Robyn – Page 152 – Bitchypoo

9/5/06

* * * I had a strange dream the other night. In the dream, the writer of one of the agrarian-type blogs I spent the weekend reading was trying to sell me a couple of acres of his land. He and I tromped all over the land as he pointed out the good parts of the land, and where a garden could go, and perhaps a couple of cows. This was a lovely piece of land, but I was unconvinced that I even needed two more acres of land. At one point I realized that I was accompanied not by Fred, but by Mister Boogers. Mister Boogers seemed to disapprove of the land, and at one point the seller of the land started having a discussion with Mister Boogers, only instead of “Mister Boogers”, he referred to him as “Curtis.” Mister Boogers seemed to take this name in stride, and we left the farmer with a promise to seriously consider buying the land. I woke up laughing because the only “Curtis” I know of* is Curtis from 24. For those of you who don’t watch 24, Curtis basically exists so that when Jack Bauer is in deep trouble and needs to be transported back to CTU headquarters, they tell Curtis to transport him back, and ALWAYS Jack Bauer knocks Curtis out or beats him up and escapes. In the most recent season of 24, when they told Curtis to transport Jack back to CTU headquarters, you could almost see Curtis flinch. *Well, my brother did have a friend named Curt (or possibly Kurt) in high school, upon whom I had a very brief crush. In fact, I had crushes on all of my brothers’ friends at one point or another. I was an equal-opportunity crush-er; the guy upon whom I had a crush didn’t have to be particularly smart, charming, or good-looking. Some of the guys I had crushes on were brutally beaten with an ugly stick at the moment of their birth while simultaneously undergoing a personalityectomy. I’d say that I had a crush on most every male who attended my school with only one exception that comes to mind, and he was some horrific mess. If he was a guy and the slightest bit cool**, I entertained a crush upon him for at least five minutes. I probably would have had crushes on all of Tracy’s friends, too, but he graduated from high school and left home before I really got old enough for crushes. **Let’s just say I had a weird idea of who was cool and who wasn’t.

* * * I was in Target one day last week, and as always, I was checking out the books to see what had been released recently (note to the interested: The new Jennifer Weiner book is out today!), and I discovered a fairly new, somewhat disturbing trend. All those authors who wrote romance novels back in the day to make ends meet and who are now non-romance-novel big-time authors (or at least fairly popular) are starting to re-release their romance novels. I don’t care for this trend because I find that, basically, the old romance novels aren’t nearly as good as their current stuff (Janet Evanovich has been re-releasing her old stuff for years now, and I don’t like any of the re-released stuff a tenth as much as I like the Stephanie Plum books), and it kind of pisses me off that someone might see the name of an author they like on a book, think it’s a new book, and end up with a cut-rate romance. Tami Hoag is doing it and so is Kay Hooper, and for that matter I’m sure there are other writers doing it as well. I’m just saying, be aware that they’re doing it when you’re looking at books. I’d hate for you to get all excited about a new Tami Hoag book, then get home to find that it was originally a Loveswept book, re-released to capitalize on her popularity. * * * I just got home from the gastroenterologist’s office. I made Fred go with me in case the doctor said something I didn’t understand, but I think I pretty much understood everything the doctor said. “Uh…. I dunno!” isn’t that difficult to interpret, after all. He doesn’t think any of the drugs I’m taking are the cause, he said there was no sign of cirrhosis in the liver sample they took and tested, nor signs of fatty liver disease. “It’s a very nonspecific diagnosis” is what he said. There’s just one more thing to test for – Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis – but he doesn’t think that’s it, because it tends to present in young white men. In any case, I’m scheduled for an MRCP (basically, an MRI applied to the hepatobiliary and pancreatic system) next Monday afternoon. It’ll take at least a week for the results to come back from that, and then he’ll give me a call. In other words, another two weeks of waiting. If I didn’t feel so damn good, I might be worried. As it is, I’m not. As always, I’ll let you know what’s going on when I know. * * * I stopped by Sam’s on the way home from my appointment after I dropped Fred off at work. On my way out, I stopped so that the guy standing by the “out” door could look over my receipt and make sure I wasn’t getting away with anything I hadn’t paid for. “How are you today?” he asked as he looked over my receipt. “Good!” I chirped. “How are you?” “I reckon I’m all right,” he said, and it was all I could do not to say “MmmHMMM” back to him. * * *

Curtis and his patented “Is that a serial killer I see behind you?” look.

Ya puts your left paw in, ya puts your left paw out… * * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: It’s a good day, indeed. 2002: FUCKING telemarketers. 2001: I turned to Fred and said “He looks all dilemmanated, doesn’t he?” 2000: Trip to Tennessee.]]>

9/4/06

* * * We had QUITE a weekend this past weekend – and the weekend, strictly speaking, ain’t even over yet. Saturday morning we got up bright and early and had a squabble about the fact that there is FOOD in the PANTRY, and Fred couldn’t figure out where to put all the groceries I’d put all willy-nilly on the grocery list for NO GOOD REASON. After transferring his bad mood to me, Fred went whistling off to sit in front of the computer and read while I stomped around and muttered mean things under my breath. We left the house a few minutes after 9 to head to the new house. Fred had emailed the owners and asked if we could stop by the house to show his mother and stepfather. His mother’s been very interested in the house ever since we told her about it, and since we were going to be in that general direction for Fred’s father’s family reunion, and since we could happily wander around the house and make plans for three days at a time, we decided to see if we could get into the house. The owner left a key for us, and while we waited for Fred’s mother and stepfather to show up, he measured the property at various points so that he could ~~be the geek he is and~~ use graph paper to plot out the house and the pond and stuff, and then we could plan what was going to go where. I think we spent more than an hour going through the house, showing them each and every room and talking about what we planned to do to the house. Both his mother and stepfather seemed to be in agreement that rather than refinish the floors, Fred should just leave them alone, because they have an awful lot of character. Fred’s mother really really liked the house – I know this because she said, several times, “I really like this house!”, I am excellent at reading between the lines – and it was nice to hear how enthused they were for us. Fred’s mother seemed a little disappointed that we weren’t going to keep the tin light fixtures, and did her best to convince us to keep them. We just don’t like them, though, and she finally gave up on trying to convince us. At one point we went out back, and went over to the pond to find that the duck we’d seen in the past was swimming around happily in the water. The water looked a little less nasty than the last time we were there, and as I stood and tried to take a picture of the duck, I found that I was standing on an ant pile, and the ants weren’t too happy about that. I had ants swarming up over my shoe and in my shoe, and furiously biting me. They did no serious damage to me, though. Ha! I laugh in the face of ant bites! The little fuckers. Fred’s mother suggested that we get some gasoline and burn their nest. Fred told her that after we buy the house (25 days!), he’s going to declare war on the ants. Does it make me strange that I can handle the thought of field mice in the house, but the idea of ants in the house just REALLY infuriates me?

BigbigBIG tree to the right (if you’re facing it) of the house. Also, our next-door neighbor. Interestingly, that house belongs to the father of the woman who owns the house we’re buying. He hasn’t decided yet, but apparently he’s leaning toward selling the house. We’re going to make sure that the owners know we might be interested in buying the house and the property, whether to sell the house off the property and reclaim that half-acre, or to rent the house out, we’re not sure.

In the workshop section of the shed (which is as old as the house), greenery grows through the walls. Fred’s planning to insulate and drywall, to stop the creepery of greenery and creepy crawlies.

We have pokeweed growing in several spots. According to Fred’s stepmother, you can eat the leaves. You have to do a lot of boiling and draining, though, and apparently Fred’s stepmother’s mother used to poison herself once a year or so on pokeweed, which happens if you don’t cook the leaves enough. I think we’ll be skipping the pokeweed greens.

