Author: Robyn

Amy is walking for the March of Dimes to raise money on premature baby birth research. Won’t you please please please go sponsor her? I KNOW you guys can help get her to her goal. Bitchypoo readers, unite!

* * * We’re off to Gatlinburg. Yeah, I didn’t mention it before now – it was sort of a last-minute thing. No time to write an entry, so I’ll toss up some pictures that have been hanging out on my hard drive, and call it an entry! We’ll be back Sunday, so entries should resume on Monday. See you then! Da Boog is pissy. Da Boog is sek-say. Da Boog is thinking about kicking that mouse’s ass. Da Boog is unbearably cute and cuddlesome. Daffodils! We had the ugly plastic edging taken up from around the front flower bed, and this awesome brick edging put down. I love the way it looks. That’s a cedar trunk Miz Poo is sitting next to. Sure looks like she’s trying to look inside it. Good luck to her. This is quite the slimming angle for Miz Poo. She hardly looks portly at all. “How YOU doin’?” (Check out Spot in the background) “Yeah, you.” “Come clooooooser.” Spanky examines his paw. Spot, with Spanky in the background. Spot, up close. Pretty boy. Fred took this cool picture the other day when it was storming. Click here to see the larger version. ]]>

reading: She’s Come Undone, still.

* * * Pet store kitty pics from Monday are hither. * * * From my comments: What is the picture above the washstand? It almost looks like Sacre Coeur in Paris, but I’m not sure. In fact, it is the Sacre Coeur in Paris – here’s a closeup of the picture – my mother and nephew went to Paris last year, and my mother picked up some pictures to give as gifts. I think the mat and frame go really well with the picture, and the picture really warms up the area. Hey, I am going to Gatlinburg this weekend with a friend and my 8 yr. old daughter. Anything you can suggest doing or atleast staying away from? Definitely, definitely check out the strip in Gatlinburg – there are lots of great little shops, and candy stores every three feet. I’d also recommend the Ripley’s Aquarium. The Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum is kind of hokey, but your daughter’s still young enough that she might like it. We like to ride to the top of the Space Needle to see what the town looks like from way up there, and we also like to ride the Sky Lift, which is basically a ski lift to the top of the mountain, where you look at overpriced souvenirs (don’t buy them up there – get them in town) and see what the town looks like from up there. As for shopping, other than the Parkway in Gatlinburg, there are a ton of shops in Pigeon Forge, not to mention a ton of factory outlets. As far as eating goes, I don’t think I’ve had a single unsatisfactory meal in Gatlinburg or Pigeon Forge. If you’re staying overnight or showing up early in the morning, you’ve got to eat pancakes. There are pancake houses everywhere you look in Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg and they always have lines coming out the door. I haven’t eaten pancakes in Gatlinburg yet, but I think you should, and let me know if they’re worth standing in line for. 