Author: Robyn

reading: Crisscross, still. I’m enjoying it, but I haven’t done a whole lot of reading lately. Fred said last night “F. Paul Wilson isn’t the best writer, but Repairman Jack is the BEST character!” True, that.

* * * I spent three hours cleaning this morning – the master bathroom, doing laundry, vacuuming the upstairs, vacuuming and mopping the entire downstairs, dusting the upstairs – and I swear to god the house doesn’t look any different. There are already kitty footprints across the dining room floor. Imagine that. * * * The spud came downstairs yesterday afternoon – she had a half day of school and was home before noon – and said “Do you have any errands I can run?” “Like what?” I asked, to see if she had anything particular in mind. “I don’t know… Maybe check the PO Box?” Then I remembered that Diet Coke was on sale at the grocery store, and I said “You can do TWO errands for me! Go check the PO Box, and then go to Publix to buy 2-liter bottles of Diet Coke.” We had a ten-minute discussion on exactly where Publix – the grocery store she’s probably been to ten zillion times in her life – is located. I gave her money, told her to buy 6 2-liter bottles of Diet Coke, and off she went. She called to let me know she’d arrived at the post office, then asked if she could get Diet Cokes at Kroger instead of Publix. “No,” I said. “They’re probably not on sale at Kroger.” As an aside, how fucking ridiculous are we that we get all excited when Diet Coke is on sale? The regular price is $1.39, and they’re currently on sale for $1.09. That’s a savings of $1.80 for six bottles. And yet I’ll happily pay $1.51 for a large Diet Coke at McDonald’s a couple of times a week. WHERE’S THE SENSE? Ten minutes later, the phone rang again. “Um,” said the spud. “Where is Publix? Is it past Winn-Dixie?” “That depends on which way you’re going,” I said. “I’m in the Winn-Dixie parking lot…” “Do you see Lowe’s?” “Um… yeah?” “Publix is in the strip mall on the other side of Lowe’s. It’s in the same mall as Staples,” I said. “Oh,” she said. She was home again ten minutes later, Diet Cokes in hand, everything just fine. I have no idea how she managed to miss Publix. She had to have driven right by it! But I think the less questions I ask, the better. Today, she drove my car to school and then home again. No problems. Wednesday, she’s going to drive a little further afield, to the mall. Hopefully she’ll make it home with no problems. If she gets lost, she’ll have her cell phone with her. My lord, this whole business of being the parent of a driving teenager is mighty nerve-wracking. * * * THIS IS THE SECTION ABOUT THE KITTENS. Okay, those of you who have dealt with kittens this age before – I need your help and advice. Leave it in the comments, would you? The kittens are starting to pee on the rug. I had no idea this was going to happen – how dumb am I? (Don’t answer that!) I thought Momma was going to teach them to use the litter box. What the hell is going on? I’ve caught a couple starting to squat, and put them in the litter box, but they couldn’t be less interested in using the damn thing. We thought about putting the litter box where they’re peeing, but their favorite spot is behind the door, which would make it impossible to open the door. Is there something I can use to repel them from the places where they’re peeing (usually the corners of the room)? Every time I find a little puddle, I clean it up and spray Nature’s Miracle on the spot, but that doesn’t stop them from going back. Am I spending too much time in the room with them? I go in there four or more times a day and spend probably half an hour each time. Am I interrupting Mom’s training-the-babies schedule? Mom and a couple of the babies were sitting at the food bowls eating, and one of the as-yet-unnamed black and white kittens (we’re naming them tonight when we weigh and deworm them) LAID DOWN A GREAT BIG TURD IN THE FOOD BOWL. The food bowl HIS MOMMA was eating out of. And she just DID NOT CARE, she just kept on eating ’til I took the bowl away to remove the GREAT BIG KITTEN TURD. That was pretty damn nasty. Anyone who’s dealt with this kind of situation before, I would VERY MUCH appreciate your suggestions and comments. Thanks! Now, on to the pictures… Flossie, hanging out with Mom. “No, no, guys, LISTEN! You gotta listen to this! You won’t believe it! You will SHIT when you hear this story!” Baby bellies and baby TOES. Could anything be cuter? “Heeeeeeeeey, lady with the flashy thing! You wanna stop that shit? It makes me see dots!” Flossie. I think she’s one of my favorites. Actually, they’re ALL my favorites. I brought in something for them to sharpen their needle-like little claws on, and they all spent a long, long time sniffing it. I guess it smells like our cats. Aren’t I nice, taking toys away from our cats for the foster kitties to play with? Flossie again. I KNEW that sooner or later I’d get a yawning pic! Yay!]]>

calorie-burning motherfucker, that’s right.