Camellia bush! I can’t wait to see it bloom.

A cherry tree. I’d rather yank it down (I don’t like where it is, or the way it’s leaning) and put a dogwood in the same general area.

Gardenia bush. I think we’re planning to move it out of the front yard – perhaps near the camellia bush?

For a brief moment in time, I knew what this was, but I didn’t write it down, so I’ve forgotten. Anyone know?

Fred LOVES this Coke bottle opener.

I adore this old, heavy black phone. It’s like weight-lifting to lift up the receiver. The owner says that it works, so I’m hoping like hell they leave it for us.

Some sort of clematis.

I expect we’ll be seeing a LOT of these guys.

When we went back to the house after the family reunion, this little cat was hanging out in the back yard with the duck. I don’t know where she came from, or who she belongs to, but she was very, very friendly, so probably she’s somebody’s pet. She’s also clearly had a litter of kittens recently, and I wonder where they are. I told Fred “If we were living here, and she showed up and hung around, I wouldn’t hesitate to snatch her up and have her fixed.” Once her kittens were weaned, that is. We’re going to make a name for ourselves as the evil cat-fixing neighbors, aren’t we? We didn’t have any cat food with us, but if we had, I would have poured her a bowl. She was a tiny, skinny thing.

Another shot of the front of the house. I LOVE THIS HOUSE.

The massive magnolia on the side (left side, if you’re facing the house) of the house. Fred likes to tell people that the tree is a “point of contention” because he hates magnolias and I love them. There’s no point of contention, though – that tree’s staying. We left the house not long after Fred’s mother and stepfather did, because we were supposed to be at the family reunion at noon. We were almost the last people to show up at the reunion, and this year there weren’t a lot of people there. In years past there’ve been more than three long tables of people, but this year we were all able to fit at one table with a few chairs left over. We had a pretty good time at the reunion, mostly sat and listened to everyone else talk. I ordered the grilled chicken, which wasn’t bad at all, and I stayed away from the hushpuppies until after I’d had my protein. One of Fred’s cousins – I don’t even know her name – showed up after we did, and she was talking about how short her hair was, and I nudged Fred and said “I should get my hair cut like that!”

I don’t know. Maybe I will. What do y’all think? Anyway, after staying at the family reunion for a couple of hours, we were ready to go back to the house and gaze lovingly upon it some more. Fred suggested to his father a couple of times that he and Fred’s stepmother could stop over and take a look at the house, but Fred’s father acted uninterested. We get the distinct impression that he’s less than thrilled that we’re fleeing the suburbs for the country. So we said our goodbyes and headed back to the house. One of the towns we had to go through to and from the family reunion is this tiny little town with the ultimate small-town Alabama name of Belle Mina. It’s a VERY cute little town, and I ended up making Fred stop so I could get some pictures.

Pretty little chapel in Belle Mina.

Pretty little houses next to the pretty little chapel.

Empress Paulownia tree. Apparently they’re very fast-growing and gorgeous when they bloom.

I adore this pretty little building. I think it might have been the railroad station in the past, but it’s privately owned now. How much fun would it be to buy this building and restore it?

Lots of cotton in and around Belle Mina.

Dorks avec cotton.

This is just to show that I do occasionally wear makeup. This is a lot of makeup for me, actually. (Yes, I know I need to have my eyebrows waxed. SHADDUP.)

Letting my inner devil show. We got back to the house and Fred started taking pictures, and to our utter amazement, Fred’s father and stepmother pulled into the driveway. We spent an hour or so showing them the house and the property, and I took advantage of having Fred’s stepmother there to drag her around and ask what various trees and plants were. I felt like a two year-old, pointing and saying “What dat? What dat? What dat?” She is an awesome resource to have – the woman knows EVERYTHING about plants and trees and bushes. I was pleased to find that there’s a gardenia bush in the front yard and a winter honeysuckle on the side. Those of you who guessed that that one bush was a spirea were correct. She pointed out all the poison ivy we have (we have a LOT, yay) and checked out the pecan trees we have all over the place. Fred and his father trekked to the back of the property to get a branch of the tree we were unable to identify a few weeks ago, this one:

Fred’s stepmother identified it as a black gum tree, which means that it’s going to be gorgeous when the weather gets colder and the leaves turn a brilliant pinkish-red. I look forward to seeing that. It was nice to have both sets of parents visit and give their approval to the house (Fred’s father and stepmother agreed that we should do nothing to the floors, until they saw the floors in the upstairs, then they changed it to, “You should just have professionals come in and redo all the floors at once!”). After Fred’s father and stepmother left, we hung around the house for a little while longer, and then headed out to drive into Athens and eat some Mexican food. And it was DAMNED GOOD. We got home almost 9 hours after we’d left in the morning, which is a damn long time to be away from home. We hung out in front of our computers for the rest of the afternoon, and then watched TV until I could barely keep my eyes open. Sunday morning we got up early-ish again (not that I wanted to, but I’ve been waking up earlier lately), and puttered around for a good part of the morning. We were supposed to leave around 10 to go to Scottsboro Trade Days, but when I used the downstairs bathroom, it was barely flushing, and I said to Fred, “You need to get this fixed NOW.” The downstairs bathroom is the bathroom I tend to use 90% of the time, because I spent most of my days downstairs. Thus began a morning of Fred making trips to Lowe’s for more and more items. You can read the details over at his site, but I think this bunch of pictures should explain it pretty clearly.

Toilet, without tank.

Tank in the sink, unbroken.

I took advantage of the missing tank to dust behind where the tank goes. Sugarbutt is fascinated by the Swiffer Duster.

This is James, our bathroom spider. James is in a tizzy because I dusted his web. I cannot abide a dusty web, and James knows that. James later disappeared, but whether he packed up his dusty web and headed for friendlier (ie, less strict) environs, or was drowned in a horrifying toilet experience, I cannot say.

The toilet tank, broken. Don’t look at me – I didn’t break it! Once the toilet had been completely and irretrievably broken, and after Fred had spoken to a plumber about coming out and replacing the tank (we later decided to go for the whole new toilet) in a few days, he asked if I wanted to drive to Ardmore, TN and check out the Ardmore Dog Days Flea Market. I did, so we headed out there, figured out where it was, and spent about an hour and a half looking around. I would have liked to stay longer and look at more stuff, but SOMEONE (not me) was clearly uninterested in what there was to see (and it bothered us to see how many animals were in tiny cages, in direct sunlight. I’m pretty sure we saw a dead puppy in one of the cages, and the roosters and chickens we saw were panting for air. GRRRR.) and he was hungry (so was I, for that matter), so we headed out of Ardmore, hit the highway, and drove to Athens where we… ate Mexican food!

