirt and yellow top – and he didn’t like the skirt because it was similar in construction to a poodle skirt. I thought it was cute, but he didn’t like it. So he ended up picking out a skirt for me to try on, liked it, and that’s what I bought. Then we went over to the shoes, because probably New Balance slip-on sneakers might not “go” with the outfit, and I jokingly put on a pair of Daisy Fuentes shoes with six-inch heels, and Fred got a horrified look on his face, and I couldn’t find any shoes I liked, so we left. Later that evening I said “Why’d you look so freaked out when I tried on those shoes?” And he said “I’m just not used to seeing you in clothes like that. They’re GIRLY.” “I CAN BE A GIRL!” I said. Which made him laugh while he was drinking his Diet Coke, and he choked and spluttered and laughed and when he could breathe again, he said “I didn’t say you COULDN’T, you just don’t usually dress like that!” Which is to say, I usually dress like a teenage boy, I guess, and have done so for pretty much the entire almost-11-years we’ve been together. I don’t expect things to change – but I WILL be wearing girl clothes to graduation, so if the earth cracks open next Tuesday, you’ll know who to blame. (I won’t be wearing pantyhose, though.)

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“It must not touch The Sugs, Thomas.” “Ohhhh, how I love the feel of the cool wood floor under my sweet fuzzy cheek…”
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Previously 2006: Sorry, no real entry today. 2005: Fucking cats. They sure are a money pit. 2004: Oh, look. It must be a day that ends in “y.” 2003: No entry. 2002: You know, this whole band shit drives me nuts. 2001: The spud’s band is having another concert tonight. 2000: I would put a sign announcing the name of the house: Horseshit Alley.]]>

5/16/07

Google Desktop: Do I want it? And if so, why? Is it the coolest thing since sliced bread, or just more crap cluttering up my desktop?

