Author: Robyn

* * * My husband is a freak, but a sweet one. Ever since my doctor’s appointment last week where she told me I had hepatitis, he’s been worrying about me. I mean, he’s been joking too, because that’s the way we are. “Do you think you’re on the verge of death because (insert ridiculous reason here – ie, “because you eat too many vegetables”, “because you lost so much weight so fast”, “because we have so many cats”, etc etc).” “I’m not on the verge of death.” “Yes you are. You’re going to die and in a few years I’m going to be the creepy guy in the bar looking for another wife so I don’t have to be alone,” he says. “Awww, baby, I’m sure you can sucker some poor unsuspecting woman into your web of lies and convince her to move 1500 miles to be with you. You did it once!” “This is true.” He’s been worrying about me so much, it’s become annoying. Every visit to the bathroom, every shade of yellow I do or don’t turn, every patch of dry skin, every time I fall asleep in front of the TV. It’s ’cause I’m dying. (We actually discussed what he should do with my ashes. He rejected the notion that he should mix them with a can of paint and paint the bedroom with them. CLEARLY HE DOES NOT LOVE ME. I decided that he should toss a handful of ashes at sea in Maine, then spend the next year going on interesting hikes and scattering a handful on top of each mountain he hikes. Maybe bury a handful of ashes in the family plot my parents purchased awhile ago.) I should take a moment here to reassure you all – especially the spud – that I AM NOT ON THE VERGE OF DEATH. I’m going to outlive you all (except the spud). I have no plans to go anywhere, thank you. The other morning I was in a deep, deep sleep when I felt someone shaking me. I thought it was Sugarbutt doing that annoying thing cats do, where they stretch out alongside you, then begin vigorously grooming themselves, thus shaking you, the bed, and every other cat in the vicinity. I opened my eyes to see what the hell he was doing, and jumped when I saw Fred standing over me. “What the hell?” I said. “Jesus CHRIST you scared the SHIT out of me!” he said, reeling around and clutching at his chest. I reflected for a moment that I wasn’t hovering over him in the dead of night, so I didn’t know how I could have possibly scared him. “I came in, and I couldn’t hear you breathing,” he went on to explain. “So I leaned over and listened and didn’t hear you breathing still. I turned on the bathroom light and looked, and it didn’t look like you were breathing, so I put my hand in front of your mouth, and I didn’t feel any breath on my hand. Which is when I shook you. DON’T DO THAT TO ME!” “You should’ve just shook me in the first place,” I said. “I would have turned over, and you would’ve known I was alive.” “Yeah, well, I’d APPRECIATE IT if you could manage to make some noise when you breathe in the future!” “I’ll do my best,” I promised. He’s also worried that I’m still losing weight too fast and that I’ll fade away to nothing. “You better not up and die on me,” he always says threateningly. And I promise not to.

* * * So my appointment yesterday ended up not so much being with the nutritionist as the woman who manages the bariatric coordination center. It was just kind of a touch-base appointment where she could weigh me, ask how I was feeling, and hand me a sheet of paper talking about foods with high and low glycemic index numbers, along with lists of high, medium, and low GI foods. (I typed it in here.) Anyway, of course the first they do is weigh you, and when they come out to get you, they’ve checked your file and written down on a piece of paper how much you weighed at your preop appointment. When I stepped on the scale, I swear the manager came thisclose to swooning. She made me step off the scale and back on to make sure I wasn’t somehow levitating above the scale, I guess, and I got the same number the second time. “That’s AMAZING!” she said, a huge grin on her face. “That’s the best weight loss I’ve ever seen from a woman!” She went on to point out that of course people who started with a BMI of 70 had lost more than that in six months, but that my level of weight loss, with my BMI and how much I had to lose, was on par with most of the men they have in the office. She was thrilled, and told me she couldn’t wait to tell the nutritionist. Of course, after a while I wanted to say “Yeah, yeah, I’ve lost a lot of weight. LET’S MOVE ON.” I didn’t actually say it, but we did eventually move on to other topics. She had weight loss surgery five years ago and just a few months ago had the loose skin from her upper arms removed. She had a pretty good experience, though she got a couple of infected stitches and had to pack them, which wasn’t much fun. She showed me the scar on one arm, and it didn’t look bad at all. She asked how quickly I’m losing, then told me that it tends to slow down after the 6-month point (which I knew), but that if in a month I’m still losing fast, to call and talk to the nutritionist. I told her that Fred’s afraid I’m going to fade away to nothing, and she said that’s a fear a lot of people can have, but it’s rarely a problem. I’d hate to be the exception on that; I think the skeletal look wouldn’t work well on me. I stopped on the way out to buy some more multi-vitamins and calcium, and was on my way. I stopped at the mall on the way home to check out Lane Bryant’s bras, which was a pointless exercise, and then I looked at their jeans, which was even more pointless, because I don’t need no damn $70 jeans. I wandered through the mall a little more, dodged the people giving out samples of food in the food court (!), and headed for home. Later today I have my ultrasound appointment for my liver, and then next Tuesday I have an appointment to have the skin tag removed from the back of my neck, and then HOPEFULLY I’ll be done with the medical shit for the time being. A girl can dream, anyway. * * * Fred sent me this link a few days ago, and it makes me sad, sad, sad. Especially this quote: “A breast is a breast — it’s a sexual thing. He didn’t need to see that.” What an idiot you are, Gayle Ash of Belton, Texas. There is NOTHING sexual about that image, and I would guess that it’s a product of your sad, stupid little mind that sees it as such. For the love of god – you see skin and a baby. The only reason you know it’s a breast is because the cover talks about nursing. For the record, your 13 year-old son? Ten bucks says he’s already beat off to the underwear section of the JC Penney catalogue and most likely his reaction to a picture of a baby nursing would be “Ewww”, since you’re so intent on teaching him that breasts are sexual and have no function in the world except to turn on the 13 year-old sons of an idiot such as yourself. Breasts don’t, in fact, exist to titillate (HEE!). They exist to nourish babies. Get a fucking clue, Gayle Ash of Belton, Texas, Dumbass Extraordinaire. * * * From my comments: Very respectable pulse rate and blood pressure. Is that from all the walking or are you always in that range? I think it must be from the walking and the weight loss. Before I had surgery, my blood pressure was high. In fact, my doctor told me that if I wasn’t pursuing weight loss surgery, she would have suggested blood pressure medication. I don’t remember what my pulse rate was before surgery, but I’m taking metoprolol to control heart palpitations, which can lower your pulse rate a little. I got your postcard from Maine today! Thank you! I’m curious – did you write the same thing on all the ones you sent, or did you change it up on each one? 🙂 I changed it up, though not on each and every one. I’d come up with something I thought I was funny, use that for a while, then change it up after 10 or 20 cards. * * * “What the – ?” “HEY! YOU! GUUUUUUUUUYS!” All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: See that? I made a thinly veiled joke about his age! I am SO FUNNY! 2004: As for where the odd socks go – the bad ones go to hell, don’t they? 2003: Oui, I am back! Let the rejoicing begin! 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: So we were at the beach this morning by 10.]]>

New logo, created by the wonderful Angie. Thanks, Angie!) Happy, happy birthday, Janie-Jane! I swear, I didn’t forget your birthday – I’m just a little slow this year. Things will be headed your way soon!