Pig on a harness at the flea market. Could you just die from the cute? Can you tell we’re on a Mexican food kick? We didn’t end up getting home until late, because we drove around more than we’d expected to, and after watching some shows on the Discovery Home channel, we went to bed a little after 9. This morning, I intended to get up a little after 5 to go for a walk before I needed to be at the pet store to feed and clean out the cat cages, but I woke up at 4:45 and was so damn tired I couldn’t stand the thought of getting up to walk, so I turned off the alarm clocks, and went back to sleep until 6:30, when Fred woke me up to tell me that Steve Irwin had died. That SUCKS, especially that it was such a freak accident. As Fred said, “What’s the point in going to Australia NOW?” (He was kidding. I think.) I got dressed and puttered around for a while, then left the house a little after 7 to go to the pet store. While there, I fell in love with a feisty little black kitten named Lucyfer, and wished I had the camera with me. After the pet store, I ran to the grocery store ANNOUNCEMENT: If you shop at Publix, they’ve currently got 28 .5-liter bottles of Deer Park water on sale for $3.99. That’s 14 cents a bottle! I bought three cases, and then went back later with Fred and got five more! and home, where I started writing this ungodly-long entry and then took a shower while Fred painted the downstairs bathroom. A little before noon, he asked if I wanted to go look at tractors with him, so we headed off to Athens to stop and look at tractors, and found that the only tractor store in all of Athens that was open was the John D33re store. We looked at some tractors, went in and asked some questions, and came out with a pamphlet. The Kub0ta, Mass3y-Fergus0n, and Agc0 tractor stores were closed so we may hit them next weekend. (Don’t try to give me advice on tractors, by the way. I don’t care what we end up with; Fred’s the person to convince. Just so you know.) We got home a little while ago (it’s after 3 here) and ate lunch, and now I think I’m going to go upstairs and read (and snooze) for a while before I need to start dinner. And that, my friends, was our weekend. It was a busy one, and we weren’t home much, but that’s kind of the way I like it. I get to spend lots of time at home during the week, usually, so I’m okay with spending my weekends out and about. (Did I mention 25 days ’til we close on the house? Woot!) * * *

“Whyyyyy, back in MY day, we had to walk 53 miles – up hill! Both ways! – to get cat food AND IT WASN’T canned! It was made of sawdust! And we were GLAD TO GET IT!” All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: My Gram. 2003: If I had a brain I’d be dangerous. 2002: What I’ve been doing. 2001: I’m wise to your stalker ways, Margaret! 2000: No entry.]]>

9/1/06

new logo! This one was created by the lovely and talented Bonnie, who RAWKS. Thanks, Bonnie!

* * * I realized something yesterday when I was at the surgeon’s office, though I didn’t think of asking the surgeon about it. That is, my temperature seems to run a little low. It’s almost always right around 97.3 instead of the more accepted 98.6. As I said to Fred last night, if my temperature was 1.3 degrees over 98.6, they’d consider that a low-grade fever, but no one seems phased by the fact that it’s always 1.3 degrees lower. (Then he pointed out that 99.9 would only be considered a low-grade fever if my temperature was usually the normal 98.6.) Then he told me that his temperature tends to run a little higher than normal, usually in the 99s. So we have me, whose temperature runs a little low, and I’m always cold. Then we have him, whose temperature runs a little high, and he’s always hot. Coincidence? * * * You guys, thanks for your comments on yesterday’s entry. Some of your comments cracked me the hell up. I still don’t know whether we’re going to put animals back in the back 40 or not, but if we do it’ll be something we do a few years in the future rather than right away. And I can’t believe no one called me on my bullshit belief that I’d have no problems killing chickens. Fred sent me a couple of links today, and after seeing pictures and movies of people (humanely) killing chickens, I’ve gotta say – no fucking way I could EVER kill a chicken. Good god, I have a hard time killing SPIDERS sometimes (though not always – like I’ve said, if they keep their webs neat I’ll let them stay, but if they let their webs get dusty and filled with bug body pieces, I’ll suck those fuckers up with the vacuum before they know what’s happening), you think I could possibly kill Miss Hennypecker, even if she DID peck me on the leg because I wasn’t fast enough with the food? I don’t think so. I think egg farming, rather than chicken farming, is in our future. I don’t know, though – Fred seems to believe that he could kill a chicken, so I guess we’ll see about that. A couple of you suggested/ asked about tractors and riding lawnmowers. The truth is, Fred has been excitedly pricing tractors every minute of every day since our offer on the house was accepted. We’re not only getting a tractor with a mowing attachment for the back part of the property, we’re also getting a riding lawnmower for around the house. There’s no way on god’s green earth we were ever considering mowing 4 1/2 acres with a push lawnmower, trust me. * * * Lately, we’ve been watching The Job, the sitcom Denis Leary had on TV a few years ago, that only lasted a season. It aired in 2000 – 2001, and I know we watched at least the first few episodes of it, but never watched more than the first few. (Oh, wait. Apparently it was on for two seasons – a few episodes in 2001, and the rest in the 2001 – 2002 season.) Anyway, apparently Denis Leary and Peter Tolan have their favorite actors, because some of the actors in The Job – Diane Farr, Lenny Clarke, to name a couple – also showed up in Rescue Me. Even Jimmy showed up in a bit part in The Job, which we thought was very cool. Anyway, as we were watching the season finale of Rescue Me (Niki, episodes 9 – 13 will be on the way to you in the next few days!), I said to Fred, “Do you think Jimmy is Peter Tolan?” Because Peter Tolan’s name is all over Rescue Me, and I thought it would be neat, after all this time of wondering just who Peter Tolan is (yet being too lazy to look him up on Internet Movie Database), if we were to find out that Jimmy is Peter Tolan. So Fred went to his computer and looked and said “No, Jimmy’s name is James Something.” And then, at the end of the episode, as we were cursing Peter Tolan and Denis Leary and their goddamned cliffhanger season finales (and bitching about how we were going to have to wait nine months for new episodes, ASSUMING the series is extended for another year), we saw that Peter Tolan had been in the season finale in a bit role. What are the chances? * * * Currently reading: Lost and Found, by Carolyn Parkhurst. So far it’s interesting, though I’m getting a little confused about who’s who. I always am at the beginning of books that have more than one character’s perspective. Recently finished: Revenge of the Kudzu Debutantes. I enjoyed it, but it seemed kind of all-surface no-substance. I would have liked it to be a little longer, and delve into the minds of the women a little more. It was good, though, and a very fast read. Also recently finished: This is Chick-Lit, which was sent to me free. I like chick lit, and I like many of the authors who wrote stories for the book. I don’t always like books of short stories, because I tend to get bored with the format after a while, but this book was actually the exception. I enjoyed all the stories (some more than others, of course), right up to the end. I recommend it. Finished before that: Mask Market, by Andrew Vachss. Oh, how I adore that damn Burke. I wish they’d start making the Vachss books into movies. I don’t know who I’d like to see as Burke, but if Andrew Vachss had anything to say about the casting, I bet it’d be kick-ass. * * * We have a somewhat busy weekend planned. Saturday we’re meeting Fred’s mother and stepfather out at the new house so they can see it (since they’ve expressed interest in seeing the inside of it), then we’re attending the family reunion at a BBQ restaurant for Fred’s father’s family, then we might do a little antique shopping. Sunday, we’re going to a Trade Days in a faraway town (sorry, stalkers!). I don’t know what we’re doing Monday, but I’m going to try to drag Fred to a flea market. I’m really looking forward to the Trade Days. I hope y’all have a good weekend planned; see you on the flip side! * * *

Snoozin’ Sugs.

Tommy goes for the jugular. Sugarbutt doesn’t seem to mind.

The sunset from our back yard.

Spanky, snoozin’ RIGHT where the Daddy’s legs go. But as long as Spanky’s comfortable… All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: Ahhhhh, smell that fresh, crisp autumn air! Why, it’s down to 90 degrees today. I almost need a sweater. 2004: She turned 86 last Thursday. She’s the only grandparent I’ve ever really known. 2003: (and you KNOW he insisted on it, was all temper tantrumy, screaming and beating his fists on the floor, wailing “ACTOR AND NOVELIST! ACTOR AND NOVELIST!”) 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry.]]>

8/31/06

* * * I find it close to impossible to believe that it’s been one year since Katrina. One year? ONE? It seems simultaneously like it’s been at least three years, and also like it just happened yesterday.

