Author: Robyn

reading: Mortal Fear, by Greg Iles. So far it’s a really good book – though I didn’t realize when I started reading it how old it is, and the protagonist was explaining computer-related things to the authorities, and he had to explain what a Sysop is, and I thought “What? What the fuck? EVERYONE knows what a Sysop is, for god’s sake!”, and then I realized it was actually published nine years ago, and those were the early-ish days of the internet (hell, I hadn’t even discovered online journals and there were no such things as blogs, way back then), so I guess it makes sense. Sysop definition, because I know one of you smartasses will ask. Finished recently: The Love Wife, by Gish Jen. I really wanted to like this book, but for the love of GOD, it dragged on forEVER and read so slowly that I thought for sure I was on page 300 or so, and looked up to see that I was on page 57. The book has its moments, but I don’t really recommend it. Also recently finished: Close Range, by Annie Proulx. It really was amazing how closely Brokeback Mountain the movie followed Brokeback Mountain the story. It was worth reading the book, just to get to read BrokeBack Mountain. I recommend it.

* * * So when I posted the picture of the spud in her prom dress yesterday, what I forgot to mention is how very amazing it is that she ended up buying such a body-conscious dress when back in the Fall when we were looking for a Homecoming Dress she wouldn’t even (at first, anyway) entertain the thought of a dress with spaghetti straps, and I despaired because everything we could find with sleeves was kind of matronly looking, and she’s got (as my mother would say) a cute little figure, and it seemed a shame to put her in a dress that would look at home on a 60 year-old woman. Then she finally said that she might be willing to do the spaghetti straps thing and ended up with a cute dress, only in black, and I wondered if every formalish dress she was ever going to wear would be black, and then her best friend told her she needed to buy the pink and black dress with the tight bodice and the spaghetti straps, and I think it’s perfect. I wish I could have pulled off a prom dress like that, but instead I wore this to my Junior Prom: (Pardon the horrid scan) My mother ordered it for me, from JC Penney’s. God save me from the permed ‘fro. * * * From my comments: Hey! I’ve been meaning to ask you, what kind of kayak do you use when you go out with Fred? According to Fred, it’s a Wilderness Systems Critter, which is no longer made. Have you considered putting down a rug in the lounge room to maintain the niceness of the new carpet? We’ve thought about it, but the problem areas in the living room were in front of the couches, where we sit and our nasty, dirty feet dirtify the carpet. Now that we have couches with recliners, we spend 99% of our time with our feet up off the carpet, but if that changes, we have a carpet remnant (left over from the carpet installation) that will fit nicely in front of both couches. Hey Robyn, this is off the subject, but after having your surgery, I haven’t seen any entries on how you’re doing, how much have you lost, have you found it difficult, do you wish you had never done it. I ask because I am considering it. That’s what my weight loss journal, OneFatBitchypoo is for. I update it around once a week or so. (And as of this week I’ve lost 54.5 pounds. Woot!) There’s also a permanent link to it in the sidebar to the right. * * * I’d write a longer entry, but I’ve decided to drive up to Tennessee to get some Powerball tickets ($220 million! Woot!), and I have to run to the post office, so off I go. [Edited to add: Or not. Apparently the jackpot’s only $15 million Saturday (Ha! “Only”!). Duh. Oh well – it was a nice drive and if they wanna give us $15 million, I won’t turn it down!) Have a great weekend! * * * “Don’t touch my water, damnit.” “I smell somethin’ good. IS IT S-N-A-K TIME?!?!?!” “It’s hours and hours ’til S-N-A-K time? How can that be?!” * * * Previously 2005: Why do I bother to make New Year’s resolutions, I ask you? 2004: Bastard. 2003: “That’s right, you LITTLE SHIT, get the hell out of here!” I yelled, stomping at him. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: Not much of an entry.]]>

the show. I think they showed the first three (which were on ABC or NBC or whatever the hell channel it was originally on) this past Tuesday (and they’re rerunning them again all weekend), and then they’re starting with the unaired ones this coming Tuesday at 9:00. I REALLY liked that show, so you can bet I’ll be setting the DVR! Schedule is here.