* * * I took a child’s dose of Benadryl this morning on an empty stomach (I put the bottle of Benadryl in my purse, by the way, and it came in handy when I remembered halfway to the pet store that I needed to take some.) and I think I’m a little bit buzzed. Yes, a child’s dose of Benadryl on an empty stomach, and I’m about ready to dance on the bars and twirl my bra over my head. Sad, ain’t it? * * * On my way to the pet store this morning, I realized that my air conditioning wasn’t working. It was blowing out air, but warm air, despite being set on the coolest setting. I fiddled around with it for a while and still couldn’t get cool air to come out. I picked up my cell phone and called Fred. “Why me?” I said when he answered. “Because god loves you?” he suggested, and then asked what was going on. I told him, and he sighed and then laughed. “Maybe I just need to set up a standing monthly appointment at the dealership,” I said. “Want me to call Salesguy?” he offered. “HELL no, what the hell would he do? Tell me to take it to the service bay!” I asked and answered. We talked for a few more minutes, and then I arrived at the pet store and went in to do my thing. It was a pretty light day – there were three empty cages due to adoptions over the weekend – so it took me about an hour to do all the cleaning, feeding, and snuggling. When I was done, I went out, got into the car, and turned it on. “This is just the PERFECT FUCKING TIME for this to happen,” I muttered to myself. “I can’t take it in today, because the spud has half a day of school and I might need to go pick her up. Tomorrow’s no good, because I told the spud she could take my car to school tomorrow*. Wednesday, I have a doctor’s appointment in the late morning, Thursday I have to take the spud to the airport, and next week Liz will be here!” As I finished my woeful litany, I glanced down and immediately felt like the idiot I am. The “air conditioning” button wasn’t on. I pressed the button, and a blast of cold air immediately hit me in the face. Duh. *Eek! * * * I roasted a turkey yesterday, and it smelled so damn good by the time it was done that I was ready to gnaw my hands off. The only downside is that I over-roasted it, and it was dry. Still damn good, though. Especially the dark meat. I know it’s fatty and not good for you, but DAMN I love the dark meat of a turkey. I think maybe this summer I’ll try brining a turkey and see how that turns out. Love to eat turkey… love to eat tur-ur-ur-ur-key…. And the best part is there’s plenty left over to make turkey soup! * * * The kittens are doing well. We had an unexpected problem, though, with the mother. I know I’ve mentioned that she’s extremely protective of her kittens when she sees other animals. The problem is that she flies into protective-Momma mode whether the cats are near enough to hurt her babies or not. Friday night, Fred and I were hanging out in the room with the kittens for a little while, and when we got up to leave we started walking out the door together. Unfortunately, dumbass Mister Boogers and dumbass Miz Poo were hanging out on the landing right outside the room, and when the mother saw them, she lost her fucking mind. She was howling, she was screaming, she was hissing, she was spitting. Fred managed to catch her before she could get out the door, and as he pulled her back, she grabbed the back of my pants and held on for dear life. I’m pretty sure if he’d let go of her, she would have climbed over me to get to Miz Poo and Mister Boogers. Who were scared shitless and cowering by the top of the stairs, by the way. I don’t blame them – Momma sounded like a wild cougar. A wild pissed-off cougar, even. Fred finally got the mother to let go of my pants, and I went out and shut the door. He stayed in there for another ten minutes or so, but every time he started for the door, she was there ahead of him. He finally had to grab a blanket we’d put in there, toss it over the top of her, and run out of the room. We talked about it for quite a while, but couldn’t come up with a good solution. Because dealing with a hissing, spitting, howling Momma cat is not something I wanted to worry about every time I went in the room. “What we need is something like a decompression chamber!” Fred said. And then he came up with a plan. Saturday morning, after he’d gone hiking with some coworkers, he stopped by UHaul. There, he picked up one of their wardrobe boxes. He brought it home, split it down one side, and set it up in front of the door to the guest bedroom. Basically, it’s like a big cardboard screen. When we’re going into the room, we step in front of the door and pull it around us so that it’s sitting on either side of the door. It’s like a little room outside the door – our cats can’t get in, and even if the Momma cat came running out of the room, she can’t go anywhere but into the little box room. Is my husband fucking smart, or what? I would NEVER have come up with that on my own, I can guarantee that. It’s working out pretty well so far! Want some pictures? Sure you do… This is my favorite nursing picture so far. Snoopy apparently had so much to eat he can’t even move. Snoopy. These kittens LOVE to have their little bellies rubbed. See those sharp little teeth? I don’t blame Momma for trying to convince them to eat regular food. Snoopy in a contemplative mood. Flossie gives me a beseeching look. “You want a piece of me? You WANT a piece of me? I will LICK YOUR FACE OFF, and you’ll wish you’d never been born!” I love the way they walk, with their little tails stuck straight up in the air. Snoopy joins Momma at the food bowl. Such pretty eyes. Peeking around the box at the other kitties. “Whatchoo talkin’ ’bout, Willis?” Peanut is far and away the most sociable of the kittens. It’s gotten to the point now where if I go into the room and sit down, he stops whatever he was doing (unless he was eating. Because NOTHING will stop him from eating.) and comes over, climbs up on my leg, and waits for me to put my hand around him so he doesn’t fall off. Then he rolls over onto his back and waits for me to rub his belly. When I do, he wiggles around and cleans himself and stretches. These kittens are so freakin’ cute that I’m pretty sure I’m going to bite my tongue clean off one of these days. There are more kitten pics over at Flickr, and in Fred’s entry for Saturday. * * * Not impressed by kittens. ]]>

reading: Crisscross, by F. Paul Wilson. Finished yesterday: Crash Diet. I didn’t particularly care for it.