🙂 I don’t know if you’re interested in seeing a show or not – we never have, but we always talk about it – but just from what I’ve seen in advertisements, I’d recommend The Comedy Barn, Black Bear Jamboree, or Dixie Stampede. I think all three offer dinner with the show. I hope that helps! Ooers…nice weighted bright yellow melamine plates at Mervyn’s and I thought of you, dahling. What’d you buy, afterall? Nothing yet – but we’re hoping to get something this weekend! * * * I told Fred I should get a personalized license plate that says “Eggar” (They don’t let you have apostrophes on license plates, do they?) and he told me I was a dork. Look at that banner up there at the top with Dorky McDorkster in his umbrella hat. WHO’S THE DORK NOW, BUDDY, HUH? * * * On Monday, after I fed and scooped at the pet store, I started itching all over. I had intended to try a child’s dose of Benadryl like someone suggested, but we had no Benadryl in the house at all. I stopped by Target to check out their pharmacy section, and decided while I was there to buy the groceries on my list, so I wouldn’t have to make a stop at Publix. Now, when you have an itch that’s not necessarily in a rude place, what do you do? That’s right, you scratch it. Keep that in mind. As I wandered all through Target, I scratched my face. I scratched my neck. I scratched my arms, and scratched my wrist so hard that it bled. Scratch-scratch-scratch. While I was checking out the Benadryl, I thought I’d look and see if there was anything new in the anti-itch ointment section. There was, in fact, something new. That something new was a little spray bottle, made by Benadryl. It said on the outside of the bottle that it relieves itching and pain associated with insect bites and rashes due to poison ivy, oak, and sumac. I was pretty sure that I had none of those problems, but decided to give it a try anyway. I bought it, bought my groceries, and came home. I had just put the groceries away and was going to come into the computer room, when I caught sight of the Benadryl spray. I grabbed it, opened it, and sprayed it on my face, which was still itching pretty badly. It stopped the itching, oh yes it did. Well, I don’t know that it actually “stopped” the itching, now that I think about it. No, 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.” My GOD did it hurt. When I recovered from the screaming anguish long enough to look at the ingredient list, what did I find? Why, one of the primary ingredients in the spray was alcohol. And I’d been scratching my face all morning long. I’m no doctor, but I understand that applying alcohol to the rawness of a freshly-scratched area REALLY FUCKING HURTS. And now that I’ve done my own experimentation, I can confirm that that is true. I’ll tell you this, though: once the my-god-the-skin-is-burning-off-my-face agony passed, my face didn’t itch even once for the rest of the day. I guess it knows better. * * * Some extra kitty pics today, for Val who’s traveling and misses her kitties! The Boog loves love LOVES to stretch out on the bed in the guest bedroom. The guest bedroom is where Spot and the Boog can be found most days during the day. The Boog, looking cuddlesome. I was trying and trying and trying to get the Boog to yawn. I yawned so much I went lightheaded, but the little bastard would NOT yawn. Across the room, Spanky was watching us. I glanced up and said “How about you, Skitty-Boo? You going to yawn for me?” and he did. Immediately. SUCH a good kitty. ]]>