* * * Good lord, this has been a busy week for me! Let’s see, when did I last post? Monday? Man, I SUCK and y’all should beat me. Tuesday morning I got up when Fred left for work at 6:30 (still haven’t exercised this week; I’m still unable to force myself to get my ass out of bed at 5:20. I’m giving myself the rest of the week off and then I’ll be back out hitting the road next Monday morning if I have to train the cats to jump on my head and meow loudly to force me out of bed). I took my shower and got dressed, and left the house a little after 8 to run to the post office and then go to my first physical therapy appointment. I ended up getting to the physical therapy office right on time instead of the intended ten minutes early (so I’d have plenty of time to fill out the paperwork), because I thought it was in one location, but after I showed up at the location where I thought it was, the office was nowhere to be found, and I remembered that I can’t read a map to save my life. I finally figured it out and found the right place. I filled out the usual ten pages of paperwork, then sat for a few minutes until the physical therapist – Bridget – came out and got me. We went back to her office and talked for about half an hour while she filled out more forms on her laptop. She said that they usually request 16 sessions to start and see how it is toward the end of the 16 sessions; if I needed more, they could request more. Once the forms were filled out, she tucked my shirt up in the back and had me walk away from her. I walked to the end of the hallway and back, and when I reached her, she looked completely baffled. “Okay,” she said. “Walk like you do when you’re walking for exercise.” I made the same walk, only faster, and when I reached her, she again looked baffled. “Your thoracic area doesn’t move at all when you walk,” she said. I preened for a moment, sure that that was a good thing. Because your back isn’t supposed to be moving willy-nilly all over the place when you walk, right? “I mean, at all,” she said, sounding appalled. “Is… that a bad thing?” I asked. “Yes!” We went back to her office and she had me take off my shirt. “The first thing you need to do is be professionally fitted for a bra,” she said. She moved the bra strap on my right shoulder and I looked down to see a dark red mark o’ pain from where it’d been digging into my shoulder. “That’s half your problem, right there. You need a supportive bra.” And here I thought I’d done so damn good picking out a bra at Lane Bryant while I was in Maine. It lifts and separates, and it’s so pretty! She had me bend down slowly and touch my toes (actually, she said “Bend down like you’re going to touch your toes”, and so I bent down and touched my toes, and she laughed and said “Whoa! A little slower than that, please.”) and marveled some more about how my thoracic spine area didn’t move at all. Then she had me put my shirt back on and lay down on the massage table in her office. She lifted up the back of my shirt and started poking around, pushing hard in several spots. “Does that hurt?” she asked. “No,” I said. “That?” “A little.” “How about that?” “HOLY GOD IN HEAVEN WHAT EVIL ARE YOU PERFORMING UPON ME!” I about levitated off the table and hit the ceiling. “That is just horrible,” she said. “You’re so tight right there.” And she kept pushing and rubbing. I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t scream long and loud like that boy in the Accepted trailer. When she was done pushing and rubbing the left side, she moved around the table to the right side. “That was your good side, right?” she asked. “No, my bad side,” I said. “Oh good!” she said, sounding relieved. “I was going to say, if that’s your good side, I’m scared to see your bad!” She pushed around on the right side of my back for a few minutes, then sat and made some more notes on her laptop. Then we went out into the “common” area (for lack of a better word) and she had me sit on a stool in front of a mirror. “Sit in a position you think is a good position,” she said. So I did. Then she had me put my hands out and said “Don’t let me push your hands down.” She pushed, and as hard as I resisted she had very little difficulty pushing them down. So we went over the correct way to sit, a way that involves considering the different parts of your body to be comprised of different “blocks”. When I was in the correct position, she tried pushing my hands down and wasn’t quite as successful. I was quite amazed, really. But I also felt like I was about to tip over backwards, which she explained by guessing that I’d “developed” early (I did), and that girls who develop early tend to kind of hunch over. She, on the other hand, developed late, so she had the opposite problem – when she was taught the correct way to sit, she felt like she was leaning forward too much. After the sitting instructions, she had me stand in a stance with one foot slightly forward and said “Don’t let me push you over.” I braced myself, but she had no problem at all pushing me out of my position. We discussed where I’d felt it first, and then she had me lay down on the floor, and said “Don’t let me push down on your stomach.” Then she pushed down, and I have such a weak core that if she’d wanted to poke her fingers into my guts and pull out a string of guts to wear around her neck, my (nonexistent) ab muscles would have parted and said “Be our guest!” People, I was SO thankful I hadn’t had anything to eat that morning, because if I had? She would have pushed the poop out of me. I guarantee it. We did an exercise that works your core wherein you basically lay on the floor with your spine in a neutral position, brace one knee against the hand on the same side of the body until you feel your abs tense up, and then start picking up one knee and then the other, keeping your abs braced and REMEMBERING TO BREATHE (very difficult). I did it a few times, then lost the ability to brace my abs while breathing at the same time (I kinda sound like Nance doing Pilates, don’t I?) and would have to start all over again. She showed me another exercise that involves placing two tennis balls taped together under my spine and moving my arms back and forth. I’m not sure what that particular exercise is supposed to do, but it hurt like a motherfucker. Then there was another exercise involving putting a single tennis ball between my back – where it hurts – and the wall, and rolling it back and forth to kind of produce a massaging sensation. I kind of liked that one – at least it didn’t hurt, and it was easy to do – and the last exercise was the camel/ cat stretch, which probably anyone who’s ever done any kind of stretching at all will recognize. You get on your hands and knees, stretch your back upward and your head down like a camel (or a stretching cat, I suppose), hold it for 30 seconds, then lower your back and lift your head and hold that for 15 seconds. Bridget gave me copies of all the exercises, then gave me my checkout sheet, and after an hour and a half – she told me that next time there’d be more “mechanical” stuff, and I was a little afraid to find out exactly what that might entail – I made an appointment for 7 this morning and for Tuesday and Friday next week, and I was on my way. I had a grocery list from hell, so I ran to the grocery store to get groceries, then ran home and had fifteen minutes to put all the groceries away, make a 3-bean salad for dinner (for Fred, because he’s the only one who likes the stuff anymore), found that the green pepper I’d had him buy on Saturday (for the 3-bean salad; since he’s the only one who eats it, I put the green pepper in it. When I’d eat it with him, I didn’t like green pepper, so didn’t put it in the salad) had gone rotten, so made a mental note to pick one up at some point in the afternoon. I had just enough time to go to the bathroom and grab a bottle of water, and I was out the door again. I had an 11:15 appointment at my doctor’s office to have my thyroid ultrasounded. Apparently there’s a company that employs ultrasound technicians who travel around to doctor’s offices on certain days to perform ultrasounds. I ended up waiting about ten minutes, and the ultrasound itself took maybe twenty minutes. The ultrasound technician told me that what she was seeing looked like goiters with some calcification (I’ve never had an ultrasound tech tell me what she saw), and when I asked if they usually did anything about that sort of thing, she said some doctors like to yank out the thyroid at the first sign of anything, and other doctors prefer to wait and see. I suspect my doctor’s a wait-and-see-er. When I left the doctor’s office, I drove out into the country a bit to our favorite farm stand (Is0m’s, for those of you in Madison – go out 72 toward Athens and you’ll see it on the left after a big car dealership) for tomatoes and a green pepper. While I was there, the peaches looked so good that I bought a container of them. I headed home, got there around 1:30, ate lunch, and finally got a chance to check my email. I was so wiped out from my busy day (I know y’all are like “Busy day? THAT AIN’T NO BUSY DAY! LIVE