* * * Today’s earworm: I went as far as I could, I tried to find a new face There isn’t one of these lines that I would erase I left a million mile of memories on that road And every step I take I know that I’m not alone You take the home from the boy, but not the boy from his home These are my streets, the only life I’ve ever known, who says you can’t go home (Who Says You Can’t Go Home?, by Bon Jovi and Jennifer Nettles) * * * I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this before, but I’m not a person who bruises easily. (Oh god. I’m suddenly struck with the intense urge to write a completely oblique entry about how even though you can’t see my bruises on the outside, inside I am bruised like an apple tossed against the wall and when (insert innocuous thing here) happens, although I might be smiling on the outside, on the inside I am GUSHING BLOOD because it bruises my soul, even if you can’t see it, and people should think about what they’re going to say before they go rushing around the internet willy-nilly hurting other people. Must… resist… evil… urge…) Anyway, physically, I just don’t bruise very easily. My friend Liz bruises if you so much as speak harshly to her – seriously, if she rolls down her car window to use the atm and rests her arm between the punching of PINs and choosing where the money’s coming from and all that, she always has bruises on the underside of her arm. I think someone accused her first husband of abusing her, so bad were the bruises. If I hadn’t seen the bruising process myself, I never would have believed it. ANYWAY. I was talking about ME. I don’t bruise very easily. So the other day when Fred and I were moving the living room furniture back into the living room, we were on the last piece of furniture, which was the kitchen table and I carried my side of the table – which is pretty heavy as kitchen tables go – resting on my right forearm. And the next morning when I woke up, I had a bruise about the size of a quarter where the table leg had rested. And I keep looking at it and poking at it, because I think it makes me look VERY BADASS. I think I might be a little weird. * * * Answering the Smart and Sassy question about tipping reminded me of back when I worked at Fred’s company (I was the office manager, for those of you who didn’t already know that, and I quit because I COULD) and we called a local courier company to deliver a document to someone’s home in Huntsville. Now, I’ve never hired a courier before and I thought it was going to be expensive, but I was stunned to find out that it was only going to cost $5. (Which of course made me want to start hiring a courier to do EVERYTHING. “Yeah, take this two offices down and make sure they sign for it, eh?”) I asked everyone who was around whether or not I was supposed to tip the courier, and none of them knew, ’cause none of THEM had ever hired a courier before, either. So I called the office and asked the lady who answered the phone if I was supposed to tip the courier. Now, instead of just saying “yes” or “no”, the lady hemmed and hawed and basically gave me a non-answer. And I decided that I’d rather be safe than sorry, so I got $5 cash from one of the owners to tip him. The guy showed up, and I gave him the envelope to deliver, then I handed over the check for the courier fee, and with the check I handed over the $5. The courier looked at the $5 and the check, and he gave me a puzzled look. “What’s this?” he said. “That’s, um,” I stammered. “A tip. For you!” He shook his head sternly, said “No,” and handed the $5 back to me. And I felt like the BIGGEST ASSHOLE ON EARTH. Even now, thinking about it, I get embarrassed. * * * Also, this entry of Jane‘s for some reason reminded me of several years ago when my mother sent the spud a Furby for Christmas. The spud kind of liked it at first, but after a while it kind of took on a creepy aura. The damn thing would just suddenly start SINGING and MOVING for no particular reason, and for an 11 year-old kid, it’s not a great leap of the imagination to think that the damn thing might come to life and kill you in your sleep. About two weeks after Christmas I was putting laundry away in the spud’s closet, and I found the Furby wrapped in a blanket, shoved behind the toybox – in fact, wedged in there so tightly that even had the damn thing come to life with bad intentions, there’s no way it could have gotten out and done its evil deeds. And quite frankly, I can’t blame the spud. That thing was fucking creepy. * * * The spud, in her prom dress. Hopefully the ankle socks won’t be a part of the final ensemble, but I can’t guarantee anything! * * * He keeps his svelte shape by practicing Sugilates regularly. The Sugilates move known as “lift and lick” is excellent for developing core strength. The dilemma: Something on the floor. The solution: Lay on it. This is a total Mister Boogers look. All of today’s uploaded pictures (there are a bunch today) are hither. * * * Previously 2005: “Ah JEEZUS, here she goes again with the Gatlinburg! She goes for four days and talks about it for four weeks!” 2004: Oh. My. Eyes. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: Entries I liked. 2000: No entry.]]>