reading: She’s Come Undone. I actually read it way back when it first came out, before it was an Oprah book. I liked I Know This Much is True much better, but so many people love She’s Come Undone with such a passion that I think I may have missed something on the first read-through, so I’m reading it again. And someone in my comments asked how I liked Sammy’s Hill. I loved it! It was funny, because a klutzy, dorky main character? I can relate! Funny, interesting and a quick read. I gave it four smilies out of five on the reading list.

* * * So, last year when we went to Gatlinburg, Fred’s mother and stepfather came over to feed the cats a few times. When we got back, Fred went over to thank them and take them some coffee. “I noticed that you don’t have anything on the washstand,” Fred’s mother said. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back.” The washstand she was referring to was one that she’d given us a few years ago when she and her husband were getting ready to move into a smaller house. It belonged to Fred’s great-grandmother, and may even have belonged to his great-great grandmother, we’re not sure. Anyway, when we brought the washstand home, we put it upstairs against the small bit of wall between the spud’s bedroom and the guest bedroom. We hung a picture over the washstand, and considered our decorating complete. I had no idea that leaving the top of the washstand bare meant that you didn’t appreciate the washstand. I mean, we like the washstand! We put blankets in the bottom of the washstand! I polish it lovingly every six weeks or so! A few weeks ago I said to Fred, “We should hit some antique stores and see if we can’t find a pitcher and bowl set for the top of the washstand.” Fred said, “We need to get a towel to hang from the bar, too.” “I’ve got that covered,” I said. “I bought a kit to cross-stitch a towel that will work on the bar.” This past Saturday, the spud wanted to go to the mall, and it was such a beautiful bright, sunny day that Fred and I decided that I would drop the spud off at the mall, come back home, and then Fred and I would go out and hit the antique stores to find just the right thing for the top of the washstand. We ended up hitting four – maybe five – different antique stores, and holy CRAP are pitcher and bowl sets EXPENSIVE. We saw a ton of them, and most of them were absolutely hideous not to mention hundreds of dollars. Y’all know me – do I LOOK like I want to spend hundreds of dollars on something that will have no real function in the house except to sit there and look pretty (and isn’t a book)? What’s the deal with all the horrifically ugly pitcher and bowls, anyway? All we wanted was a simple single-color pitcher and a bowl that went with it; nothing with flowers painted all over it, nothing with multiple colors. We thought about buying a pretty McCoy vase we saw in one of the antique stores, and then Fred suggested that we could put a plate on a stand on the washstand (I don’t know why he thought that would be a good idea – I thought that sort of thing would look funny). We poked around several antique stores between Madison and Athens, stopped at Subway for lunch, and then went to Decatur. We found a couple of not-bad but too-expensive sets at the first store we went to, and then walked down the street to the other antique store. We saw a perfect set as soon as we walked in the door, but it was four hundred dollars. “Maybe we should just go home and look on eBay,” I said. “Let’s just look a little more,” Fred said. And then we found the perfect set. The pitcher was plain white and the bowl was blue and white. They clearly weren’t meant to go together, but that didn’t really matter to us; they went together well enough. It was priced at ninety dollars. Fred offered them $75 in cash, and they hesitated only a moment before they accepted. See, this is why I love my husband so much. I DO NOT dicker. I would never dicker over anything, and I would never think to offer the owner of a store less money in cash, because I would be afraid of offending them. If I go to a garage sale and see something I want? I pay the marked price. Fred, on the other hand, figures there’s no harm in asking. We came home, put the bowl and pitcher set on the washstand, admired it, and then went to take a nap. The owner of the store said that she thought the bowl was from about the 1860s and the pitcher from 1880 or so. We had so much fun poking through the antique stores that I think we’re going to do it again soon. I saw a bunch of bowls like the ones my grandmother had, which makes me want to start collecting them. Oh, don’t give me that look. There’s nothing wrong with liking to look around in antique stores! * * * My husband sure does crack me up. To: Fred From: Robyn Subject: Geez. (Name deleted – you don’t know him) is such a jerk. When did he turn into such an asshat? To: Robyn From: Fred Subject: Re: Geez I don’t think he ‘turned into’ an asshat; he was born one. We’re just seeing a different side of the brim now. * * * When will I realize that bangs just aren’t my thing? This hairstyle looks cute on Wendy Shanker, but really doesn’t quite work for me. Of course, I just had my hair colored and cut; therefore, it’ll never be styled like this again. At least not for another six weeks, when it’ll be time for another color and cut! * * * The Happiest! Cat! In! The! World! ]]>