* * * So, the kitties. We really, really, really aren’t going to keep any of them. I know y’all don’t believe me, but it’s true. The only way I could get Fred to agree to let me foster them is to promise I wouldn’t beg to keep one (or all!) of them. I know it’s going to be really hard to give them up, but I know that they’re going to go to good homes, so it’ll be worth it. I think I mentioned yesterday that we cleared out the guest bedroom – and I mean cleared it out completely. We moved the bed out, and it’s leaning against the wall in Fred’s bedroom, the dresser is now in the hallway, and the table is in the hallway as well. The only thing in there is the leaf to our table, which I left in there because I’m going to have to weigh the kittens pretty regularly, and I’ll need a hard surface to put the scale on. We’re not going to let the mother cat and kittens out into “general population” (heh), because the mother is extremely protective, and when she sees our cats sitting out in the hall, she loses her shit. She went after Mister Boogers yesterday, and scared him so badly that his tail was puffed up for the rest of the day. Poor Mister Boogers. As far as naming them goes, I got a list of names from the shelter – names that they’ve used in the past – and the idea is to use names that haven’t been used before. We’ve tossed names around, but have only named two of them for sure so far. This is Flossie. So named because she has markings like a Holstein cow. Yes, we thought of naming her “Bessie”, but I like “Flossie” better. It’s just lucky coincidence that this one ended up being the girl (at least so far as we can tell), because we really wanted to use a cow name. If she’d been a boy, I was thinking of naming her “Moo”, actually. Heh. This is Peanut. The spud named him. We haven’t definitely come up with names for the other ones, but we’re probably going to name one of them Oy. We briefly considered naming them Roland, Eddie, Jake, Oy, and Susannah (Fred got really excited when he came up with that. “It’s the perfect ka-tet!” he said.), but most of those names have been used before. We also thought of using Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer, but again – they’ve been used. Nance thought I should name them Elliot, Paco, Fred, and Rick. Heh. We’re also probably going to name the one with the little speck on his nose – the one I was holding in yesterday’s entry – “Snoopy”, because that was Tubby’s “official” name. Also, we might name one “Edgar”! Give me suggestions for names for the mother, would you? She doesn’t have a name, either, and I can’t come up with one that fits her. Fred suggested “Mrs. Boogers”, but as Mister Boogers has proven himself to be a chicken little pansy-ass when it comes down to it, I’m not sure that really fits her. This one is the one that might be “Snoopy.” So damn cute. Snuggly kittens. They’re always so damn hungry. Poor long-suffering Momma. You can see more pictures of them in Fred’s entry for yesterday, or over on my Flickr page. I’m sure I’ll be uploading pictures at Flickr for as long as we have the babies, so I’ll add a link in the sidebar at some point, hopefully this weekend. This morning there was baby poop all over the damn place – all over the towel in the box they sleep in, all over the babies, and a tiny little baby turd on the floor. I replaced the towel with a clean one and picked up the poo on the floor, but left the babies for Momma to deal with. If they’re still dirty tonight, I’ll wipe ’em down with a damn cloth. God knows Momma must be tired to DEATH of licking up baby poo. I also need to take a good look at each of the kittens and see how the hell I’m going to tell them apart. I’m okay with all of them except the two black and white ones. I’m sure their markings aren’t exactly the same, but I haven’t noticed any obvious difference yet. Okay. Enough about the kittens. * * * We watched Team America: World Police last night. It was pretty damn good, and every time the Matt Damon puppet exclaimed “Matt Damon!”, I laughed my ass off. We noticed that Kim Jong Il sounded very Cartman-like several times (Fred would point it out by yelling “I’m thankful for stuffing and pah!”). The music, of course, kicked ass. Fred’s favorite was Pearl Harbor; I have a feeling we’re going to be owning the soundtrack before too long. As always, watching anything Trey Parker and Matt Stone have done makes me want to watch Cannibal! The Musical again. It is, in fact, a happy-go-lucky-shpadoinkle-dy daaaaaaaaaaaaay. * * * “Ah shmells kittens…” ]]>