* * * I’ve been watching a lot of TV this week. I got caught up on all the episodes of Secret Lives of Women I’ve taped in the last month (the weirdest episode: Fetishes. I just don’t get the whole idea of being turned on by “training” another person who’s dressed up as a horse, but you know. Whatever floats your boat, I suppose.). I also watched the two-hour series premiere of China Beach, which I tape and watch every few years. That part where McMurphy is trying to take off her scrubs and the back of her shirt is glued to her back with dried blood brings me to tears every single time I watch it. So many of the actors and actresses from that show will always be their China Beach characters to me. Dana Delaney will always be McMurphy. Brian Wimmer, Boonie. Jeff Kober (who I’ve seen all over the place in small parts on shows like The Shield, CSI, ER, 24), Dodger. Marg Helgenberger might be Catherine to an awful lot of you, but I still see KC, the hooker with a heart of gold. Ricki Lake, Holly. And what the hell ever happened to Nan Woods (Cherry)? According to Internet Movie Database, the last acting she did was China Beach, and she hasn’t been seen since. MAN I wish they’d put China Beach out on DVD. Although now that I know how to work that whole BitTorrent thing, I wonder if I could find episodes to download? * * * Earlier this week, Fred talked to our insurance lady (we get all our home, life, and car insurance through the same company) about the new house. She’d apparently made a trip out to the new house to look it over, over the weekend, and she told Fred that she thought that the fact that there were no stairs outside one of the doors meant there was going to be a problem with the appraisal. So Fred called the mortgage company and the woman he was dealing with there said the insurance lady was right, that it was a liability issue, and she’d call the appraiser and see what they had to say, so naturally we spent a day and a half worrying about it. Eventually we’d like to put a small deck outside that door – this door, for the record – but we didn’t want to do that quite yet (it’s pretty far down on our list of priorities), and we bitched and moaned about how idiotic this was, that we might be forced to put steps outside that door so that someone coming over to visit (“Can we sign a piece of paper stating that we never ever have anyone over to visit?” I offered.) wouldn’t say “Hey! A door with no steps! Let me see if I can fall out the door and harm myself!”, and then do so. The answer came back from the appraiser that any old set of steps would do, so Fred called the owners Tuesday, and they said they’d have something in place by the end of the day. Last night we went out and drove by the house just because we wanted to see what the drive was like at rush hour (answer: not bad at ALL) and we were wondering if they’d gotten anything in place for the stairs, and we drove by the house to see a set of concrete steps in place. Then we came home and Fred emailed the owners and asked if they were going to be at the house on Saturday, because we’re going to be in the area for Fred’s father’s family’s family reunion, and we thought we’d eat and then leave and go over to the house and walk through it again. “They’re going to refuse to sell the house to us, because I keep harassing them,” Fred said. “Hey, she said they were glad to be selling the house to us because we obviously love it,” I reminded him. “Oh yeah.” We’re now down to less than 30 days ’til closing. Once the appraisal goes off without a hitch (which I expect it to do), I think that’s really the last big hurdle and there’s nothing else that would prevent our buying this house. I can’t WAIT. * * * Last night we got into a discussion about whether or not we really want goats or sheep in the back part of the property. Fred wants them because he doesn’t want to have to cut back there every week. I don’t like the idea of having animals whose sole purpose is to eat grass so we don’t have to cut it; if we were raising animals for meat or milk and they also kept the grass short, that would be another story. Of course, I don’t necessarily want to raise animals for meat or milk, either. “We could just have a 4 1/2 acre garden,” Fred said. “By all means, let’s not start out small and work our way up,” I snarked. “Let’s do something that will completely overwhelm us so that we give up and go running back to the suburbs.” We’re definitely going to have chickens – layers, at least at first, and then possibly later on we’ll raise chickens to eat. Fred doesn’t think he could possibly kill a chicken. I think I’d have no problem – at least that’s what I like to think. When the time actually came, I can’t guarantee it’d be easy. Fred is obsessed – OBSESSED, I tell you – about making it so that the cats will be able to see the chickens. He’s talked about putting up a fence in the back yard that will be privacy fence on two sides, and a chain-link fence on the back. He’s dying to see the cats all lined up, staring at the chickens. He’s also obsessed about bring a goat or sheep into the back yard so he can see the cats react. I keep telling him I expect that after a while of the cats being freaked out, we’d end up looking out back to see Mister Boogers riding on the back of the sheep or goat, bitching the entire while. I suggested last night to Fred that I can see a whole new section of my journal coming into focus. I think it’ll probably be called “Today’s ‘goddamnit’ moment.” As in, “Goddamnit, how did that CHICKEN get on the roof of the HOUSE and how do I get it down?”, or “Goddamnit, what’s that racoon doing trying to get into the chicken coop?”, or “Goddamnit, how’d that fucking sheep get out of the pasture AGAIN?”, and so forth. * * * Okay, I just got back from my appointment with the surgeon. My appointment was at 10:15; I actually saw him around 11:30, but I was okay with that, because I got all Zen within my tiny little brain before I stepped into the office, saying “I have a book, I have a bottle of water, he’s going to be running late, what’ve I got planned for today? NOTHIN’.” And so when he walked in, I was perfectly happy to be sitting there with my book (though I was a little worried, because I was coming to the end of it, and to be in there without anything to read would have been BAD). He checked my incisions, told me they looked good (especially my belly button incision), asked if I was having any pain or nausea (I’m not), and looked to see what the pathology results about my liver said. Basically, the pathology results favor either drug-induced cholestasis (one of the drugs that can cause it is oral contraceptives – which I’m taking) or, less likely, a virus. He told me to follow up with the GI, and I told him I had an appointment on Tuesday. He also said that my gallbladder was sandy and sludgy and inflamed, but that there were no actual gallstones. Eh. Who needs a gallbladder, anyway, right? Then I got his okay to start exercising again (which I’ll be doing as of Monday morning.), but he told me no heavy lifting until six weeks after the date of surgery. Which means Fred will be cleaning out the litter box until then. And my heart, my heart is broken. Because I SO adore cleaning out the litter box, as you can well imagine. Luckily six weeks past my surgery will take us right up to closing on the house, so I’ll be okay to do any heavy lifting that I need to do at the house. Naturally I’ll report back and let y’all know what the GI says on Tuesday. * * *

Miz Poo was laying in this bed minding her own business, when Tommy walked across the desk and settled in next to her. Miz Poo sat and fumed for a few long minutes before she got up and stomped off, muttering cat swear words under her breath.

“Miz Poo! You going to the vet? You going to the vet, Miz Poo? Because *I* am *not* going to the vet!” “Shut. Up.”

No trespassing, you hear me? No trespassing on the median! Or else!

“Hellew.” All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: Is it just me, or does Eric Schaeffer play an inordinant number of characters named Sam? 2004: My day, in progress. 2003: This entry is comprised of nothing but cat pictures, because I’m clearing off the memory stick to start September fresh, with an empty memory stick. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: He said “Maybe you’re losing slower than me because you BELIEVE you’ll lose slower than me!” ]]>

8/29/06

* * *

Snack time! Mister Boogers, Tommy, Spot, and Sugarbutt eat most of the snack, then Miz Poo gets in there for a while, and Spanky comes along and bats cleanup.

Hummingbird in the front yard.

Keeping an eye out for the other hummingbirds. There are three of them, and they each consider the feeder their own personal property.

Sugarbutt, doing what he does best.