reading: She’s Come Undone. Finished recently: Spitting Feathers and Sammy’s Hill.

* * * Someone posted in my comments the other day and left a link to a quiz to see what breed of dog you are. My results? I’m a Keeshond. Origins Netherlands. Pronounced “kayshond” this dog has also been known as the Fik, Foxdog, Dutch Barge Dog and even the Overweight Pomeranian in Victorian England. Its modern name comes from the 18th century rebel Dutchman Kees de Gyselaer. Like other spitz, the Keeshond is believed to derive from Arctic dogs but in Holland it became popular as the companion/ watchdog of barges. Personality Good natured and long lived; this breed tends to be devoted to one person, acting courageously on their behalf. I can’t really argue with the results! * * * Pet store kitty pics from last Monday are here. I’m sure the ones from this week will be up sometime this week. Or… maybe next Monday! Who knows? * * * Sometimes it pays to be on the notify list. This went out to the notify list on March 25th: Update on the car situation: We haven’t actually given up on the salesman making this right. Fred thought he’d figured out a loophole: there was a note on the dealership’s page saying that you could return the car within 3 days or 300 miles and they’d fully refund the purchase price of the car. Well, I’ve put 302 (!) miles on the car, so Fred called Salesguy and pointed out the loophole (telling him I’d put less than 300 miles on the car, the liar) and Salesguy sputtered and then Fred started, well, I’d call it needling the guy. Because at this point we’ve got the silver car, we’re making payments on it – what’s Salesguy going to do, come take the car back? Obviously NOT. And then Fred found Salesguy’s soft spot. Salesguy is (or was, I’m not sure which) the #1 salesman in the country; he even has a plaque stating that in his office. So Fred said “Is this how you became the number one salesman in the country? By dicking over your customers?” Salesguy lost his shit, sputtering and swearing. Saying he was still trying to make it right, he’d been losing sleep over it, he didn’t know what Fred wanted him to DO, he was doing his best! “If you want to make it right, eat the cost,” Fred said. “Eat the cost, give us what we want, and make it right.” Heh. Yeah, it’s a safe bet Salesguy wasn’t going to go for that, right? Salesguy said “I’ll call you back!” and basically hung up on Fred. “I’m sure he’ll never call back,” Fred said, and I agreed. A few hours later, Fred called. “Salesguy called,” he said. “He wanted to know, if he could find a brand-new ’04 yellow hatchback if you’d take that instead. The payment would actually go down a little. I told him I didn’t think so, but I’d check with you.” And you know what? I said “Actually, I think I would.” See? I can be flexible! (Does anyone else hear Ouiser Boudreaux saying “I AM PLEASANT!”?) Yes, he’d suggested an ’04 hatchback in yellow before, but I actually thought that I was going to get the sedan and have it painted yellow (I just like the back end of the sedan more than the back end of the hatchback, to be honest), so I turned down the hatchback. But now? I’ll take the hatchback. Fred called Salesguy and said “She said she’d be willing, but we’ll want to test-drive it first.” and Salesguy said “I’ll start looking!” I know, I know. I’m not holding my breath – chances are good that we’ll never hear from him again, but it could happen. If it does, then I own a yellow car. If it doesn’t, then I own a silver car, and you know what? The spud’s going to be looking for a job when she gets back from Maine at the end of the summer and assuming she gets one, we can refinance the car for long enough that the payment is affordable for her (we’d only make her pay half, actually), and she could have the silver car, and I? I’d get another car. So it’s all good. And like I’ve been saying to Fred, the car’s starting to grow on me. I still don’t care for the color, but I could add enough yellow touches (I don’t know that I’ll go for flames, though! Heh.) to make it mine. Anyway, so that’s what’s going on right now. I’ll keep y’all updated on how it’s going. And then on the 29th, I said: The news on the car: I went this weekend and drove an ’04 hatchback. On the inside it’s very similar to the sedan, and it drove pretty much the same. I really don’t care for the look of the hatchback – it looks like the car was in a freak accident wherein the back end was chopped off – but it’s the right shade of yellow, and I can learn to like the look of it, I think. Salesguy has located a yellow ’04 with 78 miles on it in Wisconsin. They’re picking it up today and hopefully it will be here in a few days. I’m still not holding my breath – I won’t really believe it’s going to happen until it actually happens, you know? I’ll be glad to get this done and taken care of one way or the other, though! I have some Hawaiian smiley-face stickers an awesome reader in Hawaii sent me, and I’m dying to stick them to my car! And then Friday evening, look what Fred brought me home: The more I look at it, the more I like it. It has a few things that the sedan (the silver car) didn’t have – a windshield wiper on the back, for one, and unlike the silver car, it doesn’t have a hissy fit and start dinging at me if I take my seatbelt off while the car is running. I mean, seriously – I’d be sitting in the driveway with car in park and would take my seatbelt off, and the silver car would have a conniption. This car? He doesn’t so much care. I think I’m going to name him Edgar. Pronounced “E’gar”, the way the chick from Men in Black pronounced it, when she talked about the alien wearing an E’gar suit. Can you imagine how much fuss could have been prevented if I’d just agreed to an ’04 yellow hatchback in the first place when Salesguy suggested it way back at the beginning, before he turned into a big liar and said I could get the sedan painted for less than $1000? But then, what would I have spent the last month bitching about? * * * “She’s a lying bitch. I DO NOT spend every moment of the day lickinglickinglicking and driving her flat out of her mind. I don’t!” ]]>

Bonnie. (Jolie, the logo you made me will be going up in May!)