Crash Diet. It’s a book of short stories and I’ve only read the first story. I’m pretty sure I’ve read the book before at some point in the distant past. Know what book I have no interest in reading? Haunted. That Chuck Palahniuk is one disturbed individual. I read Choke a few years ago, and it just wasn’t my thing. Something about the book reminded me a little of something I read by Spaulding Gray years and years ago, though I couldn’t tell you the name of the thing by Spaulding Gray, or even what it was about. Anyway, Haunted has the story from Playboy in it, the story about the pool, and if you read it, YOU REMEMBER IT, because you still have a knot in your stomach when you think about it, and you have to immediately go to your happy place and sing a little tune as if you are The Biscuit, just so you can stop thinking about that fucking story. Or maybe that’s just me. Anyway, I’m not a huge Chuck Palahniuk fan, though I did like Fight Club, the movie. I’ll be giving the rest of his books a wide berth, though. We were going to go to Florida this summer for the July 4th weekend, but ended up deciding to stay home because I’d have had to find someone to cover for me Monday morning at the pet store, and I’ll already need to find someone to cover for me later in the month when I go to Maine, and it was all just too much for me to contemplate, so I told Fred we should just stay home. He’s not a big fan of the beach, anyway, so it was no great loss for him. Which he proved by dancing lightly about the room once I’d said we should just stay home. I think I need to start looking for a part-time job, because I’m beginning to get REALLY FUCKING BORED. There’s only so much time even I can bear to sit on my ass in this house. I could always start on that novel Fred’s always harassing me to write. Uh. BORING. I need to find things to do outside the house. Things other than running errands and volunteering at the pet store once a week. Obviously what I need to do is have a couple more kids to keep me busy. HA! Kidding! I had my hair cut and colored yesterday, and when I got home and looked at my hair in the mirror, I cringed. She used an awful lot of product in my hair, which is usually naturally wavy, and it was flat and straight, and I thought I looked a lot like Martha Huber’s sister. What the hell’s her name? Anyway, I thought I looked like her, at least hair-wise: Fred, on the other hand, thought I looked like Emo Fuckin’ Phillips: Har. Har. I’m not sure he’s got any room to make fun of someone else’s hair, the fucker. When he got back from hiking yesterday after work, he called me outside, and there was a baby robin – not a tiny one, but obviously not a fully grown one, either – hopping around the yard. Later, he put on gloves and went out to catch the bird, with the intention of putting it back in its nest. The bird did NOT like being held, and squawked and sputtered at Fred. We tried to figure out where the nest he’d fallen out of was, but couldn’t find it. Fred ended up putting the bird under a bush. Later, I looked out the window to see him hopping across the yard, and Fred went out and tried to get it to eat some bread, but it wasn’t interested, and just kept giving him the stinkeye and hopping away. We finally left it alone – either it’ll figure out how to fly, or an animal will get it. Circle of life and all that, I guess.

* * * ]]>

reading: Death in Blue Folders, by Margaret Maron. From my comments: Where are you getting the out of print Margaret Maron books?!?!? Please tell me! I’ve been scouring the used book stores looking for them! I got all of the Sigrid Harald books online, either at Half.com, or from sellers on Amazon. It took me about a year to collect all of them; some of them were more expensive than I expected. On a side note, Margaret Maron has a new Deborah Knott book coming out in August!