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Our house was originally located on 5 acres of land. When the Banks family bought this house, they cut out an area of about half an acre and sold it to her father, who put a manufactured house on said half acre, and he and his wife moved into the house. Mrs. Banks’ mother eventually got sick and had to be moved into a home (I think) and since Mrs. Banks wanted to be closer to her parents, they sold this house to us. Since we bought this house, the house next door has been occupied by Mrs. Banks’ brother, who has been a perfectly fine neighbor, though sometimes he liked to wander around his yard wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, so every now and then I’d glance out the kitchen window and my corneas would be seared by the sight, and I’d stumble around blind for a day or two. Mrs. Banks’ brother is apparently considered the black sheep of the family, and lately there’s been a bit of activity next door culminating in a nasty note being taped to the back door (and I think you KNOW I snuck my ass over there at dusk one evening to read the note in all its glory, and I am only saddened by the fact that I didn’t take a picture of it to share with y’all), and finally in Mrs. Banks and a couple of her sons moving all of her parents’ furniture into the shed in the back yard late last week. So anyway, that house has been up for sale for a few weeks now, and there have been two or three instances where I’ve looked over to see potential buyers wander through the yard. I turn into a total fucking Mrs. Kravitz, peering out the window while trying to look like I’m going about my business with no interest in what’s going on over there. Yesterday I was doing dishes when I saw a couple of young guys walk through the yard with Mrs. Banks’ father (let’s call him Mr. Hooper). I stood and watched them walk around the back of the house, pointing out various things on the foundation and the windows and various things like that. Fred came in the house a minute later to see if I’d noticed the potential buyers walking around with Mr. Hooper, and we discussed them. “Why are two young guys interested in buying a manufactured home on half an acre in Smallville?” I asked. Now, when I say young, I mean that these guys were definitely youngish, but whether they were college-aged or in their early 30s, I have no clue. All I know is that they were younger than me, or at least that was my impression. “Maybe they’re a gay couple!” Fred offered. I don’t know why, but I am completely enthralled with the idea of having gay neighbors. Gay people are – pardon the stereotyping – the coolest, and the idea of having two young good-looking gay men or women move in next door is something I can get on board with. They’d surely have fabulous gay parties and invite their fabulous gay friends and give my inner Mrs. Kravitz something to spy on. “Maybe, but I don’t think so,” I said sadly. “They look like brothers. Probably they’re going to move in with their wives and have lots of small children who don’t know nothin’ ’bout honoring no property lines. Fucking breeders.” (Yes, I have a child. I suppose that makes me a breeder. But I taught her the fine art of honoring a property line and you’d never find her tromping through someone else’s flower bed. That I’m aware of.) The guys stood in the front yard and talked to Mr. Hooper for a few minutes, then left. “Did Mr. Hooper leave?” I asked Fred when he came in with our steaks, which he’d just finished grilling. “Yeah.” “He didn’t come over and tell you what was going on?” “Nope.” “Well goddamn, that’s rude. Call his ass up! Tell him you want to know what’s going on!” I demanded. “Because it’s clearly our business?” Fred said. “Indeed.” We went outside to eat at the table on the concrete pad. We like to do that when the weather is nice, so that Maxi and Newt can share in our meal (Maxi is pickier than Newt. I think Newt doesn’t chew a single damn thing he eats.), and Fred can toss scraps to the chickens. While we were sitting there, the two guys showed up again. Then it was like a clown car – more people kept appearing around the side of the house. “There’s a third guy,” I narrated to Fred, who had his back to the house. “And another one. Damn! And another one!” “Maybe it’s a family of twentysomethings who are going to buy the house together and throw loud and obnoxious parties. Sucks to be the person whose bedroom is on the side of the house facing that house.” “Quick! Take your shirt and pants off, and traipse around the yard!” I ordered. “Scratch your ass, too! That’ll scare ’em off!” Then a twentysomething girl appeared, and the whole crowd walked around the house, pointing at the foundation, looking under the deck. Newt went wandering across the yard, then stopped to look at the crowd. He looked at them, then looked at us. Them. Us. Them. Us. I could see the “Hey. I don’t know THOSE people!” lightbulb go on over his head, and then he ran over to us and gave us the “I’m starving!” eyes. The crowd hung out in the front yard for a little while, then left. “Call Mr. Hooper and find out what’s going on!” I demanded, but Fred wouldn’t. Bastard. And before you suggest it, I should point out that we seriously considered buying the house, selling the house off the land, and keeping the land for ourselves, which is what we’d really like to do. (We also considered buying the house, then renting it out, which is a much less appealing prospect, because we have no desire to be slumlords.) But Mr. Hooper is really asking more than we can afford to spend for half an acre of land, and chances aren’t great that we could recoup much money from selling the house. I will, of course, keep y’all informed on what happens over there.
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Every night around 7 – sometimes a little earlier, sometimes a little later – it’s snackin’ time for the kitties, our kitties, and the two who hang around outside and DO NOT BELONG TO US. After dinner – usually around 5 – every time I walk through the kitchen or stop to get a drink or whatever, the cats (especially Spot) run into the kitchen with the “IS IT SNACKIN’ TIME?!” eyes, and they mill around then decide it’s not snackin’ time because I haven’t bellowed “WHO READY FOR THE SNACKIN’?” like I always do. Last night, Fred was taking a shower before we started watching TV, and I went into the kitchen to get the kitty snacks. “WHO’S READY FOR THE SNACKIN’?” I bellowed, and they all started doing what they do every night at Snackin’ Time. Sugarbutt and Tommy jump up on the counter so that the instant I open the cans of cat food, they can stick their little pig noses in and start licking whatever they can get their tongues on. Spot sits in the middle of the kitchen and meows his weird soundless meows (you can hear his mouth opening and closing as he does it). Spanky sits in a corner of the room and gives me the “I am so hungry, but I am a big wimpy wimp who cannot fight the hordes of cats for a taste of the tasty snack. Help?” (he gets a little bit on a dish to himself). Mister Boogers stomps back and forth waggling his stump and meowing bitchily. Miz Poo might wander in to see if she’s interested, but she’s usually not. Anyway, as soon as I bellowed “WHO READY FOR THE SNACKIN’?”, I heard the sound of a human running goonily down the hallway. I instantly knew it was Fred, and he was going to show up in the kitchen doorway and either meow or give me the crazyhungry eyes. I glanced around at the cats, sure they’d be freaked out by the sound of a person running down the hallway, but they were all eyeballing the can of cat food in my hand. As Fred approached the doorway, I turned around to give him a grin. He popped into the doorway, and the instant he did, the cats lost their minds. As one, they levitated and ran into the laundry room. There was a loud clanging noise, and then they reappeared, some of them scrabbling to regain their balance as they ran across the hardwood floor of the kitchen, and they raced through the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, and then they vanished. I laughed so hard I thought I was going to pass out. For the rest of the evening, the cats walked around low to the ground with big, dark eyes, tails puffed out, trying to remember why they were so freaked out. And I’d remember them racing into the laundry room, hearing that loud clanging noise, and then them running back through the kitchen, and I’d laugh all over again. Even now, writing about it, I’m giggling.
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Tommy makes like a bat.
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Previously 2006: I’m READY FOR SUMMER, THANK YOU. 2005: I like cats. They’re good to eat. 2004: No entry. 2003: We’re some calendar-loving motherfuckers, that’s right. 2002: Kitty meeting. 2001: So… I guess we could probably sell your shithole… 2000: It sounds like there’s a lot to do in Gatlinburg, so it should be fun.]]>