MY LIFE FOR A DAY, WOMAN!”) that I ended up snoozing on the couch for a good hour before Fred got home. I continue to be thankful for electric blankets, by the way. That electric blanket keeps me so damn nice and warm that I’m thinking about marrying it. Also, that night my back was hurting so much (not the muscles, but the skin where she pressed so hard and I had to move around on those GODDAMN tennis balls) that I made Fred look at my back and tell me if I had bruises. He claimed I didn’t, but I swear to god if my back looked like it felt, it’d have to be black and blue. * * * Wednesday morning I woke up earlier than I’d intended – 7:00 – and ended up puttering around the house for a while, doing some sorely-needed vacuuming (I hadn’t vacuumed since LAST THURSDAY. ::shudder::) and then I spent the next fifteen minutes or so doing the exercises the physical therapist had given me to do (the cats gathered around and stared at me like I was the world’s biggest freak). I cleaned out the litter box, cleaned up the kitchen, then took my shower and got dressed. I left the house a little before 10, because I had an appointment with the GI doctor at 11:15, and I wanted to go to the mall first and be professionally fitted for a bra. The physical therapist had told me there was a woman at JC Penney who purportedly did a good job with the fitting of bras, so that’s where I headed. I located the lingerie department in JC Penney, found the woman who worked there, and told her I needed to be fitted for a bra. And this is where I get annoyed. Because she measured me and came up with the size 40C. I figured okay, she’s the professional, what the hell do I know, right? So we went out and picked out five bras in that size, and she told me to go try them on and she’d check on me in a few minutes. I’m sorry, but my Aunt Fanny am I a size 40C. The band was too big and the cup was too small on every single bra. How do I know that the band was too big? Because I could easily fit my fist between the band and my body. How do I know that the cup was too small? Because my boobs were MELTING OUT OF THE CUPS IN ALL DIRECTIONS. Maybe it’s harder to fit someone who’s lost a lot of weight and whose boobs are more skin than anything, I don’t know. I do know that I came out of the dressing room to ask her to try again, and she was busy with customers, and I thought “Fuck this”, put the bras away and left. I headed over to Dillard’s, grabbed up a bunch of bras to try on (I didn’t see a salesperson anywhere), and went and tried them on. And by the time I was done with THAT little exercise, I was thisclose to just buying some goddamn sports bras and going around with the uniboob look for the next year until I’m cleared to start looking into plastic surgery. Except that Jane told me that if she ever sees me with a uniboob she’ll personally come down and kick my ass, and I’m sure she’d have no problem kicking my ass from one end of Alabama to the other. Anyway, by this time I had to leave, because I wanted to get to the doctor’s office in time to fill out the paperwork before my appointment. I managed to get their about five minutes early, and as I pulled into the parking lot, I realized that I’ve actually been to this office before, a few years ago when it was first discovered that I had elevated liver enzymes. So I didn’t have to fill out any paperwork, aside from providing a list of my current medications (which, luckily, I had thought to write down before I left the house, so all they had to do was make a copy of it), and update a form with my contact information on it. I didn’t have to wait at all in the waiting room before the nurse was taking me back to be weighed, take my blood pressure (106/ 63) and my pulse taken (67). I waited a few minutes in that room (luckily, I’d brought a book) before I went back to the exam room, and I was only in there for a few minutes before the doctor came in. If the two doctors I’ve seen in this practice are anything to go by, Gastroenterologists are quite personable and easy to talk to. The doctor I saw yesterday appeared to be about 12 years old (a sign of my growing old, I’m told), and he talked to me pretty extensively about what was going on. He said that it could be a blocked duct or I might have had a gallstone that passed, but he wanted to do a recheck of my blood and see how the bilirubin (the only thing that’s grossly elevated) level was, whether it had increased, decreased, or stayed the same. He also said he wanted me to have an ultrasound of my liver. He rejected the notion of Dr. Fred and Google’s suggestion that I had anemia, told me that my case of jaundice wasn’t a bad one at all (“Just enough to give me a healthy glow, right?” I said, and he laughed and agreed), and said that the fact that I looked so healthy and wasn’t having pain indicated to him that whatever it was was probably not too serious. I went out to see the scheduler, who scheduled me for a liver ultrasound on Friday (that makes two ultrasounds in one week, which is a personal record for me), which means that I have had an appointment between 11:00 and 12:00 every single day this week. I’d like to get back to my normal, boring life, please. Anyway, I can call on Friday to find out about the blood tests, and Monday about the ultrasound. I left there and thought about going back to the mall to try on more bras or throw myself on the mercy of another bra fitter, but I was in a crappy mood since I hadn’t had anything to eat, so I just went on home. Where I ate too much for lunch, answered a couple of emails, and then landed on the couch and watched the three episodes of My Fair Brady I’d taped and never gotten around to watching. I’m thinking Christopher Knight drinks too fucking much. He gets drunk in, like, EVERY episode and acts like an asshole to Adrianne. I mean, don’t get me wrong – I think she gets off on the unending drama; I think they both do – but if he treated her with a little respect instead of always telling her she’s being childish and trying to control her every move, I think he’d get one hell of a lot further with her. Peter was always my favorite Brady, but Christopher Knight is kind of a controlling asshole stuck in his old-man ways. I suspect the next season starring these two will be one of three things: My Fair Baby, My Fair Divorce, or My Fair Rehab. Last night for dinner I made Buffalo Chicken Salad (a recipe linked to by the fabulous Julie). It wasn’t too terribly difficult to make, and it was quite a hit with Fred. I liked it, but I think that next time I’ll do a little batch of less spicy chicken for myself. It was even a touch too spicy for Fred, and that’s saying something. I didn’t do two whole stalks of celery, because I’m not that crazy about celery, and I cut up a tomato, because what kind of salad doesn’t have tomato in it? I would have added cucumber as well, but we didn’t have cucumber in the house, so there you go. Last night I was so tired I ended up falling asleep for the entirety of CSI (taped last week) under the electric blanket. I barely made it upstairs, brushed my teeth, and fell into bed. Maybe when I lose a little more weight, I can demand that Fred carry me upstairs when I’m that tired! * * * This morning I had to roll out of bed at 6, because when I was making my physical therapy appointment for today, all they had available was 7 and 11, and I have an 11:00 appointment in Huntsville with the nutritionist. So I managed to get up, showered, dressed, make the bed, and get out the door by 6:50. I got to the office with five minutes to spare and sat in the car for a few minutes. I saw Bridget for my physical therapy again today. She had me lay down on the massage table and she worked on the left side of my back forEVER. I thought I was going to cry, it was hurting so bad. After she tortured me for a while, she tried stretching out my back, but my back refused to cooperate and wouldn’t give in. She showed me several different exercises to add to my repertoire, mostly stretches, and BOY did they feel good! I go back next Tuesday and Friday at 8, which was kind of a dumbass time for me to pick, because that’ll be in the worst of the school traffic, and no doubt I’ll have to leave the house at 7:30 to get there by 8. I need to remember to schedule for a little later in the day after next week. And now y’all are caught up on what my week has been like! I have to leave in about an hour to go to South Huntsville, where I’ll meet with the nutritionist for a while, then come home and hopefully whip the house into shape a little. There’s so much housework I’ve been neglecting this week, it’s not funny. At least the downstairs is vacuumed, so it’s not TOO nasty. Or so I like to tell myself. * * * “Daaaaaad! I don’t CARE if it’s raining outside, I want OUT!” Snoozing Suggie. It’s exhausting to be a Sugs. All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: I suspect people as beautiful as Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have to be a little bit nuts, anyway. 2004: WONDERFUL. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: A Day in the Life of a Bitchypoo. 2000: Maine recap.]]>