I don’t see how this could possibly be comfortable. All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: John Cusack, however, has become suddenly completely unappealing to me. 2004: No entry. 2003: I see a little silhouetto of a Poo, 2002: Damn him. 2001: Jayzus, I can’t wait ’til I’m Supreme Ruler of the World, and I can run around ordering the death of people who annoy me. 2000: Here we see Miz Poo at the tail end of a Fancypants swish-by. She looks none too pleased.]]>

8/28/06

Fucker, at least they don’t leave me to cool my heels for over an hour without bothering to let me know they’re running late. So he started looking at my blood test results, came upon my bilirubin levels, and all came to a screeching halt as I explained to him what had been happening. “You had the ultrasound, and what were the results?” he asked. “It indicated possible gallstones,” I said, then went on to explain that I was scheduled for an MRCE the next morning. “But… an MRCE isn’t even on the decision tree at this point,” he said, confused. “If you have gallstones, your gallbladder needs to come out.” And he sent his nurse out to get a sheet of paper so he could point to a diagram of my gallbladder and my liver and where stones might and mightn’t be, and toss around sentences like “which could cause pancreatitis, which could be life-threatening”. “So… what’s the next step?” I said. “I need to see a copy of your ultrasound results,” he said. “And then I’d like to take your gallbladder out as soon as possible.” He said, several times, “It’s a good thing you didn’t leave!” And in the end, I had to fill out and sign a form for the other doctor’s office to fax over the ultrasound results, then went and got something to eat because I was STARVING, and then cooled my heels in the waiting room until 5:00 (thank god I had the foresight to bring a book to read), until the other office got the results faxed over, my surgeon reviewed them, and then his nurse scheduled my surgery for first thing the next morning. She handed over an information sheet about the surgery, told me not to eat or drink anything after midnight, told me to be at the hospital at 5:30, and gave me a prescription for perc0set. I met Fred and the spud at a Mexican restaurant for dinner, but I ended up not eating much – guess I wasn’t that hungry – and then Fred and I went home and the spud went to her friend’s house. Wednesday morning I got up bright and early so I could shower and blow-dry my hair before we left. Fred got up a few minutes after I did, and we left the house a few minutes after 5. We actually had to wait a few minutes until they opened the part of the outpatient procedures section where they check you in and take your copay and all that, but I was lucky enough to be the second one there, because while I was back answering the clerk’s questions (she also had weight loss surgery, performed by my surgeon. I wanted to ask her if she thought his bedside manner was lacking a little, but I was afraid she’d be all “No, he was wonderful!” and then tell on me.) ten million people filled up the lobby. I’d been told the night before that my surgery was scheduled to start at 7, but when we were still sitting in the lobby at 6:40, I said to Fred, “I think my surgery’s going to be starting a little late.” Not much more than a few minutes later, I was paged back to the preop area, and in no time flat I was stylin’ in the hospital johnny, the stockings that prevent… blood clots? Maybe?.. and a brand-spankin-new inserted-the-first-time IV. They brought Fred back to keep me company, and then the anesthesiologist came in and asked me all the 10,000 questions the preop nurse had already asked me, and then the nurse-anesthesiologist (who was cuuuuuuute) came in and asked them all over again. When I told the anesthesiologist that I always get very nauseous when coming out from under general anesthesia, he told me they’d put something in the IV to prevent nausea. But when I told the nurse-anesthesiologist the same thing, he told me they’d not only put something in the IV, they’d give me a patch behind my ear. They actually put the patch on before they took me to the operating room. Long before we expected it – I think it was about 7:15 or so – the nurse-anesthesiologist put something in the IV to relax me and they were wheeling me back to the operating room. Next thing I knew, I was coming to as they were wheeling me to recovery. Then I was in and out, and they were talking over me about how low my heart-rate was, and I don’t know if they addressed any questions to me, but I spoke up and said “I’m on Metoprol0l for heart palpitations”, and that seemed to solve the confusion. They asked if I was in pain, and I very much was, so they told me they’d give me a half dose of morphine, but they couldn’t give me too much or my heart rate would drop too low. After a while I woke up enough to see that a patient across the way was coming out from under anesthesia in a pretty violent way, and nurses were surrounding him and telling him to stop trying to pull the oxygen mask off, that it was over and he was okay, and I briefly wished that I had my glasses so I could see exactly what was going on, and then I was asleep again. Some time later they wheeled me into a postop room and the nurse took the inflatable baggy things off my legs, brought me some apple juice, and – at my request – walked me to the bathroom. When they pulled the catheter out in recovery, it immediately made me feel like I had to pee, and guess what? I did! Only a little bit, though, so it was decided that I was going to have to produce more urine than that before they’d let me leave. They brought Fred back, and he showed me the picture they’d taken of my liver, and I was out of it enough that when he said “This is the color your liver should be, and this is the color it actually is”, I thought he was showing me two side-by-side pictures of livers, one mine and one a normal one, and I looked back and forth, confused, because they looked like they were the same color to me. What he was actually showing me was that my liver should have been the healthy pink of my intestines, but it’s a dark gray, and they took two pictures of my liver to show that, and also did a biopsy of my liver (which my GI will be following up on). Go look at my liver, here. You KNOW you wanna see it. So I snoozed and sipped apple juice while Fred watched TV and did some Su Doku puzzles. We actually happened to catch the woman who runs Tigers for Tomorrow on the news, too. What are the chances? Sometime after 1:00 my surgeon stopped by to check on me and to tell me he’d talked to my GI, and that I needed to see him (the surgeon) and the GI late the next week (this week) for follow-up appointments, but if there was any scheduling conflict and I had to choose whether to see the surgeon or the GI, I needed to see the GI. My surgeon had already told Fred that my gray liver could be anything from too much iron to a blocked bile duct to something more serious, like liver disease. He also said that it could be transitory and might go away on its own – but it’ll be up to the GI to figure all that out. A while later, the nurse took me to the bathroom again, where I peed more than I had before, and she announced that I could go home. I got dressed in short order, she filled out the discharge papers, and Fred and I were on our way home. We stopped at the grocery store on the way home so Fred could pick up my perc0set prescription (and he had to come back out to the car to get my social security number before they’d release it to me) along with some canned chicken noodle soup. When we got home he ate lunch and I had a bowl of soup that SUCKED, made some phone calls, and then snoozed on the couch for the better part of the afternoon. I actually slept okay Wednesday night, because I was able to sleep on my right side. I did have to keep waking up to fend off the cats, who apparently wanted nothing more in this world than to tromp all over my stomach. I told Fred he might as well go to work on Thursday, because I was able to move around well enough that there was no reason for him to stay home. He woke me up when he left, kissed me goodbye, and I went back to sleep for a few hours. I was awakened by Sugarbutt, who was trying to climb on my stomach, and I yelled and flung him off me, and didn’t see him again for several hours. Poor Sugarbutt. I got up mid-morning, took a shower, put my nightgown back on and a sweatshirt over that, then spent the rest of the morning reading and snoozing in the recliner in the corner of the bedroom. Thursday was, by far, worse than Wednesday. I was hurting, it hurt to sit too long, it hurt to get up from sitting, I couldn’t lay down for long, and the perc0set was just making me dopey, not really doing anything about the pain. And the worst pain, far and away, was the pain in my right shoulder. I’ve done some looking online, and apparently when they do a liver biopsy, the pain refers to your shoulder for some reason. And it REALLY FUCKING HURT in a way that the perc0set wasn’t touching. The only thing that helped, really, was to whine and moan about it, then take some perc0set to dope me up so I’d fall asleep and not be awake to feel the pain. Friday I was in less pain – in fact, after 3 am Friday, I didn’t take another perc0set until that night – but I was more uncomfortable in my abdominal area. Specifically, I looked like I was 9 months pregnant, and when I showed Fred how bloated I was, his eyes popped out of his head. It was easier to get up and down, and I was able to sleep on my left side as well as my right side, so obviously things were improving. Saturday we got up and left the house early and ended up in Lacon – about half an hour away – to check out their “Trading Days”, which is like a big flea market. We were only there for about an hour, walking around and looking at things. From there we went to Hartselle and wandered through the antique stores – looking for something that would work in an area of the kitchen in the new house – and then we went and had Mexican food for lunch. Which was probably a little too soon for me, since I was supposed to be “working up to” eating solid food again, but that Mexican food was the best stuff I’d eaten in days and it didn’t have an adverse effect on my system, so I didn’t regret it. When we got home Saturday I put my nightgown on, because the waistband of my pants had irritated my belly button (where the biggest laparascopic incision was), and I needed to wander around in something loose and non-irritating. Fred sat on his couch and read, and I sat on my couch and snoozed, and we had a conversation wherein we discussed that the swelling in my stomach had gone down a little, so I only looked like I was 7 1/2 months pregnant instead of 8. Sunday I slept in until almost 9, and when I rolled out of bed, the pain was very noticeably better. I still felt a little light-headed, but I puttered around the house doing a few things, then took a shower and sat in the bedroom and read while Fred vacuumed the entire downstairs for me, then cleared everything out of the downstairs hallway and painted the walls. Later, he filled up the bird feeders at my request, then helped me clean out the bird bath (I did the scrubbing, he did the lifting and dumping), then we had steak and fresh tomatoes for dinner. And my stomach was even a little less swollen, so I looked like I was maybe 7 months pregnant. This morning, I meant to sleep in, but ended up not doing so because the cats were wild and running around. I got up and ended up being so grossed-out by the floor in the master bathroom that I got out the vacuum cleaner (I didn’t do any lifting, don’t worry!) and vacuumed most of the upstairs, then threw in some laundry, called to cancel my physical therapy appointment for tomorrow, took a shower, ran some papers to Fred (for the mortgage application for the new house), dropped a few things off at the post office, and picked up a few groceries. I’m feeling a little tired, and I think there’ll be a nap in my afternoon, but other than that, I feel okay. And the swelling has gone down even more. Today? Today I only look like I’m about six months pregnant. I have a follow-up appointment with my surgeon on Thursday, but when I called (last Wednesday, as soon as I got home from the hospital, mind you) to make an appointment with my GI, I found that neither of the two I’ve seen at that practice is available this week, and the one I saw most recently is going to be off the entire month of September. So I made an appointment with the other one for next Tuesday, the day after Labor Day. It’s probably for the best I couldn’t get in to see the GI ’til next week, since it takes about two weeks for liver biopsy results to come back. As always, when I find out more, I’ll let y’all know. I’m hoping like hell that by the end of the week I’ll be feeling back to normal!