* * * So, I believe I’ve mentioned in the past that Spot has started over-grooming, and basically groomed all of the fur off his belly and the backs of his legs. We tried a few different things – the vet said at first that Spot must have fleas, but we checked, and NO FLEAS, thank you, then we tried some other medication, and it made him sick. We bought hydrocortisone lotion to put on the areas where he was overgrooming, thinking that maybe he was continuing to groom because those areas were itchy, and it improved his skin, but he was still overgrooming, even though he clearly didn’t care for the taste of the lotion we were putting on him. A few weeks ago, we started him on immunoregulan, which oddly seemed to make him worse rather than better. So much worse that he was CHEWING on his back legs ’til they bled. We stopped the immunoregulan, and in a fit of desperation, Fred remembered that we had a bottle of Elavil left over from when we thought Miz Poo’s big, puffy upper lip was caused by excessive grooming. We kept her on that for about two days and then took her off it because it completely removed her personality. All she did while she was on it was sit around and stare into space. She wouldn’t play, she wouldn’t snuggle – she was just a big ol’ zombie, so we stopped giving it to her. So we decided to start giving it to Spot (and by “we”, I mean “Fred”, because I can’t give medicine to cats worth a shit), and within a couple of days Spot stopped chewing at his legs, and on top of that, he went from being his usual neurotic self to being a really laid-back cat. I mean, it used to be that whenever we so much as glanced in his direction, he’d freeze and then run away, then have diarrhea for two days. Now, not only does he not care if we glance at him, I actually walked across the room and stepped over him, and instead of cringing and running away, he DID NOT GIVE A SHIT. It’s like a fucking miracle drug, is what it is. After a few more days, we noticed another change in him. Anytime anyone at all was in the kitchen, near the kitchen, or thinking about the kitchen, Spot was RIGHT THERE, demanding that we give him food. He’d make his straight-from-the-depths-of-hell squeaky meow, and keep on doing it until we gave him something to eat. If we ignored him, he’d come closer. And if we still ignored him, he’d SMACK AT OUR LEGS until we gave in. It usually never got that far, because go watch this movie I made (movie will only be up ’til the end of May). Is that not the saddest look and sound he’s giving me? HE’S STARVING TO DEATH! How could I not share with him? “I think the medication is giving him the munchies,” I said to Fred. “Maybe so – I can’t believe he’s so demanding. He used to be so quiet and shy!” So we continued to feed him when he asked for it, and then a few days later, Fred said “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen Spot eat out of the bowl of cat food at ALL in at least a few days.” So we started watching him, and while he was in there all the time, sitting by the bowl of food, we never actually saw him eating it. “Maybe he doesn’t like the food,” Fred suggested. We switched to Science Diet food a few weeks ago in hopes that Miz Poo was allergic to the Purina ONE we had been feeding them, thus accounting for her big, puffy lip (oh, did I mention that her lip has puffed up again? It has. Everything we’ve tried has worked, but only for a little while before her lip puffs up again.). While I was out running errands the next day, I picked up a small bag of Purina ONE, and when I got home I dumped some of it into their food bowl. Spot came running, then ate a few pieces of the food while I watched. Mystery solved, we thought. A few days later, Spot was limping, so Fred took him to the vet (it NEVER FUCKING ENDS, people!). The vet looked at Spot’s paw and declared that he had an infection and prescribed antibiotics for him. While he was there, Fred asked the vet to look at Spot’s teeth, because we’d noticed that Spot wasn’t much chewing the food he was eating – he was pretty much swallowing it whole – and the vet looked at Spot’s teeth and declared that they looked nasty and sure could use a cleaning. Fred made an appointment for me to drop Spot off yesterday so the vet could clean his teeth, and the vet’s assistant told Fred that Spot needed to have no food at all after 6 pm the night before. When we went to bed Sunday night, we put the bowl of cat food in the closet and shut the door. As you can imagine, that went over like a lead ballon. The cats – especially Spanky and Mister Boogers – kept trying to lead us into the bathroom, and when I went in there to pee, all four of the cats sat and stared at me. While Fred and I read ’til 9:30, Mister Boogers ran around like his tail was on fire, howling and grumping and bitching. He took out his frustrations on the other cats, and there was a lot of hissing and growling and smacking of the Booger. We turned the light out, and Mister Boogers REALLY got wild, running around in circles, making his grumping noise, and teasing Miz Poo. When something bothers Mister Boogers, he does NOT hesitate to let you know. Fred went to bed, and I read. The entire time, Mister Boogers wandered through the house grumping and howling and singing of his woes. I finally yelled “Booger, SHUT UP!”, and he did briefly, then I could hear him downstairs, howling and grumping and singing. I went to sleep, and ALL FUCKING NIGHT LONG was visited by cats who wanted to just let me know that there was no food. Spanky came and climbed up on me, then put his ice-cold paw on my face. When I rolled over to dislodge him, Spot jumped up next to me and sat there, staring at me. When I turned the other way, Miz Poo and Mister Boogers got into a fight ON MY FUCKING HEAD. At some point I sat up and held the can of compressed air out and sprayed it around the room. There was a stampede of cats hauling ass out of the room, and a few moments of quiet before they started it up again. Fred put Spot in the cat carrier before he left for work, and I took Spot to the vet at 7 and dropped him off. At the vet, they asked if we wanted them to perform pre-anesthesia bloodwork (this is where they perform bloodwork to make sure the cat will make it through being knocked out okay. We never opt for it.), and they gave me the “My god, you are such a bad pet owner. I can’t believe you don’t want to spend $100 to make sure your cat will be okay. Even though he’s been under anesthesia before. Bad pet owner. BAD BAD BAD. How can you live with yourself?” look. Fred called mid-morning to let me know that Spot was okay. They cleaned his teeth and had to remove a side tooth, because they just touched it and it bled all over the place. Fred picked Spot up on the way home, and Spot was groggy, but one of the first things he did was go into the bathroom and eat; we could hear him chewing his food. Fucking cats. They sure are a money pit. Good thing for them we love them so much! * * * 24 SPOILERS IN THIS SECTION. Dear 24: There are many times when 24 has stretched the bounds of credibility. I mean, I may be a dumb housewife, but even I know that everywhere in LA is NOT 5 minutes from everywhere else. Jack leaves one place and shows up at CTU five minutes later. He leaves CTU and arrives at his destination five minutes later. It never takes longer than 5 minutes to get anywhere in 24-land. I mean, President Pissypants gave orders that all his cabinet members should be brought to the White House. And 12 minutes later – TWELVE MINUTES LATER! – they were all there. Come on. 12 minutes to locate the entire cabinet? Horseshit. So, the bounds of credibility are stretched every week on 24. I’ve come to deal with and accept that. But last night, my friends, you went so far over the line you couldn’t even SEE it anymore. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. When you had the Speaker of the House utter the words “Doesn’t the public have a right to know the truth?”, those bounds of credibility snapped so hard I could hear them smack Jack Bauer in the ass as they went by. I’d be willing to bet no Speaker of the House has ever ever ever uttered those words. Please. We’re not idiots. We’ll buy for the sake of entertainment that you can get from that warehouse to CTU in 5 minutes, but we DO have our limits. Love ya anyway, Robyn PS: When Richard Heller was crying to Audrey, his voice went so high that he sounded JUST LIKE Miss Piggy. PPS: Where the fuck is Behrooz?? * * * She’s funny looking, but I sure do love her goofy ass. ]]>

reading: Death in Blue Folders. Finished over the weekend: Little Bitty Lies (good book – have I mentioned that I really like Mary Kay Andrews?) and I’m Not the New Me – another very very good book. I started it last night and ended up staying up ’til almost 1, ’cause I could NOT put it down. I recommend it!