Keith and the Girl podcast (they always totally crack me up), then came home, had breakfast, took a shower, and headed off to the dentist. My teeth were looking okay this time around, according to the hygienist, except that I need to pay special attention to a couple of teeth in the front, on top, because in my usual sloppy, lackadaisical way I’ve not brushed them enough, and the gums are inflamed around those two teeth. So she was cleaning my teeth and she said “How long have you had that spot on your tongue?”, and I said “I have a spot on my tongue?” – in other words, I have no idea how long it’s been there. She got out the hand-held mirror and showed it to me, and I just basically kind of shrugged and said “I dunno!” So she measured it with her metal torturing pointy tool of satan, and told me it’s about 3 mm across. “Hmm,” I said, like that meant something to me. She quizzed me about whether or not it was painful or tender (no to both), and then said she was going to take a picture of it for their records so that if it’s still there when I go back in four months they’d have a baseline picture to go by. She told me, trying to be reassuring, that perhaps it was just an inflamed tastebud, but before I left one of the dentists wandered by and she grabbed him and asked him to take a look at it. He said he thought it was a – I might have this word wrong, it’s been almost a day since he said it – fibroma, and nothing to worry about. I think they’re liars. I think it’s tongue cancer, and they’re going to have to remove my entire tongue. AND THAT WILL SUCK. Then I was off to the pet store (not the one I volunteer at, another one) to buy a couple of small bags of Natural Balance cat food at the suggestion of a reader (Hi, Susan!), who had a cat with a swollen-lipped problem like Miz Poo, and Susan used the magic words “less litterbox bulk, and less toxic stank” and I was SOLD on the idea of giving the Natural Balance cat food a try, because anything that will reduce bulk and stank in the litter area is going to be A-OK with me. Here’s hoping it works! I left the pet store and headed to Sam’s, because I was out of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers, which I use for absolutely EVERYTHING (a couple of people recommended that I try one on the walls in the living room when I was bitching about the state of them last week, and I would, except that the stain that annoyed me the most was comprised of oil – a great big mouthful Miz Poo spit out on the wall a few years ago – and Mr. Clean’s erasers might be magic, but they ain’t THAT magic, trust me). I KNOW I’ve gotten the magic erasers at Sam’s before, but to my dismay there were no magic sponges to be seen anywhere, so I had to content myself with buying a big box of microwave popcorn for Fred and the spud and a huge-ass box of trash bags just because I like to live life on the edge. Also, you just can’t possibly ever have enough trash bags in the house. From Sam’s I went to the mall, because I was a woman on a mission. See, these days I wear pants without pockets, and if I use something – like a pair of nail clippers – that I need to remember to bring back upstairs with me to put away and I have no pockets, I stick it in my bra. And the day I realized that I’d been wandering around the house with a pair of nail clippers in my bra (because of course I immediately forgot I’d put them there) and hadn’t remembered until I took my bra off when I was getting ready for bed is the day I realized I needed to go shopping for new bras. And there’s a Lane Bryant at the mall, and Lane Bryant is where I currently get my bras, because Victoria’s Secret doesn’t carry bras in my size just yet. So I get to the mall and I walk inside.. and Lane Bryant isn’t where it’s always been. They’re doing some work on the inside of the mall and I thought perhaps Lane Bryant had moved, so I walked around the entire mall looking for it, and it was nowhere to be seen. I remembered that there was a Lane Bryant near Target so I decided to go there, but first I had to stop at Yankee Candles and see what I could find on sale. I ended up with an air freshener for my car (grapefruit-something scented) and a bunch of wall plug-in refills. I LOVE the Lemon Zest scent and for that matter Fred and the spud like it too, so that’s a bonus. Anyway, I headed for the other (I guess “the only”, now) Lane Bryant, and must have spent forty-five minutes browsing. First I had to try on bras to see what size I’m wearing now (I’ve gone down three band sizes since the surgery, but the cup size has stayed the same) and then I was looking through the shirts on sale and decided to try one on and I liked (!) the way I looked in it so much that I ended up getting two of them, one in blue and one in yellow. I had a hell of a time finding six bras in my size, but finally did. Now I’ve got bras that fit, at least for a little while, and I can get rid of the old ones! I was going to just go straight home from there, but I passed Bed, Bath and Beyond and decided to go in and see what I could find for a shelf unit to go over the toilet in the downstairs bathroom. And I ended up standing there dithering for at least half an hour. What I really wanted was a unit with doors on it so that I could put things like tampons in there and then shut the door so people – like the carpet guy who used the bathroom yesterday morning and shat it up* – wouldn’t necessarily come face-to-face with my tampons. But the shelf unit with doors that came with the bottom part that straddles the toilet top – for want of a better description – was $129 (more than I wanted to spend), and the shelf unit I really liked with doors that closed didn’t come with a part that straddles the toilet and Fred would have had to hang it over the toilet and that would require finding studs to hang it from, and you just KNOW that there aren’t studs centered over the damn toilet. And I dithered and dithered and dithered some more, and then I finally did “eenie meenie minie moe”, which I fucked up because I couldn’t remember the words, but in any case even after the eenieing and the meenieing, I still dithered some more until finally I checked the clock on my cell phone and realized it was 1:30 and I’d left the house three hours earlier, and I could either make a fucking decision or throw myself off the nearest bridge, because I was tromping all OVER my own nerves. So I decided on an open spacesaver/ shelf unit (similar to this, but not that one) and decided I’d worry about the whole tampon thing later. Like I have SO many people in my house, using that bathroom, that I even have to worry about shielding their tender eyes from my tampons, right? But, still. I worry because I am a freak. And I’ve decided that a lovely decorative basket would be JUST the ticket to hide my tampons from the public. Problem solved! And THEN I left there and had to stop at the grocery store on my way home to pick up a prescription and some baby spinach (I support the torture and eating of innocent baby spinaches) and by the time I got home and hauled everything inside, it was past lunch time and I was STARVING. So I made lunch and ate it while talking to my sister on the phone, and the next thing I knew it was after 3:00 and Fred was calling to tell me he was on his way home. Shows are piling up on the DVR like mad. I’m going to need to schedule myself a tv-watching day or two so we don’t run out of space. *I don’t care if strangers go Number Two in my bathroom – hell, everyone! Come on over for a poop! – but for the love of GOD, people, flush twice! I don’t want to walk into my bathroom and come face to face with poop dust in the bottom of the bowl!

* * * ::lick:: ::lick:: “WHAT?” Brudderly love. All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2005: Just because the fuckers are talking to me doesn’t mean I’m obligated to listen to their bullshit, does it? 2004: What exactly the fuck was I supposed to be doing at 5:30 on a Sunday afternoon, running for fucking president? 2003: No entry. 2002: Apparently the Committee for Deciding Who is Hellbound was meeting in the waiting room. 2001: “Jesus has arrived in Madison,” he said nonchalantly. 2000: Now that, my friends, is wickedly fast. ]]>

I had him bring the vacuum cleaner down from upstairs, and then spent quite a while vacuuming up the cobwebs from the baseboards and tray ceiling, and one very long spider web strand that stretched between a corner of the living room and the ceiling fan in the center of the room. Once I was done with that he started disconnecting all the electronics from the TV, and I made breakfast for both of us – onion, spinach, mushroom and cheese omelets – and then we ate. He managed to pull the table upon which the TV set sat so that it was right next to one of the couches, and we each took a side and gently leaned the TV on the couch, then covered it with quilts so the cats wouldn’t scratch it up. Then I vacuumed where the TV had been, checked to make sure there was nothing else I could help with, and headed upstairs to take my shower.