Angie. Thanks, Angie!) Sorry, guys, that there was no entry yesterday. There may not be one today, unless I get a chance when I get home this afternoon after running around like mad. If there’s no entry up later, I promise there’ll be one up tomorrow morning at some point. Mwah!]]>

OneFatBitchypoo, if you’re interested.

* * * Yeah, still working on those Maine recap entries. Good god in heaven, I take a LOT of damn pictures. Hopefully they’ll be up starting later this week. We’ll see. I heard from my doctor’s office about an hour ago. Apparently the hepatitis tests came back clean. In other words, I don’t have hepatitis. But something’s obviously going on, with the elevated bilirubin, so they’re referring me to a GI. I have an appointment for Wednesday, late morning, in Huntsville. My doctor’s office is faxing over my test results for the nurses to look at, to see whether they need to get me in sooner. That gives me a warm and cozy feeling, that they’d think Wednesday might not be soon enough. Dr. Fred And3rson thinks, after much Googling about, that I have either pernicious or hemolytic anemia. He’s leaning toward the latter, since I’m cold all the damn time. Wikipedia, on the other hand, offers up a bunch of lovely, scary suggestions ranging from tumors to cirrhosis (and wouldn’t it be the ultimate in irony if I, who drinks once in a blue moon, had cirrhosis of the liver?). Y’all get your livers ready. I might need a piece of it. (No, I’m not serious. I’m sure Dr. Fred is quite right and all I’ll need is a B12 shot once a month or so.) Anyway, tomorrow I have an early morning appointment with the physical therapist (think I can convince her to put me in the whirlpool tub, then give me a back massage and call it good enough? Probably not.), a late morning appointment at my doctor’s office to have an ultrasound of my enlarged thyroid, and then Wednesday I have the appointment with the GI. Also, the spud starts school on Friday (yes, is that not the MOST ridiculous thing? To be starting school on August 4th? RIDICULOUS! UTTERLY!) and at some point during the week I need to get E’gar in for an oil change and tire rotation and balance, and I need to run out to the farm stand I like the most to buy tomatoes to have on our hamburgers tomorrow night, and ugh. I am completely wiped out. I swear to god when I saw the doctor last week, I was feeling fine, and then she uttered the words “You have hepatitis*” and the next morning I could NOT get my ass out of bed for love or money. I keep trying to tell myself that it’s all in my head, that I’m NOT really that damn tired, that just because I have hepatitis (or, as it turns out, don’t), I can still get up every morning and walk. But I haven’t walked since last Wednesday, and I would kick my ass for that, except I am just too damn tired. I’m ready for the fatigue to go away, and the yellow eyes (though the yellow skin could kind of stay for a while, because I really do look kinda tan, don’t I?) and for my life to get back to normal. Have I mentioned that I sent out three resumes this morning, applying for part-time positions? Right now, I’m kind of all over the place and I’m driving myself crazy. Probably driving Fred crazy, too, but he hides it well. He just writes false and slanderous things about me. (Alright, YES, I stole a couple of handy wipes from the doctor’s office. I like to have a couple in my purse, just in case, all right? I stole a pen, too, but not before I asked the front desk lady if it was okay. And she said “Sure, take as many as you want!” So they don’t care if I steal shit from them. They get it for free anyway!) *Is it wrong that when she told me I had hepatitis, I kind of hoped that one of the symptoms of hepatitis might end up being gas, so I could call it hepaTOOTis? I know. I need a life. But I’ve been secretly calling it hepatootis to myself. And now you know the full extent of my dorkiness. * * * Know how I’m always cold, except when Fred’s at work, because when Fred leaves for work, I turn the air conditioning OFF, and it gets up to 80 in the house and I LOVE it? Except that annoyingly enough, Fred has to come HOME, and when he calls to tell me that he’s coming home, I turn the air conditioning back on, because if I don’t he’ll turn it on himself, and then he’ll turn it down to 70, and JESUS CHRIST I DON’T WANT THAT. As it is, he lolls about in his shorts (while I’m wearing sweatpants, slippers, a t-shirt and sweatshirt) and bitches about how hot he is. While my fingers turn blue. So the other night I was shivering on the couch under two blankets (and the aforementioned sweatshirt, t-shirt, sweatpants and slippers, and don’t THINK I wasn’t seriously considering putting a wool hat on my head as well) and he suggested that I try using the heating pad to add some warmth to my ice-cold hands. And he called the spud on her cell phone (she was up in her bedroom with a couple of friends who were spending the night) and asked her where, oh spud, where might the heating pad that I TOLD you to put back where it belongs, WHERE might it be? And she “like”d and “whatever”d and brought the heating pad down, and Fred plugged it in, and I used it for the rest of the evening, and it helped, but not as much as I had hoped. Then Fred had the best! idea! ever! See, he has an electric blanket in his room that he only uses in the winter, and only long enough to warm up his bed before bedtime. In the summer he doesn’t use it (see above re: the lolling about whining about how hot he is) and folds it up and puts it in a corner of his bedroom. So he brought it downstairs for me the next night and we plugged it in, and I’ll tell you what – the man deserves a medal for THAT idea. Because it is sheer perfection. I can turn it on and crank it up on high and remain toasty warm for the entire evening. I actually ended up ordering a twin-size electric blanket on eBay, because Fred’s is queen or king size, and I don’t need one that big for hanging out on the couch. But for now, it’s working just fine. Give that man a medal! * * * “What? WHAAAAT?” “Is it time for a snacky-snack? Please?” “I’m fading away to nothin’, Dad. I think it’s time for a snacky-snack.” All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: Hawaii recap. 2003: No entry. 2002: Around the neighborhood. 2001: “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” I yelled. 2000: All hail Dumbass Bitchypoo.]]>