* * *

Sugarbutt melted right out of his bed. Melted kitty everywhere! But at least he appears to be happy about it. * * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: These kids need someone to come organize their lives is what they need. 2002: “What the hell?” I said, amazed. How far could the fucking thing have gone? 2001: Gah. I’ve got that unsettling panic-causing “waiting for the other shoe to drop” feeling, and I don’t know why. 2000: “An E-scort. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of those. I wonder if they’re new.”]]>

8/23/06

* * * Update, 2:25 pm: I’m home, everything went fine. The surgeon took a picture of my liver; there’s apparently something still going on there, because a normal liver is pink. Mine is gray. It could be fairly innocuous (blocked bile duct, too much iron) or something more serious (liver disease). The surgeon took a biopsy of the liver, and I have to follow up with the GI next week. I’m in surprisingly little pain, though that could be because I took two perc0set before I left the hospital. My belly button and to the right of my belly button, and up the right side hurt the most right now. I think I need to change into a nightgown so nothing’s pressing on my belly for now. Thanks, you guys, for your well wishes. I’ll update again when I can! ]]>

8/22/06

Solitude by Edwin McCain being the biggest tear-causing culprit of the day). And none of you bastards nominated me for a Pulitzer for the BEST PICTURE EVER, so HERE YOU GO AGAIN. How can you not die from the cute? Seriously, this fucking PMS is pissing me off. My fucking hormones are pissing me off. If I go off the pill I have my period closer and closer together until I’m on a one-week-off/ three-weeks-on schedule. If I go ON the pill, I’m on a three weeks off/ one week on schedule, but I also have breakthrough bleeding at random, inopportune times. AND MY BOOBS HURT. I knew my hormones were going to go all fucked up and floopy after the surgery but this is FOR THE BIRDS. I’m tempted to make an appointment with the gynecologist and demand she just yank everything out, but I’m sure that’d just make everything worse. FUCKING HORMONES. Maybe I just need to take up some good ol’ heroin. KIDDING.

* * * And fucking WordPress with their fucking new version, now all the comments y’all leave come to my mailbox as if they were mailed from bitchypoo @ wordpress.com, which means that GODDAMN GMAIL lumps them all into the same “conversation” and so I can’t file single comments away into my archives without filing them ALL away (I file comments that I intend to answer in the future) and I hate Gmail and their goddamn insistence on lumping emails into “conversations”, it REALLY PISSES ME OFF AND I FIND IT UTTERLY USELESS. And I can’t figure out how to fix it in WordPress. THANKS WORDPRESS! YOU GODDAMN SUCK! (If anyone knows how to fix that, let me know, would you? THANKS.) * * * I pounded down so much low-carb hot cocoa yesterday that my skin is probably going to go from golden yellow (though to be honest I don’t think I’m yellow anymore; certainly not nearly as yellow as I was a few weeks ago) to warm golden brown. PMS, did I mention? It’s like, I NEED something chocolatey-tasting, but anything really chocolatey (3 Musketeers, M&Ms, Snickers) is going to make me sick, so I have to make do. It’s a pale imitation of what I (or rather the PMS monster) really wants, but it takes the edge off the craving at least. * * * As I was chopping the mushrooms to have sauteed mushrooms and onions over hamburger patties for dinner Sunday night, I heard Mister Boogers run through the cat door. I thought nothing of it, since he does it sixty billion times a day, but then I heard him growling, and looked over to see him standing in the hallway, something in his mouth, growling. “Baby,” I said with an edge of annoyance as I didn’t for one minute pause in my mushroom-chopping duties, “he’s got something. And I think it’s dead.” Fred came in from the computer room and had one hell of a time prying Mister Boogers’ jaws apart. As he tried, I could see that it was a bird he – Mister Boogers, that is – had in his mouth, and that not only did he have a bird, he had it by the feet. Fred got Mister Boogers’ jaws apart, and the bird took off flying down the hallway. “I guess it’s not dead,” I said helpfully, still chopping. I listened as what sounded like a herd of elephants went running up the stairs, and then I heard a door slam. I stopped chopping long enough to open the back door wide, then went back to my chopping. Eventually, Fred came down with the bird cradled between his hands and his stomach. “The door’s open,” I pointed out. He went out back and the bird took off. “We chased that thing up the stairs, and Mister Boogers leapt up and caught it in mid-air. I was impressed!” Fred reported. That Boogers is such a little bastard. This morning he brought a cricket into the house and began dismembering it. He yanked off a leg and let it crawl halfway across the kitchen before toying with it again. I didn’t witness this myself; the spud was in the kitchen getting her lunch to take to school when she reported it to me. I told her to get a piece of paper towel and toss the cricket into the toilet and flush it. Better to have it die quickly than be tortured by a Boogery bastard, right? When I went into the bathroom just a few minutes ago, I found that the spud had yanked about a foot of paper towels off the roll to pick the cricket up and carry it into the bathroom. She left a cricket leg in the middle of the kitchen floor. My guess is that unless Tommy or Mister Boogers suddenly desires a mid-day snack, that cricket leg will stay there ’til I vacuum the entire house on Thursday. * * * I have an appointment this afternoon with the doctor who performed my weight loss surgery. It’s my six-month follow-up appointment, which was originally scheduled for a little closer to my actual six-month date – I’m now closer to my seven-month date – but they had to reschedule me. I’m not looking forward to the appointment, only because I’m sure I’ll have to explain what’s going on with my bilirubin/ gall bladder/ whatever and I’m SO FUCKING BORED with the whole freakin’ topic. And I’ll have to inform him that I’m having an MRCP tomorrow, and I can’t fucking remember without looking at the piece of paper where I wrote it down whether it’s called an MRCP or an MRCE. Isn’t an MRCE some kind of test you have to take to get into medical school or law school or something? I’m just tired of the whole fucking thing. I want the issue figured out and solved – it’s been a freakin’ month, now – and whatever steps need to be taken, taken. IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK? On the up side, they scheduled the MRCP in Madison and it’ll take me about five minutes to get there. Hopefully it won’t be too scary or traumatic. Either way, y’all know I’ll be reporting back as to how it went. I don’t expect to hear from the doctor about the results until sometime next week. I’m hoping that the MRCP shows what’s going on so I don’t have to have a liver biopsy. Liver biopsy. Doesn’t the thought just give you the ookies? * * * Tomorrow’s entry is going to be another question-answering entry (at least for part of the entry). If you have a burning question, leave it in the comments! * * *