With surprisingly little interference from the cats, he painted the living room and was done in a little less than two hours. So he went for a hike, of course. This morning, he stayed home and waited for the carpet guys to show up, while I went to the pet store and did my thing. By the time I got home, they’d been there for 45 minutes, had pulled up the carpet from the living room and stairs, and were doing… whatever comes next. Fred left for work as soon as I showed up, and I sat in front of the computer while the guys worked on the carpet. There were a total of four guys, and I think there were two guys in the living room and two guys on the stairs. They finished sometime after 11:00 and one of them offered to vacuum the carpet, but I told him I’d do it myself, and then it was just a matter of paying them and wishing them a good day. The stairs and the living room look about 63,000 times better, cheap carpet or no. Even Fred admitted that the stairs look a lot better with the new carpet. Think he’d notice if I contracted to have the rest of the house done? They could do it while he was at work! The hideous, butt-ugly, god-I-hate-it Berber carpet. This picture does no justice to the hideousness of the damn thing. The new, cheap, only-gotta-last-a-year carpet. I like it a LOT more than the Berber. I don’t have a “before” picture of the stairs, but just imagine an ugly, stained, matted carpet from hell and then multiply it by a thousand. The spud has been informed that she’s not allowed to wear shoes on the stairs for the time being. The first time a cat barfs on the stairs, I’m going to commit murder, I swear it. When Fred got home yesterday afternoon we started the job of moving everything back into its place, which took us about an hour. Fred was stunned and kept saying “It went together a whole lot faster than it came apart!”, and then I pointed out that he had help putting it back together (not a LOT of help, since I’m weak as a newborn kitten, apparently, and could only lift the couch and move it about six inches at a time). And now my living room looks awesome, and I’m not ashamed to have him invite his parents over to watch a movie with us! * * * Woohoo! The spud had a job interview at a local fast food restaurant (you’ll forgive me, stalkers, if I don’t name the place), and she got the job! And she goes for orientation tomorrow! And she starts (she thinks) this weekend! Yay! * * * Something has caught the Tommy’s attention. Is that a happy cat, or what? All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: Back from Gatlinburg. 2004: No entry. 2003: I love Von, and questions answered. 2002: No entry. 2001: Miz Poo gives me a scare. 2000: My husband, the diplomat.]]>

Best comment thread EVER. My god in heaven, I adore reading about peoples’ bad work experiences, maybe because I didn’t really have all that many in my youth (one time two managers at McDonald’s fucked with me by ordering “Prune danishes and a shit shake” at the drive-up (where I couldn’t see them) and I came thisclose to telling them to go fuck themselves, but luckily didn’t ’cause I think I would have gotten in trouuuuuble). I also adore reading about peoples’ awful in-laws, probably because my in-laws (both those I had during my first marriage and my current in-laws) were nothin’ to bitch about.

* * * I was on the phone with my sister on Saturday – it was a family-talkin’ kind of weekend; I talked to my sister on Saturday, then my sister, my brother, and my mother on Sunday – when I heard the call waiting beep. I told her I had to get the call (I could see by the caller ID that it was the spud, who was on her way to the mall, calling from her cell phone), and hung up with her. Only, I took too long to hang up and by the time I tried to pick up the call from the spud voicemail had picked up and all I got was a dial tone. Thus began a three-minute zany extravaganza wherein I’d call her and her cell phone would go directly to voicemail, then I’d call again and the phone would ring four times before the voicemail picked up, then I’d try again and it’d go directly to voicemail, et cetera. Finally she answered the phone, and told me that someone had hit her. I didn’t even think to ask if anyone’d gotten hurt (obviously SHE was fine, ’cause she’d answered the phone) and told her to hang up, and I’d call her back. I called Fred, who’d gone hiking, on his cell phone, and asked him what I should tell her to do. (See various entries I’ve written wherein I said that I’m bad in an emergency) He asked me a few questions I couldn’t answer, then said he’d call her himself. A minute later he called back and said “She’s not answering her phone.” I told him to hang on, that I’d call her and have her call him. Thus began another extravaganza wherein I called her cell phone, got voicemail, hung up, called again, got voicemail, etc. until she finally picked up. “Sorry!” she said perkily. “I was talking to [her best friend]!” “Call Fred,” I said. “Okay,” she said. A few minutes later Fred called me back. “Neither she nor the other guy had called the police! She said they don’t know HOW TO!” “So what’d you tell her?” “To call 1-411 and ask for the Huntsville police non-emergency number!” “Probably it wouldn’t be a bad idea for her to program the numbers for the Huntsville and Madison police departments into her cell phone just in case,” I said. “Good point,” he said. We talked for a few more minutes, and then he hung up, saying “I’m almost where she is. I’ll see you in a while.” When he got home, he showed me the picture of my car and the other guy’s car. The other guy’s car. Fred said it looked a lot worse before the guy who owns the car got up on the hood and straightened it out some. Mine. The back bumper will probably need to be replaced. Apparently the spud was approaching a red light and was slowing down, and the guy rear-ended her. At least this time, unlike the time she scraped the car alongside the mailbox, it wasn’t her fault. “I’m thinking we should have probably just bought her a beater to drive instead of letting her drive MY car,” I told Fred. “Good point,” he said. Poor E’gar. I’d originally planned to pay off the car in the next year, then stash each months’ payment into savings for the next two years, so that I’d have a hefty down payment on a new car when E’gar was four or five years old. At this rate, I’m not sure he’s going to LIVE that long. * * * On an up note, the spud and her best friend found a prom dress (for the spud) at the mall in about an hour. She modeled it for us when she got home, and it is ADORABLE. I didn’t get a picture at the time, though, so y’all will have to wait a few days to see it. Trust me when I say it was a very good choice, though. * * * We watched Narnia Saturday night, and I thought it was really, really good. Fred thought it dragged a bit – I didn’t think it did at all – and the spud only sat through about half an hour of it before she went back upstairs. Of course, I don’t remember a thing at all about the book, since I only read it once as a kid. Fred has all the Narnia books, so I may read them at some point in the near future. * * * Currently reading: Close Range, by Annie Proulx. I just started Brokeback Mountain (the short story), and suddenly I’m understanding more about the movie. For instance, at one point during the movie Fred and I said “I don’t see why they don’t just go camp out with the sheep…”, and while reading the book I find out that they couldn’t, that no one was supposed to be camping with the sheep and Jack was doing it on the sly. Turns out Randy Quaid’s character explained that all at the very beginning, only I could only understand about every sixth word he said. So far, it’s good. I’ve found, as I’ve read through the book, that at the beginning of each short story I think “Oh, I don’t give a shit about this character, maybe I should just skip this story…” but within a few paragraphs I’m hooked. The only other Annie Proulx book I’ve read in the past was The Shipping News, and if I recall correctly I didn’t much care for it. I might give another of her short-story books a try, though. * * * Far too important and busy to stop and smell the flowers. “Come here, darling. I won’t scratch your eyes out with my claws and tear your throat out with my teeth, I PROMISE.” The look on his face cracks me up. Here, here’s a closeup: All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: Questions answered. 2002: No entry. 2001: Spring cleaning. 2000: Let’s just say our mother was not pleased.]]>