Say left a comment, saying: I don’t know why. But Fred looks superimposed there on that picture. And it is starting to freak me out a bit. Like, if I stare at it. I actually thought that very same thing. He looks like he’s photoshopped into the picture for some reason. He’s not, but he looks like it! (Also, Say referred to me in an email as a “skinny wormy yellow thyroid-enlarged arthritic creature”, and I laughed so loud that the cats all ran for cover. I love Say!) More comments: What is the treatment for hep A and arthritis anyways? I don’t think there is a treatment for Hepatitis A (I don’t think they gave Fred anything for it when he had it), it’s just a matter of hanging on ’til the symptoms are gone. I’m not having any problems with vomiting, diarrhea, or nausea – which are big problems with hepatitis, according to the stuff I’ve found online – so maybe I’m having a mild case of it! As far as arthritis, my doctor wanted to give me Celebrex, but I don’t know if that’s going to work out for me. I still need to call my surgeon’s office and check to see whether he says I can take it or not. Are you happier now that you’ve gained control over your weight, and you’re exercising regularly? You sure look happy! I’d say that I’m more the same level of happy as I was before, I’m just more willing to have my picture taken, more often! Everytime I even think of getting a pedicure, my feet start jumping and I get the heebie-jeebies cuz I’m SO ticklish. Does anyone else have that problem? When I was having my pedicure, I thought I was going to have a problem with being ticklish, but except for one little incident (when he was running the… thing that takes dead skin off your feet, I can’t remember what it’s called… over the bottom of my foot, and my foot started jumping involuntarily) it was a lot less ticklish than I expected. I have been meaning to ask, how are Miz Poo’s lips? Not great, actually. She had the steroid shot before I left for Maine, and her lip never got to the point where it was unswollen. I need to take her back to the vet and see if there’s anything else we can do. I also need to take Sugarbutt back to the vet, because I caught him scooting his ass along the rug yesterday and want to make sure it’s not a worm or anal sac issue. I always get to have all the fun, don’t I? what’s the blue stuff on the other side of the fence? also, what if Tommy gets so big he can tip over the birdbath when he jumps on it? Because that would be bad. That’s in regards to this picture: The people who live next to us have a trampoline, and the blue things sticking up are the things around the outside of the trampoline that hold the mesh up around the sides of the trampoline so the kids won’t fall off. What you don’t see in the neighbors’ back yard: they now have a deck so that when I was walking around in MY back yard in my nightgown a couple of weeks ago, I looked over to see the woman’s mother (I think) sitting on the deck drinking her coffee and staring at me. I CANNOT WAIT TO MOVE THE FUCK OUT OF THIS HOUSE. I don’t think Tommy will get so big he tips over the birdbath, because the birdbath is pretty sturdy – it’s concrete – and I actually don’t remember Tommy jumping up on it anyway. In fact, I think I’ve only ever seen Mister Boogers and Sugarbutt up there, and they’re both smaller than Tommy, and will likely stay that way. If Tommy DOES decide to start jumping up there (note to self: clean out the damn birdbath today; it’s looking nasty) and it starts tipping over, hopefully he’ll be able to jump clear of the birdbath rather than being crippled by it. Because I don’t want to have to buy one of those special carts so he can drag his hind end around.

* * * How about some tiger pics? This guy is the father to a lot of the baby goats at Tigers for Tomorrow. He needs a visit from the vet, we were told, so there’ll be no more baby goats. He’s also a pushy bastard who kept fighting off the other goats so he could eat all the feed we were offering. Another goat; this one a little nervous about approaching, since Daddy Goat was such a pig about taking all the feed for himself. The wolves. He was bitching at her, saying “Go get me some pie, woman!”, and she was all “Yes, dear”, while she secretly plotted to take over. Benny. He’s the special baby of Sue (the woman who runs TFT with her husband, Wilbur). Bella, another wolf. I think she was raised in a dorm room and is very friendly. SO gorgeous. “You can’t see me!” Rubbing his face on the fence. Just like a house cat! It was pretty hot while we were there; in the high 90s. Invisible tiger, stalking. Mr. Lion eyes our guide hungrily. “I bet she’d be good with a little Tabasco…” I love this picture. You can’t really tell from this picture, but these two cougars are in the same cage. This girl purred and chirruped for us. It was severely cute. Coatamundi. Not as cute and cuddly as they look, I’m told. This is either Cowboy, Indian, or Tinkerbelle, I don’t know which. They’re all year-old tiger cubs, and they are VERY rambunctious. I don’t know what was going on here, but it’s a funny picture! “Hey, what’s going on? Are we gonna PLAY? Gonna spray water at us, huh?” Luna is my absolute favorite tiger. She’s in a temporary enclosure at the moment ’til a bigger one can be built. Luna rubs her head on the fence. Pretty Luna. Mojo the grouchy spotted leopard. Our guide knelt down with her back to Mojo (acting like bait), and it was amazing how fast Mojo moved. Cleaning herself JUST LIKE A HOUSECAT. Good ol’ boy. We only got one tiger cub this time around, Calamity. She’s got loads of personality to spare, our Calamity! “Mmmm, Cookie Monster!” The spud feeds Calamity. Have you ever seen a happier cat? :slurp:slurp:slurp: A little taste of human. Not sure whose ass to kick first – Cookie Monster’s, or that damn leash. Kicking ass and getting a back massage. Heaven! Calamity in profile. Fred didn’t need that thumb anyway. Ready to pounce. Note that not a one of us is looking at the camera. As I told Fred when we were on our way home Tuesday night, we’re going to have to visit Tigers for Tomorrow regularly, so we can see how our babies are doing! * * * Previously 2005: Maine recap. 2004: Hawaii recap. 2003: Maine recap. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: The cats are suddenly deciding to take closed doors as a personal affront. ]]>

(We’ll try to get a less dark & blurry picture tonight, but you get the idea of my overwhelming yellowness.)