* * * SURVIVOR SPOILERS: SKIP TO THE NEXT SECTION IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN LAST NIGHT’S SHOW Though what I really would have liked to see was a final two of Stephenie and Angie, I’m okay with the fact that Tom won. That boneheaded move of Ian’s, though, giving up immunity if Tom would take Katie to the final two? WHAT AN IDIOT. I said to Fred “Somewhere, Richard Hatch is having a conniption right now.” I get what he was doing, but I repeat: WHAT AN IDIOT. Giving up a million dollars if Tom and Katie will promise to be his friend again? What is he, ten years old? GOD. I haven’t watched the reunion show yet, but I sincerely hope that someone thumped that boy upside the noggin. Bless his heart – he might have pulled a dumbass move, but he sure is cute. He’s like a Precious Moments doll, with those big dark eyes. On a side note, every time Ian hugged someone, all I could think of was a few weeks ago when Jeff Probst said “Ian, you REEK!” And everyone seems to come up to Ian’s armpits, and when they’d hug and their face was pressed into his armpit, I had to hold my breath in sympathy, because I was sure it was stinkeriffic. I actually felt sorry for Katie at Tribal Council, she was catching so much shit. I didn’t much like her, but to be told time and again that you’re a lazy, worthless, coat tail-riding slacker can’t be fun. Also, I never noticed this before last night, but what the HELL was up with Jenn’s duck lips? She kept sticking them out as though she thought it was a good look for her. Note to Jenn: It’s not. You look weird. Stop with the fucking duck lips. Thankyew. Oh, Survivor, how I love thee. When does the next season start, anyone know? I guess I’ll find out at the end of the reunion show, eh? * * * Saturday morning Fred had gone to get groceries, and I had just fallen back asleep when the phone rang. I pushed Miz Poo off me and flailed across the bed for the phone. Caller ID said that it was Fred calling, and I assumed he had a question about something on the grocery list. “Want to see a dog?” he said. “A dog?” I said. “There’s a dog in the garage,” he said. “I’ll be right down.” I tossed my nightgown on and hurried down the stairs. I assumed that the itty bitty miniature pinscher from next door had gotten loose and was wandering around our garage, but when I opened the door to the garage, Fred was petting a small tan-and-white dog I’d never seen before. “Where’d he come from?” “I don’t know,” Fred said. “He was sitting by the front door when I drove up, and he whimpered and shook when I petted him.” The dog came over and wiggled excitedly in front of me. I bent down to pet him, and he scampered off, running around the garage and sniffing everything. “He’s not wearing a collar,” I said. “I wonder if he belongs to someone in the neighborhood.” “Yeah, I was wondering that, too.” The dog scampered around the garage a little longer, and then went over to the door into the house, and gave me an expectant look, as if to say Hey, you going to let me in, or what? I’ve had quite enough of this outside stuff, and I can smell cats in there. I like cats. They’re good to eat. (No, we didn’t get any pictures.) He ran around the garage a few more times, and then ran into the neighbor’s yard, where he sniffed wildly. Fred and I discussed going around the neighborhood and knocking on doors to see if we could find where he belonged, but it wasn’t even 7:30, and that’s too damn early on a Saturday morning. “We could put him in the back yard and call Animal Control,” I suggested. We talked about it for a few more minutes, and then I went inside, because I was cold, and started putting groceries away. Fred came in a minute later. “I’m going to take Mister Boogers out and see what he does!” He picked up Mister Boogers, flung him over his arm, and went out the front door. A minute later, they both came back inside. “He belongs to the people on the other side of the Smiths,” he said. “The lady who lives there was calling for him – his name is Oscar – and he went running.” Mystery solved. Later that morning, I took the spud to the house of one of her friends who was throwing a pool party/ sleepover in honor of her birthday/ high school graduation. The friend had gone to pick up someone when we arrived, and the friend’s mother was sitting outside their apartment. She waved us down, told us what was going on, and invited us inside. In her arms she held the most adorable chihuahua (well, second only to the magnificent Vince, that is), named something like “Loola”. Inside the apartment were another two chihuahuas, and they pranced around and licked my hands and sniffed at my feet. They were awfully cute, and I petted them for ten minutes or so before I left. And I left with a raging case of I-want-a-puppy-itis. I got over it pretty quickly, though. I guess the theme for Saturday was “dogs.” Unusual in the life of a girl who spends most of her time surrounded by cats, I’d say. * * * After last week, when I took a child’s dose of Benadryl and experienced next to no itching at all at the pet store, what do you suppose I did today? That’s right, I left the house without taking Benadryl, and didn’t realize it until I got to the pet store. And the itching was so bad that I wanted to remove my skin with a vegetable peeler. MY GOD IT SUCKED. I think I’m going to put the bottle of Benadryl in my purse so this doesn’t happen again. Nothing is less fun than standing in a room of concentrated cat hair and dander, and digging at your itchy, itchy skin until it bleeds. Hey. Speaking of digging at your itchy, itchy skin until it bleeds, did you know that Meth addicts scratch a lot? I watched Friday’s episode of Oprah, which was all about Meth addiction, and that’s one of the things they covered. That Meth addicts are often covered with sores because they think they have bugs under their skin, and they scratch, and then they dig holes in their skin. Due to the eczema, I scratch my arms a lot. No doubt I look like a fucking meth addict when I’m standing in line at the grocery store, scratching wildly at my arms. That Oprah show about Meth addiction was some scary, scary shit. They had a 17 year-old who’d been addicted to Meth for a year and a half, and they basically had an intervention on the show, and ended up whisking her off to rehab. (There’s a good series about Meth addiction here.) It wasn’t until I’d erased the show that it occurred to me that I should have saved it and watched it again with the spud. Not that I think I have anything to worry about with her, but it’s always a good thing to scare the bejesus out of a kid when it comes to drugs. Just say “no”, spud! JUST SAY “NO”! * * * The Booger is pissy because it’s raining out and he can’t go chatter at the birds. DAMN IT. ]]>

reading: Little Bitty Lies, by Mary Kay Andrews. Finished last night: Death of a Butterfly. Excellent book.