Sugarbutt makes himself at home.

“HEY! Turn it DOWN! I’m trying to SLEEP over here!”

Spot, looking paranoid.

“Let us out! LET US OUT!” All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: So, that’s why I won’t be updating this week. 2004: No entry. 2003: And for the rest of the drive I would occasionally call him “Fo’-Thray”. 2002: Surely they can hear the thunder of Tubby approaching from miles away – you’d think they’d hide somewhere he can’t go, like under the shed or on the other side of the fence. 2001: That’s me, an expert at reading between the lines! 2000: It gives her a rakish air.]]>

8/21/06

Can you ask your all-knowing readers what they can recommend for a camcorder? We’re about to have our first baby and since we live halfway across the country from any family, we need one so we can fully share the love. I don’t mind spending the money on one as long as it’s decent. Our only requirements (so far) are that we don’t want to have to use tapes and we want something that will be compatible with Macs (we don’t have one now but probably will in the next year or so). I know you guys can help out – leave a comment at the bottom of the entry or email me, and I’ll pass your suggestion on to Shelly. I made the MOST fabulous dinner last night. We had hamburgers made on the George Foreman grill, and I sauteed mushrooms, onions, and garlic to go on top of the burgers. I put a slice of American cheese on my burger, topped it with sauteed mushrooms, onions, and garlic, and it was both filling and very, very, VERY tasty.I imagine it would be good on a hamburger bun, as well. We’re having a run of really good food lately, it seems. We went out to the new house Saturday and spent close to three hours walking around the house and property making extensive lists of what we wanted to do to the rooms (pretty much yank down the crown molding, repair and repaint, put up new crown molding that better works on those rooms, and replace all the light fixtures, in every room. Not to mention refinishing many of the floors.) and to the property. We actually walked to the very back of the property, since we hadn’t done that, and neither of us picked up ticks or snakes or anything particularly scary, so I consider it a good trip. Pictures, you ask? Why of COURSE I have pictures. The owners of the house we’re buying are very religious. I didn’t actually roll my eyes when I saw the Roy M00re sticker. But I WANTED to. The view off the porch to the left. Note the ceiling fan. The view off the porch to the right. Note ceiling fan #2. Next year there’ll be plants hanging off the porch roof to attract hummingbirds. The view off the front porch, straight ahead. I think that lawn needs a nice big bulb garden for next year, don’t you? The house comes with a chicken coop. It’s like a sign, between the chicken coop and the kittens. Inside of the chicken coop, which needs to be cleaned. One of the several pecan trees on the property. We’re going to have SO many pecans we’ll probably have to set up a little stand and sell them. Mimosa tree. Fred hates them; I think they’re pretty. Toward the back of our property, this is a shot from one side to the other. Eek! Mice don’t scare me, snakes don’t (much) scare me, but wasps scare the FUCK out of me. First order of business: getting the pest control people out to the property. Our new house and property has no shortage of bugs. From the back of the property, looking across to the other corner. The shed is on what will be our property (but isn’t ours), and to the right you can see a flash of white. That’s the house. Another shot from the back of the property. The house is in the middle of the picture. Tree to the right (if you’re facing it) of the house. I love how huge it is. A peek into the creepy crawl space. Mouse skeleton, found under the creepy crawl space. The pond in the back yard. We’ve had a seriously dry summer, so it’s close to dry, and the catfish have all died. We’re talking about filling it in and digging out a pond further back (and deeper, too). The bonus room over the garage, which will eventually become half foster kitten room, half storage. Down the stairs from the bonus room. These stairs seriously need a handrail. We’re not crazy about the light fixtures. They go well with the house, but we’re not big fans of tin, so we’ll be replacing these. Now we come to the section I like to call “Identify this bush, tree, or plant, please”. If anyone knows, leave a comment. I’ll label each picture so we don’t get confused. Tree #1 (back of property). Any idea what this tree is? It looks like it could be some sort of fruit tree, but we know nothing about this sort of thing. Plant #1. Any idea what these things growing are? Fred suggested perhaps they were watermelons (due to the markings), but we’re not sure. See the big picture for a better look. Bush #1. (Left side of porch) Bush #1 (closeup). Bush #2 (left side of porch). Bush #2 (closeup). Bush #3 (left of front part of porch). Tree #2 (middle of front lawn). Momma Dixie, giving us a bit of the attitude. She keeps an eye on us when we’re around her babies. She’s such a tiny little thing. A pile o’ sleepy kittens (Dixie moved them from the corner of the garage to a more comfortable spot on a blanket in a plastic box). The kittens start to wake up (helped in no small part by the fact that I couldn’t keep my paws off them) and root around for some food. Hungry baby. (BEST PICTURE EVER) We talked to the owner about the kittens while we were out there on Saturday. We told her that we (I) volunteer for the no-kill cat shelter, and Fred made a point of saying that we know it’s a good place, that they spay and neuter all cats before they adopt them out (and the owner shamefacedly said “Yeah, we need to get Dixie fixed…”), and she said “If I can’t find homes for them, can I give you a call?”, because we mentioned the idea of fostering them, and I said that of course she could.So I’m glad knowing that she knows that she’s got somewhere to turn if they can’t find homes for the kittens. But they’re so unbearably cute, I’m not sure how difficult it’ll be for her to find a home for them!

* * * Things I bought in Maine, part 1 of a series, I’m sure:

Bookland in Cook’s Corner in Brunswick has THE BEST post-it notes. I could have spent an hour looking at all of them.

I don’t remember where I bought this shirt – maybe when we were shopping in Bath – but I love how simple it is. * * * Previously: 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: You say tomato, I say fuck you. 2002: “Cats don’t have lips, you freak.” 2001: “…and we’re willing to give this to you – coupons worth two HUNDRED and twenty-five DOLLARS! – for only $19.95!” he said, aflutter with the thrill of it all. 2000: Does the phrase “Through a lovely laxative effect” strike fear into your heart?]]>

8/18/06

Rescue Me. “Lou sure does have pretty eyes,” Fred said. “Don’t you think so?” I looked at the TV. “Yeah, he does.” “No, wait. I didn’t mean Lou. I meant Kenny,” he corrected himself. I looked at him, so he felt the need to elaborate. “I said Lou, but I meant Kenny.” “That’s Lou,” I said. “No, that’s Kenny.” “That’s Lou AND Kenny, babe. “Lou” is short for “Lieutenant.”” “Oh.”