* * * Okay, it’s getting late, so I’ll call this an entry. Tomorrow, tiger pics. I promise! * * * Previously 2005: “I dropped my purse!” I lied. 2004: I’m a slug in a family of energizer bunnies. 2003: No entry. 2002: My primitive mind can’t grasp these concepts. 2001: No entry. 2000: I’m just not feeling very chatty today.]]>

1. I may have Hepatitis. In fact, due to the massive amounts of bilirubin in my urine sample, she seems to KNOW that I have Hepatitis, we just don’t know which one yet. The fact that I was in Florida a few weeks ago eating raw oysters seems to me a pretty good indication that it’s Hepatitis A (Hepatitis A is the one that isn’t chronic, and thus the one I’m hoping for), but we won’t know for sure until the blood results get back. What made me go to the doctor’s office? The fact that the whites of my eyes have turned yellow. In fact, they looked yellow before I left for Maine one night, but then the next morning they didn’t look yellow, so it was a matter of waiting and seeing. When I was in Maine, Debbie noticed my eyes looked yellow, but suggested that it could be due to dye in the vitamin supplements I take (hey, the multivitamin is orange flavored; kinda makes sense, right?). Last night I looked at my eyes and they were very clearly yellow, so I decided to make an appointment this morning, and Fred hounded me into actually making the appointment. She kept asking me if I was itchy, and I had to tell her that I was itchy, but since I have eczema I wasn’t any itchier than usual, at least as far as I knew. For you newer readers, you might not know that Fred had Hep A a few years ago, and at the time he craved very, very, very bland foods. In fact, I think he ate a lot of cream of mushroom soup with saltines. What am I craving like mad right now? Vegetables. Raw vegetables, with ranch dressing to dip them in. Which is going to be a big part of my lunch this afternoon, I’ll tell you that. Here’s a pic of the yellow Fred, compared to the non-yellow me. Perhaps we need to take another comparison picture, though I’ll say that I don’t think my skin is yellow. I did notice that I look like I have a nice tan on my shoulders the other day, but thought that was probably because of the lovely dusky pink shirt I was wearing. I’ll take a pic of the two of us and y’all can decide, though. For now I need to rest (I’ve been feeling fine until yesterday, when I was so wiped out that I ended up napping for a good part of the afternoon), drink plenty of liquids, and avoid Tylenol. I should hear Friday or Monday what kind of Hepatitis it is, and y’all know I’ll let you know when I know. I don’t know – they don’t look that yellow to me at the moment. 2. I have arthritis in my back. I complained about the fact that my back hurts around my shoulder blades, and she suggested that I go for physical therapy (she said that due to the rapid weight loss, my body might be off-balance. Considering the fact that many times while I was in Maine I’d just be standing in one place, and then suddenly half fall over, I think she might be right.). She just wanted to do an x-ray to rule out arthritis (they did the x-ray there at the office and it came back that I DO have arthritis – between the vertebrae, she said). As soon as she said “Rule out arthritis”, I knew what the result was going to be. 3. I have a patch of ringworm on my left arm, no doubt caught from those ringwormy tiger cubs (yes, we treated ourselves with hand sanitizer both before and after our visits with the cubs) OR from one of the cats at the pet store. Who the hell knows? Anyway, while I was in Maine a raised spot on my left arm itched like hell, so I scratched it like mad, and then it turned into the usual round scabby spot. So far I only see the one spot, but who the hell knows what’ll happen in the end? 4. My thyroid appears to be enlarged and I need to have an ultrasound next Tuesday. She doesn’t think it’s anything problematic, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. After spending almost two hours at the doctor’s office (thankyajeezus that I took a book with me) I did come away with a bit of good news, though – they’ll be removing that annoying skin tag from the back of my neck on August 9th.

* * * Tomorrow I’ll be putting up pictures of what Fred, the spud, and I did yesterday, but if you want a preview, you can go over to his site and check it out. (This entry will be cross-posted at OneFatBitchypoo later on, for the record.)]]>

* * * Sorry, you guys, that I haven’t updated at all, really, since I’ve been here. I had such graaaaaand plans to do so, brought my laptop, spent two days figuring out how to hook up with my father’s wireless network (gave up a couple of times, but with the help of my brother and Fred, figured it out), brought the card reader with me… and just haven’t felt like writing. Urgh. I shopped my ass off (or thought I did, but it still appears to be there!), had my first pedicure, and have decided to make manicures and pedicures a regular part of my routine, to Nance‘s everlasting horror and Jane‘s cheers. (Yes, Nance, I COULD do my own mani/ pedi, except I couldn’t really. I’m a clumsy oaf who lacks the physical skills. You think I’m exaggerating, but I SO am not.) I had good intentions of exercising most mornings while I was here, started off pretty strong on Saturday morning when I woke up at 6 and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I got my ass out of bed and walked for four and a half miles. And that was the last time I did that, because I suddenly did NOT want to get my ass out of bed during any of the mornings after. So, don’t expect an entry anytime soon. There won’t be one Monday, because I’ll be leaving Portland in the afternoon and arriving home at bedtime. There might not be one on Tuesday, because I need to get laundry done, the house straightened out, and shit done. There will probably be an entry Wednesday, but if not there’ll definitely be one on Thursday. I need a vacation to recover from my vacation! Anyway, everything’s going okay for the time being. I’ll be seeing all my siblings and niece and nephews tonight; the spud leaves for home tomorrow afternoon (we’re flying home separately because I couldn’t get our flights synced up without paying $600 extra, and she has to be home Monday during the day to pick up her school schedule and pay school fees). I’m flying home Monday, and hopefully life will go back to normal in short order. I’m looking forward to getting home, I’ll tell you that much! See y’all on the flip side. ]]>

Accomplished. (My weight loss site is here.)