]]>

Holy crap! It’s already April 7th! Where the hell has the time gone??

* * * Someone – or possibly several someones – have lately been doing site searches that lead me to believe you’re looking for information on where your Mia donation went so you can write it off on your taxes. If you email me, I’ll send you the email address and telephone number for the shelter manager who runs the shelter (where the Mia donations went) and you can inquire about getting a receipt for your taxes. * * * Thanks, all of you, for your hair advice. I think at this point I’m going to wait and see if my hair starts falling out from the surgery before I decide whether to cut it short or not. In the meantime, I’ll make an appointment to see my doctor (one of these days…) to discuss the thyroid stuff with her, and I’ll give Biotin a try. I’m very strongly leaning toward going short for the summer, though. No matter what I decide, I’m going to get tired of it in a few months and want to do the exact opposite, anyway. You know how some men grow beards over the winter, then shave them for the summer? I should start going short in the summer and spending the rest of the year growing it out! Hmm. Maybe I should just go back to this hair style, only a little shorter (scroll down a bit). I wonder why I stopped liking that hairstyle? I must have gotten bored and decided to grow it out. Good point, those of you who suggested that Halle Berry probably didn’t roll out of bed with her hair like that. I’m going to be more interested in something I can scrub in the shower, put a little product in, and then go, without having to spend a lot of time styling. Hell, I can barely stand the boredom of drying my hair halfway dry now – if you start adding in actually needing to “style” it and use curling irons on it, well, THAT ain’t gonna happen. Also, if you’re wondering why I edited the picture so you could only see half my face, it’s ’cause I haven’t had the ‘stache waxed in months, and I didn’t want to give anyone nightmares. I’m going to make an appointment for next week at a place in Huntsville that does laser hair removal. I’ve been putting it off way too long, and it’s time to get moving. Not enough hair on my head, too much hair on my face. You WISH you were me. * * * Oh! And someone mentioned that she was surprised to see the color of my hair, because she thought it was reddish. Actually, it tends to start out dark and kind of fades to a reddish color in the five weeks between coloring because I am apparently horribly rough on my hair. Probably if I used shampoo and conditioner made for colored hair, or stopped shampooing every day (which I did for a while last year, but then my scalp started breaking out, so I went back to shampooing every day) it wouldn’t fade so badly. * * * Time to go back on the pill – it’s been 2 1/2 weeks since my last period ended, and I’m bleeding again. GRRRR. * * * My current guilty pleasure, tv-wise, is Real Housewives of Orange County. I find it oddly fascinating, although I cannot for the life of me keep the three blondes straight. And Jo, the young fiancee, is perhaps not the brightest bulb in the lamp, but she’s adorable. Seriously, she was shopping for tennis clothes, and a tennis… guy – instructor? – said “Who bought you this racket?” and she said “My fiance did!”, and the guy said “Is he out to lunch, or what?” and she said “What do you mean? Does he eat out a lot?” And PERHAPS she was just pretending to be dumb, but she sure did look serious. And then the guy said something about a “junior racket”, and she said “Like a Junior in high school?”, and again she appeared to be completely serious. Although, her fiance did say that she was from Peru (though I have detected no sign of an accent), so if she grew up elsewhere maybe that explains it? I don’t know – all I know is that (a) I can’t stop watching it and (b) If Jo and Slade don’t break up pretty soon, I’m going to be very surprised. I don’t think I like that guy. * * * From my comments: did Fred paint the office a grayish color? Can you tell me what color that is? Hubby and I have been looking for a gray in our office – and I like how nice yours looks with the white molding! It’s actually more of a bluish gray, and I reallllly like it. He picked the color himself, and I think he did one hell of a job. It’s American Tradition Valspar, Blue Twilight, 5001-1C, and you can see another picture of the room here. Hey Robyn, does Netflix have a referral reward program? They do, but it’s a pain in the ass to sign up for, so I’m not gonna. My reward is that I talked you into joining with all my raving about how cool Netflix is (or so I’d like to think!). where did you get your refurbished ipod? I got it directly from Apple – I probably could have gotten it for less on eBay, but when it comes to electronics, I prefer to buy directly from the source, just to be safe – here’s the link. BobPod is blue, for the record, and I think he’s beeeeeeeautiful. * * * Currently reading: Close Range, by Annie Proulx. Finished late last night: The Lincoln Lawyer, by Michael Connelly. Excellent book – I was hoping Bosch would make a cameo, but he didn’t. Finished before that: Match Me If You Can, by Susan Elizabeth Phillips. You always know what you’re going to get with a Susan Elizabeth Phillips book – sassy girl, obstinate man (or vice versa), and you can count on a sweet, happy ending. I love Susan Elizabeth Phillips. * * * “I’m hungry, but I am also a finicky eater. Will this blade of grass be tender yet flavorful? Small yet filling?” Who needs dogs when you’ve got cats who’ll chase balls? Such a pretty boy. All of today’s uploaded pictures can be seen here. * * * Previously 2005: Off to Gatlinburg. 2004: Our palates are too immature, I suppose. 2003: Now I know why, when the camera and sound guy were setting up and I chirped “Oh, is this the camera that’s going to make me look like Ashley Judd?”, everyone laughed so hard. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: Then he and the spud went swimming yesterday, since the pool’s up to a sultry 66. ]]>