* * * I cannot believe how many of you fell for yesterday’s entry. Y’all totally made my day, you know that? In case you didn’t figure it out before now, no. I am not pregnant, and I’m especially not pregnant with twins. I’m sorry to disappoint – some of you got REALLY excited, didn’t you? I thought for sure you’d twig to the fact that it was an April Fool’s joke when I put up the ultrasound of twins. Yeah, it would have been funny if it was true, but to be honest, if it WAS true, I would have written the entry on any other day EXCEPT April first. Don’t you know you can’t believe anything on April Fool’s Day? I’ve gotten suckered in so many times in the past that I have April 1st marked in bright red so I know better. I was actually not going to put up an entry yesterday. Fred and I were talking about it, and I said “I could say I was pregnant…” and we talked about it for a few minutes, and finally I said “Nah, I’d better not. I don’t want to get anyone mad at me!” But then I checking my email yesterday morning, and there was a notify email from Carrie. Carrie’s done (I think) three years of April Fool’s entries (my favorite is this one), and I’ve never believed them – see above about the first of April being marked in red – but I always enjoy them. I clicked on her “year ago” entry and saw the sonogram of the twins, and I called Fred and said “What if I said I was pregnant with twins?” Honestly, y’all. It was so over-the-top I never thought anyone would believe it. I fielded about twenty emails from you guys asking if it was true. That cracks me up. So, no. Not pregnant. I hope none of you are terribly disappointed or angry. Don’t feel bad if you did get suckered in – I had Fred proofread the entry before I posted it, and he said “You tell a good story. I almost believe it, and I know it’s not true!… is it?” Heh. I found the picture of the positive EPT test and the sonogram on Google Image search. Fred used his mad photo skillz to put my name, the date, and the time on the sonogram – apparently it was pretty difficult, because he had to create an “n” out of thin air. It looked pretty real, didn’t it? Fred is da bomb. * * * “Urrrrp. Oh! ‘Scuse me!” The come-hither look. “I like to lick my arm and then sniff it…” “I will NOT yawn for you, woman! Stop trying to make me!” * * *]]>

Kaycee Nicole!” “Bessie,” Fred said. “GO SEE THE FUCKING DOCTOR.” He’d suggested it several times before, but this time he was adamant. “I don’t want to!” I said. “She’ll tell me I have leukemia, and you’ll insist that they unplug me!” “Maybe it’s your thyroid levels,” he said. “Maybe your iron levels are low. Go see the doctor, or I’ll hire a someone big and scary to haul your ass to the doctor at gunpoint.” “FINE,” I said. “I’ll call and make an appointment tomorrow!” Later that night, my sister called. We hadn’t spoken in a few weeks, so we talked for quite a while. I ended up telling her about the heartburn and about the sleepiness. She was quiet for a long time, which scared me a little. She’s not a medical professional, but she’s worked in a doctor’s office for several years; maybe something was striking a chord in her mind? “I told Fred I think it’s leukemia!” I joked uncomfortably. She didn’t laugh. “Actually, it sounds like something else to me,” she said. “You’re going to think I’m crazy…” “Oh, god. What??” I demanded. And then she told me.

“This is what I get,” I said to Fred, who was pretty much non-responsive for an hour after I told him and showed him the test. “This is what I get for writing an entry telling people we weren’t having a baby. I was probably already pregnant!” “Does this mean I don’t need to get a vasectomy?” Fred joked after he came out of his fugue state. “This means I’m going to perform the vasectomy with a rusty knife!” I said. “I’ve been on the pill for eight fucking years!” “Remember what you said?” Fred reminded me. “Remember when you said that if you got pregnant when you were on the pill or after I had the vasectomy, it would be a sign that we were really meant to have a baby?” “I WAS JOKING.” And then I was struck with a thought. “Oh my god, I’ve been taking the pill and I’m on Toprol! Could that hurt the baby?” We looked on Google. Google had nothing to offer. I called my doctor, who told me that there were no long-term studies of pregnant women on Toprol. She referred me to a local obstetrician, who decided to do some blood tests and an ultrasound. She wanted to do an amnio, but those are safer once I pass 15 weeks, so we’re going to wait on that. I’m about ten weeks along, by the way. So on Wednesday, Fred and I went to the other side of Huntsville, sat in a waiting room until my bladder was thisclose to bursting and I was thisclose to crying due to the pressure on my bladder. The ultrasound technician called us back to the room about half an hour after the appointed time. How I didn’t pee my pants, I do not know. I settled on the table, Fred next to me, and the ultrasound was performed. Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe that copy of the ultrasound doesn’t make it obvious. Let me clear it up for you, shall I? God isn’t laughing. God is laying on the ground, clutching his stomach with tears rolling down his face, guffawing. * * * “You don’t think I’m going to babysit for you, do you? Because I have NO INTEREST in being a big brother.” ]]>

reading: The Honk and Holler Opening Soon.