* * * Pet store kitty pics from Monday are here. * * * Yesterday, I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, getting last-minute things accomplished. I had a hair appointment at 11:00 and before that I did a couple of loads of laundry and actually started packing. I decided to take two suitcases with me, because I always have extra crap to bring home and I could have fit everything in one suitcase, but would have had no extra room left over, and since I’m allowed to take two suitcases, I figured I might as well do so. I usually only start packing the night before my flight leaves, and only if it’s leaving early, so to have started packing a day in advance is a HUGE deal for me. I hope it means I didn’t forget anything, but who the hell knows? After my hair appointment I had to go to the optometrist because when I was there three weeks ago, I got a new kind of contact lens, one that was supposed to be better and supposedly lets more oxygen into your eyeball, except that when I wore them, the opposite sort of thing seemed to be happening. That is, about halfway through the day the contacts would start fogging up, and nothing – eyedrops (yes, I use the ones specially formulated for contacts), saline solution, swearing loudly – would un-fog them. Luckily I had a couple pairs of Acuvue2 lenses left over, so I tossed the Optix and went back to the Acuvue2s. Which left me with the problem that I had four boxes of Optix because I try to get 6 months or a year’s worth of contacts at one time so I don’t have to keep going back to get more. And I couldn’t find my freakin’ receipt, and I just KNEW they wouldn’t take the Optix lenses back without a receipt. Two weeks went by, and when I went to pay bills, I found the receipt stuck in with the to-be-paid bills, DESPITE the fact that I had looked in that exact same location at least twenty times and never once saw the damn thing. So yesterday I took the four boxes of Optix lenses into the optometrist’s office and told the lady working at the desk of my problems, and asked if I could exchange them for Acuvue2 lenses. Not only was she happy to help me out, not only did she not even glance at my receipt, but she told me that the Optix were a bit more expensive than the Acuvue2s, so I walked in with four boxes of lenses and out with five, and didn’t have to pay anything. Woot! I went from there to Dick’s Sporting Goods with the idea of finding some of those hand warmers that where you open the package and the little whatchamacallit inside warms up immediately. ‘Cause I know we’ll be going to at least three movies while I’m in Maine, and despite the fact that I brought a corduroy shirt to the movies when Fred and I saw Superman Returns, I still froze half to death*. So I thought hand warmers would be a good idea, and what better place to find them than a sporting goods store? I thought they’d probably be either in the Camping section or the Hunting section, and though I looked carefully through those sections, I found nothing that appeared to be what I was looking for. I found two employees who were standing and idly chatting about something or another, and I waited politely for them to complete their NON-WORK-RELATED conversation, and I cleared my throat and they each glanced over at me… and kept on talking. I waited a couple of minutes, then grumbled “FUCK THIS” and stomped out of the store. Then I called Fred and demanded that he stop by Dick’s on his way home and get me some hand warmers, since I was SURE they wouldn’t just ignore HIM. Fuckers. I went over to the pet store and bought a squirrel feeder and some squirrel food – since we’ve moved the bird feeders closer to the house and not so close to the tree, I suspect that the squirrel won’t be spending as much time on and under the feeders, and we wouldn’t want the little porker to STARVE, would we? – and then finally headed home. Where I spent the afternoon installing iTunes on the laptop, because I intend to do some walking while I’m in Maine, and I need to have access to my Keith and the Girl podcasts to listen to, and then I made sure that my memory card reader would work with the laptop, and then I did some more packing and switched all my crap over to my “traveling” purse (ie, a Healthy Back Bag in size large, to hold all my crap on the plane) and did some more laundry, and the next thing I knew, it was time for Fred to come home from work and for me to exercise on the elliptical (which I’ve started doing to make up for the exercise I’m not getting since I stopped hiking with Fred) and it was dinnertime, then TV time, and time for bed. And 5:20 came mighty damn early this morning, believe you me. Now I need to go scrub down the litter boxes, put fresh litter in them, clean the bathroom, change the sheets, vacuum and dust the entire house, and possibly wash the kitchen, dining room, and hallway floors, if I decide they need it. Not to mention watering the plants, putting fresh food in the hummingbird feeder, watering my Petunias (on the front steps), cleaning and putting fresh water in the bird bath, making sure the bird feeders are full, and…. crap. What the hell else was I going to do? I think I need a nap. *Yes, I’ll be having my iron level checked when I get back from Maine. * * * I have exactly two songs ping-ponging around in my brain, and they are DRIVING ME NUTS. The first is from that fine, fine show The Golden Girls. There was an episode where they wrote a song about Miami, which they entered into a contest to win something I don’t remember, and for some reason that freakin’ song has implanted itself in my brain, and I find myself singing it at the oddest times. I have to say what I feel Miami has so much appeal A great place to get a seafood meal MIAMI Miami, Miami you’ve got style. Blue skies, sunshine, white sand by the mile. When you live in this town, each day is sublime. The coldest of winters, are warm and divine Miami, Miami, you’ve got style Blue skies, sunshine, white sand by the mile There’s ball clubs and night clubs, all with in reach Dance the Samba till morning, then lie on the beach Each view is a postcard, each day a great time! Cream of the crop it’s the top of the line! Miami, Miami you’ve got style Blue skies, sunshine, white sand by the mile. MIAMI, you’ve got style! (Especially the Miami, Miami, you’ve got style part of the song.) The other song, I know where it came from. Last week when I was in the pet store, I bought the cats a can of Kookamunga Catnip treats, and they have the distinction of being the only treats we’ve ever bought that all six cats like. Anyway, the can sits on my dresser, and every time I go by it, I catch a glimpse of the name, and my brain immediately starts singing: Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree, Merry, merry king of the bush is he, Laugh, Kookaburra, Laugh, Kookaburra, Gay your life must be. Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree Eating all the gumdrops he can see Stop, Kookaburra, Stop, Kookaburra Leave some there for me. It’s driving me NUTS. * * * Sorry, no cat pics today. The camera and memory card reader are both packed away (one in my purse and the other with the laptop). But here’s a flash from the past – one of my favorite pictures of Mia and her babies from over a year ago. * * * I’m off to Maine in a few hours, so I’ll see you when I see you! * * * Previously 2005: Hey. What’s worse than not being able to stop yourself from crying? WHEN A MOTHERFUCKER KEEPS LOOKING AT YOU TO SEE IF YOU’RE CRYING. 2004: She looked simultaneously confused and disgusted. “When do I eat CHICKEN eggs?” She wrinkled her nose. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: Sh’yeah. I’m sure Brad’s reallllly worried. 2000: Could that paragraph have been any more rambly and pointless? ]]>

* * * From my comments: I have! I have kissed, petted, cuddled both a baby and adult tiger. It is the MOST awesome thing. Did you get to hear them “purr” or really it is actually more of a rumble. They never did purr for us. The funny thing is that Fred has said, repeatedly, that he’d love to be in a cage with an adult tiger, and he can’t believe that I would NEVER enter a cage with one. I guess I just have a better sense of self-preservation than he does.

* * * I wondered if you have watched Psych, the new detective comedy on USA. No, we haven’t checked it out, but I might set up the DVR to tape an episode or two so I can see if I like it. * * * Has your center of gravity changed each time you lost another fifty pounds? Not that I’ve noticed, but I’ve never been the most graceful of people. I did notice that when I get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, I tend to stumble across the room because I have NO balance in the middle of the night. But that was true before I had the surgery! * * * I think that for the wondrous once in a lifetime tiger experience, you deserve a lifetime free pass from Fred. Anything “bad” you do, you can now say “But I took you to see the tigers!” and automatically get a reprieve. What do you think?? I think he’d just respond with “Yes, but if I hadn’t asked about spending time with the cubs, we never would have!”, and then he’d demand that I do something for him, the bastard. * * * Have you read “A Walk in the Woods” by Bill Bryson? Before you attempt Mt. Katahdin you should read it. Yeah, I read it a couple of years ago. In fact, I think it was after I read it that I started talking about how much fun it would be to do the Appalachian Trail. I’ve changed my mind about that, especially since I’ve come to realize I don’t enjoy hiking all that much, but I do think it would be kind of fun to do various sections of the Appalachian Trail. * * * There’s a black and white cat that lives in the neighborhood who likes to, every few days, come into our back yard and try to hang out. I think he wants to be friends with our cats, but our cats respond to his presence by freaking the hell out, especially Mister Boogers. I was just sitting here at my desk when I heard something hit the cat door, and I looked over to see Sugarbutt with his tail all puffed out. I thought maybe a bird had hit the cat door – it’s happened before – and then a second later Mister Boogers came flying through the cat door and attacked Sugarbutt. I looked out the window and saw the black and white cat under the tree, and went out to chase him off. How does it make sense, I ask you, for Mister Boogers to see a strange cat and respond by attacking one of his brothers? A few months ago he saw the black and white cat through the window and attacked Tommy. He’s such a weird cat. * * * Meme, stolen from Bonkrood.