Olympus Stylus 800 digital camera, because it’s 8 megapixels instead of 7.2. After using it, he’s decided he likes his current camera more, because it’s smaller and fits in his pocket better. But he threw the receipt away, and can’t return the camera. So, if any of you are interested in getting an almost brand new 8 megapixel camera for $300 (that includes shipping), let me know. First come, first served.

* * * You may or may not have noticed that this week my entries are going up later in the day. That’s ’cause I’ve started turning off my computer at night and won’t allow myself to turn it on in the morning until after I’ve exercised, showered, and done some housework. It’s amazing, the amount of shit you can get done in a day when you’re not plopped on your ass in front of the computer. Who knew? I don’t expect this self-discipline to last forever, but hopefully at least for the next few weeks until I can get this damn house whipped into shape. * * * Yesterday was a busy errand-running day for me. I had a hair appointment at 9, left there at 10:45, went to Sam’s, the grocery store, and then got home around noon. The hair appointment was okay, but I am in despair over my hair. As in, I am not fond of my current hairstyle, but I don’t know what I want to do about it. This is me, currently: (Shaddup, I know I need to do SOMETHING about my freakin’ eyebrows) And I just don’t like it much. My hair is already pretty thin from the thyroid issues, and I’m freaking out about the possibility of losing even more hair in the coming months due to the surgery. Now, when it comes to thinning hair I think that some people are under the impression that growing out your hair and kind of teasing the top of it will hide a multitude of sins, but I am here to tell you that I’ve seen a woman with very thin hair, and it’s long and teased on the top and all that serves to do is draw your eye to the scalp that is clearly visible under the teased hair. Now, I’m sure I’d rather be skinny and bald than fat and hairified, but what I’d MUCH prefer to be is skinny and hairified, thanks. So anyways, I’ve been looking at hairstyles ever since I knew I was going to have the surgery, and what I’ve heard – and what kind of makes sense if you think about it – is to get a ‘do with short layers. And I’ve found a hairstyle I really like and so I saved the picture to my hard drive so I can think about it, and the more I look at it, the more I think I like it, but I can’t quite take the next step to actually have my hairchick cut my hair like that. Oh, I don’t knowwwwwww. I know y’all have opinions on the subject, share ’em with me! What I really ought to do is chop all my hair off and buy me a Dolly Parton wig. Can’t beat $19.95! * * * Actually, I just spent half an hour online looking up “hair loss” and “synthroid”, and found that 1) Possibly I need a T3/ T4 drug combination instead of a standalone T4 and 2) (And I know someone mentioned this to me in the past) They’re thinking now that a higher dose of Synthroid might be the way to go because – and I quote – In the 1960s it was textbook material after 70 years of experience using thyroid that a dose below 180 mg of desiccated thyroid could not be measured clinically or in the laboratory. In other words it was without effect. The approximate equivalent dose of synthroid or thyroxine (T4) would be about 180 micrograms. Maybe I should just suck it up and make an appointment with my doctor to discuss hair loss issues and the shit I’ve found online (I KNOW doctors have got to LOVE the internet. How many times do you suppose they hear “I was looking around on the internet and….” and just cringe?). I could have her look at the ugly mole on the back of my neck while she’s at it! * * * Who needs a lawnmower when you have a Sugarbutt? I imagine that when Miz Poo woke up and realized she was snuggling with Tommy, there was a serious smackdown. “How YOU doin’?” All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: I think that a more accurate description would be “covered the annoyance of itching by making your skin feel as though you’re being set on fire.” 2004: Meme. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: Fred’s such a bastard.]]>

Oh, how I really, really, REALLY liked Brokeback Mountain, to my great relief. I didn’t out-and-out sob at any point during the movie, but I did tear up many times. I tried, last night, to convince Fred to drive across the country this summer, stopping in Mooreland, Indiana (Zippy country) and ending up at Brokeback Mountain. Which is when he told me there IS no Brokeback Mountain. Damn it! I’ve never uttered this sentence before in my entire life, but last night I said it for the first time: “I’d love to visit Wyoming someday.” So pretty! Such a good movie. I might even have to buy it. Also, now that I’ve seen the movie, I can read the book of short stories – if I have a book and I know the movie’s coming out, I try not to read the book, because I tend to sit through the movie waiting for whatever I know is going to happen, to happen – and I’m looking forward to it. So, two thumbs up to Brokeback Mountain. Tell me what you thought about it (it’s okay if you didn’t like it – you’re ALLOWED your opinion. It just means you hate me. (kidding!)) in the comments, eh? PS: I was occasionally distracted by the fact that Heath Ledger’s accent sometimes crossed the line into Slingblade territory. PPS: Fred laughed out loud when, near the beginning of the movie, Jake Gyllenhaal was drinking some kind of hard liquor and I primly said “Hard liquor is the first stop on the train to Gaysville.” PPPS: NO, I don’t really believe that.