* * * I think my body is still trying to figure out the new menstrual (as opposed to minstrel) schedule. I’m retaining water like a champ this week, despite the fact that I just had my period two weeks ago and thus won’t have it again for another 10 weeks (thank you, Seasonale!). Also, one of those really painful zits popped up on my left cheekbone, and when that started going away, a couple popped up on my jawline. The one on my cheekbone is mostly gone, but the ones on my jawline are bright, flashing, neon red. If you’re in the same room with me, you can’t look away from them, believe you me. Oh, it’s FUN to be a girl, ain’t it? * * * Know what word I loathe? “Chuckle.” It’s such a smug, self-satisfied word. * * * I’m sitting here drinking my daily cup of tea, and it occurs to me that though I’ve informed Jane of this fact, I perhaps have not shared it with y’all. The fact about me and tea is that I don’t like the taste of tea. That is, I like the peppermint tea I drink every day, but I don’t like tea that tastes like tea. If there’s absolutely nothing else to drink, I’ll take a glass of iced tea and dump 63 packets of Splenda in it, but given a choice between tea and anything else – ANYTHING – I’ll take the other thing. Don’t tell me I just haven’t found the right tea. I’ve tried them all, and I don’t like the taste of tea. The only word I can think of to describe the taste of regular tea is “grainy”. I don’t know. Don’t give me that look. But give me a cup of peppermint tea, which tastes like peppermint (BUT NOT TEA), and I’m all set. Of course, I’d take Diet Coke over even peppermint tea any time. The daily (big-ass) cup of peppermint tea is just to shake things up. I love Diet Coke, but if I drink too much of it, I feel like my blood is getting all sluggish. No doubt it’s all in my head, but I’m sure the peppermint tea doesn’t hurt. * * * Speaking of things to drink, Fred has lately taken to drinking sugar-free cherry Kool-Aid. He makes it in big gallon-sized jugs, and no matter what he does when he opens a packet of the Kool-Aid mix, invariably the next day when I’m wiping down the counters, the powder has gotten all over the place. The dishtowels and dishcloths I was using were yellow, and when you use a yellow dishcloth to wipe up red cherry Kool-Aid mix, you get a stain that will never ever ever come out. Fucking Kool-Aid. So after some thought, I bought a set of good white dishcloths at Williams-Sonoma, and some white flour sack towels on eBay, and then I bought some dye, and I died the discloths and dishtowels a darkish blue (denim blue, I think this particular shade was called), and now when I wipe up the red Kool-Aid, you can’t see the stain on the dishcloths. And the flour sack dishtowels are awesome; they soak up water like nobody’s business, and they dry out in about ten minutes. It really takes very little to make me happy, have you noticed? * * * I have come to the conclusion that I definitely need a camera phone. It’s always my intention to carry a camera around in my purse, but I do that for a few days then take the camera out to download the pictures to my hard drive, and forget to put it back. And invariably I’m out running errands and see something that would be a cool picture… but I don’t have my camera! I don’t intend to send pictures to people; I just want to be able to take a picture when I need to. Our cell phone contract is up in December, so I think I’m going to trade my phone in for a camera phone. Maybe I will, anyway. I guess it’ll depend on whether I can convince Fred that I need one! * * * “How YOU doin’?”]]>

* * * *AMAZING RACE SPOILERS. SKIP TO THE NEXT SECTION IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE SEASON FINALE YET* Oh, man. We were SO pulling for Rob and Ambah at the end! If nothing else, this show proves that the slightest thing can keep you from winning. Or that you can come from very last place and still win, like Joyce and Uchenna did. I said at one point that I’d prefer Rob and Ambah or Joyce and Unchenna to win. Like I said, we were pulling more for Rob and Ambah than Joyce and Unchenna, but I am just THRILLED OUT OF MY GOURD that Ron and Kelly didn’t win. I mean, what the hell? They’re in the middle of a race for a million dollars and she wants to discuss the state of their relationship? They were both pretty unlikeable, at least to me. Joyce and Unchenna are really nice people and they ran a nice race. I guess nice guys don’t always finish last, eh? When does the next season start, anyone know?

* * * We have, lately, taken to recording episodes of South Park and watching them when nothing else is on. That is one FUNNY fucking show. Yeah, it can be offensive, but they’re equal opportunity offenders and they don’t hesitate to skewer ANYONE, so it’s really our kind of show. Last night there was nothing on – we don’t bother to watch the American Idol results show, because it’s nothing but fluff, and we can just watch the last ten seconds of the show, or find out who left online – so we watched the “Death Camp of Tolerance” episode. It was a pretty funny one, but there was this whole subplot that involved a gerbil – Lemmiwinks – who had to find his way out of a gay man’s ass (what? I DIDN’T CREATE THE STORYLINE, DON’T LOOK AT ME!) and it involved a song and a helmet torch and a sparrow king and a talking frog, and at one point I looked at Fred and I said “Just how many drugs were these guys DOING?”, because I imagined Trey Parker and Matt Stone, smoking pot and snorting coke and shooting heroin simultaneously, and coming up with this storyline. I mean, it was clearly the result of a LOT of drugs, and some obviously disturbed minds as well. Then, this morning, I did some looking around online and found that the whole gerbil’s journey was an homage to The Hobbit. No wonder we didn’t get it. All the South Park watching has gotten me in the mood to watch Cannibal! The Musical again. There are some seriously good songs in that movie. Say what you will about Trey Parker, the man can write a catchy tune. Hey, look! Another South Park Robyn! Make your own here. I save mine by using the “print screen” button and pasting into paint shop pro, then cropping down so only the picture is showing. There might be a better way, but if so I don’t know about it. * * * Pet store kitty pics from Monday are here. * * * Spot had to go to the vet yesterday. Fred got home from work, put the cat carrier on the table, and went upstairs to change clothes. Ten seconds later, I heard a thump, and went out to investigate. I’m sure you know what I found. ]]>