* * * When we got to the end of season 2 of Rescue Me, I harassed Fred about downloading the available episodes of season 3. Finally, he showed me how to do it on my computer, and I downloaded two episodes a night and burned them to DVD. We’re about halfway through season 3 now, and that thing with Tommy and Janet? UNCOMFORTABLE. Fred was aghast. I know this because he looked at me with a blank face and said, deadpan, “I am aghast.” Janet bugs me, because I feel like the actress had a lot of plastic surgery between seasons 1 and 2. The woman’s face doesn’t move. She’s got the same blank expression no matter how she’s supposed to be feeling. I think our favorite comic relief, though, would have to be Probie and Sean. When those two start talking, they always make us laugh. I’ve liked Denis Leary since his MTV days, and love to go watch the Asshole and Life’s Gonna Suck videos. He’s just really not an attractive man – I think his love scenes in Rescue Me must set the record for number of sex scenes where people are practically fully clothed. And his O face? He looks like a troll, he really does. Also, I think we ALL know the only reason all those women throw themselves at Tommy Gavin is because Denis Leary is the co-creator, producer, and sometimes writer of the show. * * * I’ve also been downloading the entire season of Starved, the Eric Schaeffer series that only lasted for seven episodes DAMN IT. BitTorrent ROCKS. * * * Fred and I have been talking INCESSANTLY about the new house and came to realize one thing – most of what’s going to need to be done to the inside of the house before we move in will be painting it and changing out the light fixtures. The light fixtures, we do not like. They’re all tin (the woman owner said she found them all online) and though they go well with the house, I find them not at all to my liking. Luckily, Fred and I are in agreement on this. We want to do things like replace the counters in the kitchen and replace the bathroom stuff (especially the tubs and possibly the sinks), but that’s stuff that’s not a priority to us. We’ll do it eventually, but we can live with what’s there for now. We’re going to be hurting a little for storage space in the bathroom, but luckily there’s room behind the bathroom doors where we could put freestanding shelf units (preferably with doors), so hopefully that’ll help out a bit. One thing we could do, I told Fred, is get a vanity to put in the master (mistress!) bedroom, which would cut down on bathroom clutter. When I was in Maine, I sat at the built-in desk in the room where I was staying to blow-dry my hair and put goop on my face, and it was kind of nice to just relax there and do my morning stuff, instead of standing in the bathroom like I do at home, looking around, and stressing out over what needs to be cleaned. Fred went out to the house yesterday morning with the housing inspector, who said that the house is in really good shape for its age. He found a few small things – leaks – that the owners will need to repair before closing, but nothing big. THANK GOD. The phone kept ringing yesterday morning, and I’d look at the clock and panic. Because I wasn’t expecting Fred to call before noon, and every time the phone rang I’d think it was him, ready to sadly tell me “The inspector sunk a knife in the joist and the entire house collapsed!” or something like it that meant we wouldn’t be able to buy the house. But it was never him calling – twice it was the gastroenterologist’s office*, once the physical therapy office, and once Liz – until a little after noon when he called, I saw his number on the caller ID, and answered it with “Tell me the good news!” And he did. Yay! Also, while he was out there, remember how I mentioned in the tour of the new house that the owners had a cat who’d had a litter of kittens they couldn’t find (she’s an outdoors cat, and they left her at the house to help control the mice population. No, I didn’t say “Get that cat fixed, woman!” I WANTED her to sell us the house, not piss her off.)? Well, Fred found them in the garage. They’re still so new their eyes aren’t open yet.

*When the gastroenterologist’s office called the second time, I knew it was them because I had been waiting for them to call me back and tell me when my appointment for the MRCP was scheduled. I was out in the back yard putting peanuts on the fence for the squirrels (can you IMAGINE how many squirrels we’ll be seeing in our yard in the new house? The mind BOGGLES.) when I heard the phone ring. I was way out at the end of the yard, even, which makes it amazing that I heard the phone ring. So I turned and hauled ass toward the house, ran the length of the yard, managed to get to the phone before the end of the fourth ring, AND I wasn’t even out of breath. Go, me! * * * I dare you to watch this and not get teary-eyed (in a good way). * * * Someone mentioned in the comments to yesterday’s entry that her husband had one shoulder higher than the other, and it turned out to be scoliosis. Which reminds me of my visit to the physical therapist on Tuesday. I saw a new PT – they like to have you see three different therapists, because they all have their own approach to the therapy, and this was the third one I’ve seen, and I like each one better than the one before – and my PT appointments have fallen into a routine where I climb up on the massage table, they work on my back for 20 minutes or half an hour (sometimes even longer), then they show me a new exercise to do. Anyway, during Tuesday’s appointment the PT who was working on my back got called to another office to discuss something with another PT, so she asked yet another PT to work on my back for a few minutes. And this PT – Karen, I think her name was – pointed out that the left side of my back is so stiff and elevated compared to my right side that it was amazing. She suggested to the other PT – Brandy – that it might be a scoliosis issue. They had me stand and bend over to touch my toes, and apparently in that position my back isn’t scoliosis-looking at all, which I guess was a relief. But during the part where they were working on my back, it seriously felt like they were trying to poke their fingers directly through my ribs. It hurt like hell, but in a good way, if that makes sense. By the time they were done with my back, I was yawning constantly, and felt like I needed to go home and take a nap. In fact, I yawned for the rest of the day and slept like a rock that night. I saw Brandy again this morning. She worked on my back for half an hour, and we discussed the fact that I’m not having much back pain at all. We’re cutting down my PT visits to once a week for the time being unless I start having problems again. * * * We had yet another fabulous crockpot recipe last night. Of the four crockpot recipes we’ve tried in the past two weeks, all but one have been a big hit. I love it when that happens. * * * Last night, we were sitting in the living room watching Rescue Me. “Who was that?” Fred asked after Tommy (Denis Leary) had taken a call. “Janet,” I said. “Who’s that, his cousin’s wife?” I gave him a look. “HIS wife. His cousin’s wife is Sheila.” (Sheila annoys me, by the way, but not as much as she did during season 2.) Let me point out that we’re currently watching season 3 of this show. Two minutes later, he said “Who do you think took it? Lou?” “No, Lou was with the other guys.” “No he wasn’t, he went off after he told them about the p0rn ban, remember?” he pointed to the TV. “That’s Lou, Bessie.” “That’s not Lou, THAT’s Lou.” “That’s Kenny!” he said. “Oh my GOD. Are we REALLY going to have this discussion again?” I said, bugging my eyes out at him. “”Lou” stands for “Lieutenant”, babe! Kenny IS Lou. THAT’s not Lou, that’s Jerry. Also known as “Chief”!” He truly amazes me. * * *

Sugs and Boogs, bird-watching.

“Bahahaha! You think you’re going to move us to the country and we’re NOT going to bring field mice in every single day? Suckerrrrrrrrrrrr!”

Such a rough life. All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: If I insert a brillo pad into my ear, will it eventually get to my brain and scrub that song out, or is that an urban myth? 2004: You know, I’m getting PRETTY FRICKIN’ TIRED of finding cricket legs all over the damn place. 2003: “Mother,” said the spud, “That is an excellent idea, for I am going to melt into a motherfucking puddle of goo in about 10 seconds.” 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: In the future, the spud will be cleaning her own bedroom, since I took one look at her room and said “Fuck THIS.”]]>