* * * Stolen from Janet. 1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought? “I really need to remember to apply sunblock before I go outside in the morning.” (My forehead is getting pretty freckly) 2. When is the next time you will have sex? I don’t believe that’s any of your bidness. 3. What’s a word that rhymes with “DOOR”? Floor. 4. Favorite planet? I’ve always been partial to Mars. 5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your mobile? My brother, who called… I don’t know, three weeks ago? Unfortunately at the time my phone was in the bottom of my purse and I didn’t hear it. 6. What is your favorite ring on your phone? I love the “O Holy Night” as sung by South Park’s Cartman I downloaded at Christmas. Currently my default ring is just the sound of a telephone ringing. 7. What shirt are you wearing? An ugly lime-green shirt. 9. Name the brand of shoes you’re currently wearing? They’re Easy Spirit slippers. 10. Bright or Dark Room? Bright, unless I’m trying to watch a movie or go to sleep. 11. What do you think about the person who took this survey before you? She’s so cute I want to stick her in my pocket and carry her around with me. (I won’t, though, Janet. Really I won’t!) 12. Hey Janet? Where’d #12 go? 13. What were you doing at midnight last night? Sleeping, or fending off the advances of a little orange kitty who was desperate to lick my neck. 14. What did your last text message you received on your mobile say? I don’t have a clue – I don’t know if I’ve ever gotten a text message on this cell phone. I’m not much of a text-er. 15. Where is your letter box? By the street. 16. What’s a word that you say a lot? “Huh?” 17.Who told you he/she loved you last? Fred, I’m sure. 18. Last furry thing you touched? Sugarbutt’s stomach. 19. How many drugs have you done in the last three days? Uh… zero? Unless you’re counting multi-vitamins, iron, B12, calcium, Synthroid, and Metoprolol in the “drugs” category. 20. How many rolls of film do you need to get developed? None. I can’t remember the last time I used a film camera. 21. Favorite age you have been so far? I kind of liked 28, but I suspect the best is yet to come. 22. Your worst enemy? Myself. 23. What is your current desktop picture? A picture I took when I was in Hawaii. 24. What was the last thing you said to someone? “I got Rent for you; it’s on the desk by the door.” (to the spud) 25. If you had to choose between a million dollars, able to fly, which would you choose? The ability to fly. I’m sure – unless I was kidnapped by the government so they could do extensive and painful tests on me – I could earn a million bucks with my ability to fly. Even if I couldn’t, I’d still choose it. 26. Do you like someone? What, are we in middle school? I like lots of people, but I only LIKE LIKE one. 27. The last song you listened to? Settle for a Slowdown, by Dierks Bentley. 28. If the last person you spoke to was getting shot at, would you jump in front of the bullet? I hope so – I’m not too great in a crisis, though, so by the time the thought occurred to me to jump in front of the bullet, the CSI team might be showing up. 29. If you could punch 1 person in the face who’s in your life right now, who would it be? Chloe Sevigny. Granted, she’s not so much “in my life”, but she’s the one person on earth I’d lunch to punch in the face, because her face DRIVES ME CRAZY. 30. What is the closest object to your left foot? The space heater. Shaddup, it might be in the 70s outside, but it’s still cold inside sometimes. * * * Pet store kitty pics from Monday are here. * * * An up side to having a teen who drives is that you can send her to do errands for you. In fact, I think she’s gone and gotten the majority of the CSI DVDs we’re working our way through. Also, I can make a lab appointment for her – and she can drive HERSELF. I don’t even have to leave the couch. Two thumbs up for the driving teen. Speaking of the spud, she’s decided to go to prom this year with friends, and this weekend she and her best friend are going to meet up at the mall to shop for a prom dress. Which means I don’t have to do any of that pesky “shopping” I dislike so much. I do need to call and schedule an appointment for the day of prom so she can get herself an updo, though. * * * There was something else I was going to write about, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what it was. If anyone sees my brain wandering by, please send it in my direction, would you? Thanks. * * * “That wild onion is REALLY getting on my freakin’ nerves, man.” “Dad? Whatcha got there? Is that the flashy thing that Mom’s always pointing at me?” I apologize for showing you a picture of my cat’s asshole*, but this picture cracks me UP. According to Fred, Tommy was coming to a sudden stop. *I think “the cat’s asshole” should become a popular new insult. It pairs nicely with the phrase “the cat’s pajamas.” For instance: “Bob, what do you think of the new guy and his wife?” “Oh, the wife is the cat’s pajamas. The new guy, though, he’s more like the cat’s asshole. I can’t stand that guy.” All of today’s cat pictures were taken by Fred. You can see all of today’s uploaded pictures hither. * * * Previously 2005: I had no idea that leaving the top of the washstand bare meant that you didn’t appreciate the washstand. 2004: (Yeah, yeah, cry you a river. I know. Bite me.) 2003: No entry. 2002: Apparently Fancypants’ evil twin (except that I’m sure Fancypants is actually the evil one) now lives in our neighborhood. 2001: No entry. 2000: I guess there’ll be no physical fisticuffs for me to go break up. ]]>

Brokeback Mountain comes out today, and I’ll be getting it in the mail from Netflix when the mail comes later. I am VERY EXCITED to know that I’ll be watching it tonight. Of course, the fact that I’m this excited pretty much guarantees that it’s going to suck.