reading: Death of a Butterfly, by Margaret Maron. Finished last night: Skipping Towards Gomorrah, by Dan Savage. It started out good, got a little boring in the middle, and finished off strong. Definitely worth a read, but I wouldn’t run right out and buy it, unless (like us) you like to throw your money away on books you’ll only read once and then give away.

* * * Okay, those of you who clicked on the “movie” link yesterday and ended up with the movie of Tubby, the direct link to the Booger movie is here. I changed the name, so y’all should have no problem seeing it now. Of course, when I put a new movie up, that link will give you a 404 error, so if you want to see it, check it out soon! And I expect to put up a new movie next week. I got some great footage of Spot that I HAVE to share. * * * I was folding laundry this morning, and I had CMT (Country Music Television) on in the background. Commercials were on, so I was only half paying attention, but when a woman started talking about her busy, busy life and how hard it was to take a pill every day, I looked at the TV. It was a commercial for the birth control patch – how convenient! You put the patch on, leave it on all week, and replace it with another patch after the week is up – and the busy busy woman with the busy busy life seemed inordinately thrilled at the idea that she wouldn’t have to take a pill every day. Now, I don’t know. I think that if your life is SO BUSY that taking the time to put a little pill in your mouth throws your entire schedule off, then perhaps it’s time to reorganize your life. Maybe do a little less house-cleaning or ferrying the kids to soccer games? I’ve been on the pill for almost 9 years now (yes, Fred is vasectomized, but a man isn’t immediately sterile once he’s had a vasectomy, and if I went off the pill and got accidentally pregnant while he still had sperm roaming around in his system, I’d have to throw myself off the nearest cliff) and never once have the words “Oh, CRAP! I spent so much time cleaning and driving and working that I DIDN’T HAVE TIME TO TAKE MY BIRTH CONTROL PILL!” come out of my mouth. Okay, okay, I jest. I know her issue isn’t really not having time to take the pill – even though she IMPLIED that it was – her issue is really that she has a hard time REMEMBERING to take the pill every day. And, really, I’ve gotta ask: if you can’t remember to take a pill every day, what are the chances that you’ll remember to replace the patch every week? And for the record, I have forgotten to take a pill once or twice, but for the most part I have such an established pattern at bedtime – take the pill, brush my teeth, take out my contacts – that I almost never forget. * * * I had a dental appointment this morning, to have scaling and root planing done on the other half of my mouth (the left half. The right half was done at the end of April, in case you’re curious). The hygienist took a look at my gums and declared that they were already much better, even the side that she hadn’t scaled and planed, due to my rigorous use of the Rota-Dent. I’m really getting the hang of using the Rota-Dent, by the way. When I first started using it, it took me about ten minutes to clean my teeth at night. Now, it’s more like five minutes, which is a lot better. Because who the hell wants to spend ten minutes cleaning your teeth every night? NOT ME. (Thus, the reason I developed periodontal disease, I’m sure. Damn my laziness!) The hygienist scraped around for a little while, took some gum measurements, and then commenced to scaling and planing. MY GOD was it uncomfortable. I wouldn’t call it painful, but it was certainly uncomfortable right up to the line of pain, and I was seriously glad when it was over. I guess the left side of my mouth is more sensitive than the right. I go back in another couple of weeks so she can check my gums and polish the dinginess off my teeth (the medicine I use with the Rota-Dent makes my teeth dingy). I’d complain about having to go to the dentist all the time, but as it’s MY OWN DAMN FAULT, I won’t. * * * There was a woman on Oprah last week who has 81 cats. EIGHTY-ONE cats. Fred wandered by while I was watching it, and said “That’s how many cats YOU’d have if I’d let you!” I don’t know – sometimes I feel like we already have too many cats. I can’t turn over at night without dislodging either Miz Poo, who sleeps on a pillow next to me, or Mister Boogers, who likes to sleep pressed against my leg and gets all pissy if I have the nerve to move. With one on each side of me, it’s generally a five-minute effort to extract myself from under the covers when I need to get up and pee. I can’t imagine having 81 cats in this house. I’d probably have twenty cats on the bed, pinning me down, and I’d have to become a bed person to avoid displeasing them. 81 cats? No. But I could go for another couple of kittens. Mister Boogers needs some kittens to keep him on his toes, don’t you think? * * * Hey, look! Smart and Sassy is a year old today! Happy birthday to us! Has it really been a year? My, how time flies. Now, where the hell’s my birthday cake? * * * Such a pretty boy. I have no idea what he’s looking at, but he sure is pretty, isn’t he? ]]>