What is something that makes you ANGRY?
See above about cats slurping on their asses ten inches from my face.

What is your favorite ALCOHOLIC drink?
I don’t have one. I used to like strawberry dacquiris, but I think they have too much sugar in them for me to drink these days.

What is your BIRTHDATE?
January 9th.

Do you have any BIRTHMARKS?
I have a freckle on the palm of my hand and near the end of my nose (on the underside). Do those count?

What are you CAREER aspirations?
I have none, though I’ve thought of taking an Excel and Word course and signing up with a temp agency. That plastic surgery’s not going to pay for itself, y’know.

Have you ever seen a CORPSE?
Yes. My brother’s best friend when I was about 15, my great-aunt when I was 19 or 20, and Fred’s grandmother a few years ago.

What is your favorite DESSERT?
Right now I can’t much eat dessert, though I’ll happily take a single bite of just about anything.

When its your time, how would you like to DIE?
Either quietly in my sleep, or in a way that makes a lot of people do a double take. “She died… HOW?”

What is the highest level of EDUCATION you have completed?
I’ve got about two years’ worth of college courses under my belt.

If you were an EVIL character, what would your name be?
Bitchypoo!

Have you ever set FIRE to anything?
Yeah, I used to like to set fire to pieces of paper and watch them burn. I had the makings of a pyro when I was a teen, but then I got over it.

What’s your best FLIRTY line?
“Wanna do it?” Heh! Just kidding! I don’t have one.

What food turns you into a complete GLUTTON?
Shrimp and lobster. ::drool::

What is the best GIFT you have ever gotten?
Too many choices! I’ll skip this question.

What is your definition of HAPPINESS?
To quote Denis Leary: Happiness comes in small doses folks. It’s a cigarette, or a chocolate cookie, or a five second orgasm. That’s it, ok! You come, you eat the cookie, you smoke the butt, you go to sleep, you get up in the morning and go to fucking work, ok!? That is it! End of fucking list! “I’m just not happy.” Shut the fuck up, alright?

Who do you HATE more: Paris Hilton or Jessica Simpson?
Paris Hilton annoys the shit out of me, but I’m not too terribly fond of Jessica Simpson, either.

Who do you think is the biggest village IDIOT?
Too many choices!

State an INTERESTING fact about yourself.
I can wiggle my ears.

What is the worst JOB you have ever had?
I was a carhop at The Hi Hat III in Lisbon, Maine. My boss was a jackass. Hi, Dave Patterson! I’m talking about you!

What is your favorite piece of JEWELRY?
My wedding band and engagement ring.

KARAOKE: love it or hate it?
Like the concept, but I’ve never been and I can’t sing worth a shit.

How do you feel about having KIDS?
Just the one will do me, thanks.

Who is the great LOVE of your life?
Fred!

What would you like to LEARN how to do?
Play a musical instrument, maybe. Not badly enough to get off my ass and do it, mind you, but I like to think about it.

What is your favorite childhood MEMORY?
Playing on the beach in Guam.

If you had MINIONS, what would you order them to do first?
Clean the house!

How many daily NAPS do you need?
I rarely nap during the day, but yesterday I took a 10-minute nap and it was AWESOME.

Ever accidentally exposed your own or someone else’s NIPPLE?
Uh. NO. How do you “accidentally” expose someone else’s nipple?

Do you think OUIJA boards are really controlled by the devil?
No.

Describe something ODD about you.
Everything about me is odd.

What are you really PICKY about?
I don’t like having sticky hands. It drives me NUTS.

Have you ever been to PRISON?
I actually applied for a job as a prison guard once. I didn’t make it past the interview portion, and I’m kinda glad. I would have been a horrible guard. “Whatcha doin’ with that plastic knife, Spike? Oh, sharpening it so you can clean your fingernails? Alrighty, then!”

Name something you can do really QUICKLY.
Unload the dishwasher, ’cause I HATE IT so much.

Who do you QUARREL with the most?
Fred, of course. Not really quarrel, but argue. We get over it quickly, though.

If someone held you for RANSOM, how much do you think you are worth?
There ain’t enough money in the world, baby.

What is your current RELATIONSHIP status?
Happily married and about to celebrate our 8th anniversary in October.

Which of the SEVEN deadly SINS most applies to you?
Sloth!

Which would you rather not have in your home: a SPIDER or a SNAKE?
I don’t think either would bother me, as long as neither was poisonous. I’m sure at any given time there are about 100 spiders in various places in the house. As long as they keep their webs neat and clean, I let the spiders stay.

What experience felt like complete TORTURE?
The drive to Tigers for Tomorrow, because it took so LONG to get there.

What is the first THOUGHT you have waking up?
“It’s 5:20 ALREADY?”

What is the color of the UNDERWEAR you are wearing right now?
Pink.

What is your most UNFLATTERING feature?
My flappy upper arms.

Who do you think is the best VILLAIN of all time?
No one comes to mind.

What makes you feel VULNERABLE?
Not having Fred and the spud in the house where I know they’re safe.

Which would you rather have: unlimited WEALTH or unlimited WISDOM?
Unlimited wealth. I don’t think people with unlimited wisdom are all that happy.

If you could rule the WORLD, would you?
Hell yes, and you would ALL dance to my tune. Dance, puppets, dance!

Who is your favorite X-MEN character?
Wolverine, I guess. That’s Hugh Jackman, right?

Have you ever had an X-RAY?
Yep. Several, in fact.

What do you YEARN for?
Everyone I care for to be happy and well-adjusted.

Who do you think looks more like a YETI?
I… do not know.

What is your ZODIAC sign?
Capricorn.

What has been the ZENITH of your life?
Getting my very first piece-o-shit computer and getting online. Well. Maybe the zenith is yet to come.

* * * Tommy and the Boog show off their pretty sides. Miz Poo comes to investigate. “Is that… fresh water?” ::slurp::slurp::slurp:: “Wonder if I could make it from here?” (He decided against even trying) All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2005: They’ll be fine, they’ll be fine, they’ll be fine, they’ll be fine… 2004: And I’m not even a George Michael fan. Though “Faith” rocks the casbah. 2003: No entry. 2002: Fred: “It’s dick in your mouth good!” 2001: No entry. 2000: You know, life would just be so much simpler if I were already queen of the world and in charge of punishments and such.]]>