* * * “What,” Fred said from his spot in front of his computer, “Is that NOISE?” “I don’t know,” I said absentmindedly from my spot in front of my computer. “It almost sounds like a weed whacker,” he said. “Yeah, but it sounds like it’s coming from inside the house.” “The CALL is coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE!” Fred said, and then got up to see what the noise was. “Oh shit,” he said a second later. “What?” “He’s got a bird!” Fred said, and then I heard the noise of a cat thumping up the stairs with Fred running close behind. I got up and went to the bottom of the stairs. From the top of the stairs, I heard the sound of Fred yelling at Mister Boogers, then running back and forth, and I yelled up helpful things like “Is it a baby?” and “Is it a cardinal?”, and Fred answered my questions in the affirmative as he chased the now-free bird. Eventually, he came downstairs with the bird in his hands. “How am I supposed to let him go?” he asked. I went into the living room, calling “Just open the door and open your hands, and he’ll fly away!” I resisted the urge to break into song (He’ll fly away, Oh Glory/ He’ll fly away; (in the morning)/ When he dies, Hallelujah, by and by/ he’ll fly away (he’ll fly away). I’d just reached out to open the back door when I heard Fred swear again. “What?” I said. “He got away!” Fred said, and I could hear the sound of a pissed-off baby cardinal squawking and taking flight, then hitting the wall. Then taking flight and hitting the wall. Then taking flight and hitting the wall. I went into the dining room to see Fred trying to chase down the cardinal and hold Mister Boogers back at the same time. And I knew I had two choices – I could try to help, in which case Fred would bitch at me for getting in the way, or I could stand back and observe, in which case Fred would bitch at me for not helping. “Could you give me some HELP here?” he snapped, pushing Mister Boogers back for the tenth time. “I need some gloves or something!” I went into the kitchen and got gloves from under the sink, handed them to Fred, and then picked Mister Boogers up and held onto him so he couldn’t go after the bird again. “Brrrrrrrrrrp!” Mister Boogers said with great displeasure. Fred finally got hold of the bird and I went into the living room and opened the back door for him. (That sounds kind of dirty, doesn’t it?) Fred stepped outside, opened his hands… and the bird just sat there. Apparently he’d stunned his tiny brain and was in a state of shock. He just sat in Fred’s hand for the longest time, and after a few minutes, Fred started petting him, and I’ll be damned if the bird didn’t seem to kind of like it. Around Fred’s feet, the cats swarmed, looking up and trying to figure out what exactly The Daddy was holding in his hand that smelled so damn good. We eventually shooed the cats inside and shut the cat door. They watched us unhappily from the other side of the windows as we stood and looked at the bird. Fred finally walked over to the bird feeder and set the bird in the feeder. The bird sat there and regarded Fred with some confusion. Fred took off his gloves and held out his hand to see if the bird would hop back on his hand. The bird did. The bird went back into the feeder for a while, and then Fred tried to get it to hop on his hand and stand on one finger, but apparently the bird had other plans. It took off and flew for a short distance, then landed on the ground and happily hopped around, occasionally peeping. We decided to leave him alone for a little while, and about half an hour later, we looked out to find him gone. Fred walked around the yard to make sure he wasn’t hopping around anywhere, didn’t see him, and we opened the cat door back up so the cats could go outside and perhaps bring us another bird. A bird in the house is a definite sign that spring is here. * * * So remember last week when I had a temper tantrum about how it was going to be just too fucking expensive to carpet the living room and how much I hated the Berber carpet and how I hate everything, WAHHHHHHHHHH? Turns out Fred – who majored in MATH in college – figured it out wrong, and it ended up that it was going to be much less than we’d originally thought. So he called the carpet store and made an appointment to have a guy come out and do an estimate for us, and – just for shits and giggles – we had him give us an estimate on replacing the carpet on the stairs as well (of course, I’d much prefer to have the stairs hardwooded, but that’d just be too damn much money to spend on a house we’ll be selling in a year), and when the cost of carpeting the stairs and the living room was added together, it ended up being something we could live with. So they’re coming next Monday to carpet the living room AND the stairs, and I’ve already told the spud that I will beat her six ways to Sunday if she EVER tromps on the newly carpeted stairs with her shoes on, because I’ll be damned, after living with those ugly stains on the carpeted stairs (said stains were actually caused by people who looked through the house when it was up for sale before we bought it), if she’s going to stain up the new carpet. AND not only are we getting new carpet in the living room and on the stairs, but Fred’s going to paint the living room next Sunday – the same color it is now, only all the ugly stains and dings will gone – and I am VERY MUCH excited. Yeah, I need a life. Shaddup. Someone mentioned in my comments last week that I should think about getting an area rug for the living room and leaving the Berber carpet, since it would add to the resale value of the house. I would actually consider that, except that the Berber carpet is so stained and ugly (the cats have pulled up loops of the carpet in a couple of places) that there’s no way it would add to the resale value. Between Fred and the cats, iced tea has stained the carpet by his couch so badly that it’ll never come out. * * * Tommy in the back yard. Pissy Boog. Miz Poo whines annoyingly. Oh, how the Sug cracks me up. (Fred took most – if not all – of the pictures in today’s entry.) All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2005: E’gar comes home. 2004: No entry. 2003: “Hi. What R U doing to loose weight and how much weight have U lost?” 2002: Burned fucking beans. 2001: No entry. 2000: Diane Sawyer is so uncomfortable around kids, it’s laughable. ]]>