* * * So, I found this blog through Kathy, and I’ve been reading it regularly. Today I went and read this post, and I have to say that the two paragraphs after the picture of her mother in the nurse’s uniform? I find those paragraphs somehow comforting. Also, yesterday I followed a link from Marcia‘s journal to Dogblog, and looked at each and every one of the dog pictures and commentary. It’s my new favorite blog. My favorite dog has to be the one on this page, sixth picture from the top. Hilarious! And while I’m linking to stuff I’ve read online lately, I followed the link from Jennifer Weiner‘s blog to this article by Ayelet Waldman and read it with interest. I wonder how much shit she’s taking for it. * * * So, in Monday’s entry I wrote: “My god, is there a crazy person living back there and will he grab me when I’m not paying attention and cut my throat and scoop out my eyeballs with a spork and eat them, then throw my body on a big pile of decomposing bodies?” and I am informed by several of you that in last night’s episode of Alias, someone got their eyes SCOOPED OUT WITH A SPORK. I have my finger on the pulse of pop culture, apparently. That, or I’m psychic. Hmmm, let me check my psychic abilities and see what’s in store for the future… I see… ten million dollars… no, sorry, a hundred million dollars…being deposited…in my checking account…and…ten more cats being adopted… by ME! (Ah, if only!) * * * Warning: Possible Amazing Race spoilers ahead! Skip to the next section if you don’t want to be spoiled! Someone asked in my comments if we’ve been watching The Amazing Race. We have, and I know this isn’t a popular opinion, but I am LOVING Rahb and Ambah. I hated them on Survivor, but I love them in The Amazing Race! Everything Rahb does, he does with such glee that he absolutely cracks me up. I do think they should have stopped instead of just driving by the accident that the brothers (who make me laugh in their Loverboy do-rags) had the other night, but I predicted they wouldn’t stop, so I wasn’t too surprised. I do wish they’d contributed some money to Gretchen and Meredith, though. This may be the season when The Amazing Race jumps the shark, but so far I’m enjoying it. Oh, and I am SO FUCKING GLAD that Ray and Deana are gone. What an asshat he is. I mean, nothing approaching Jonathan, but still. I swear if he’d made one more snide comment about Gretchen and Meredith I was going to jump through the TV and kick him in the balls. So, yes – watching Amazing Race and loving it! * * * While I’m on the topic of TV shows, I’ve started watching House in the past few weeks. What an excellent show! * * * The spud went to church last night (::sob!:: where have I gone wrooooooooong?), and I let her drive there (with me in the car, that is). She did just fine. I knew she would, but the road to church is a bit scary – pretty narrow, with some deep ditches on the side of the road in a few places. We let her drive home, too – Fred sat in the back seat – and she did well until we pulled into the subdivision, and she about took out a mailbox. She had a doctor’s appointment this morning on the other side of Huntsville, and I was going to let her drive, but I couldn’t come up with a way to get there that didn’t involve driving down a scary road or two, so I drove. Yes, I know that she’s got to get used to driving down the interstate and the scary, scary Parkway one of these days, but my heart just wasn’t up to it today. The doctor appointment was to have her stitches taken out. Everything’s healing just fine, and she’s got to go back in six weeks for another check. The doctor said that if there was going to be a problem, it would most likely have shown up by now, so all is good. * * * Fred turned the electric fence up quite a bit yesterday so that Mister Boogers couldn’t get as close to the fence without being zapped. Hopefully that will keep his little Booger ass in the yard. He was a total pain in the butt yesterday during the day because it was warm and sunny, but I wouldn’t let him out since the fence was turned off. When the cat door is closed and he wants out, he goes to the back door and pulls on the blinds so that they make an annoying clattering sound. He repeats it until you either come spray water at him, or let him out. (I know, it’s a bad idea to reinforce the bad behavior by opening the door. Shaddup.) So anyway, when Fred got home he turned the fence on – and up – and put Mister Boogers’ collar on. Mister Boogers was a wild thing for the rest of the evening and today. He keeps running outside, running around the yard like his butt is on fire, and running back inside. He cracks me up. At first, Fred had the fence turned up a little too high, and Mister Boogers was hanging out in the dining room. There’s a box top in the dining room where he likes to sit and stare out the window at the birds. He went over to his box top yesterday and his collar beeped. Fred said his eyes got dark and he went flat, because he KNEW what was coming. Then he got zapped, he flew straight up into the air, and then hauled ass upstairs. I always miss the good stuff. * * * “All I was DOING was coming over to sit in my box top – MY box top! – and I got the beep and the zap. I wasn’t even being BAD! I don’t get it!”]]>

reading: The Honk and Holler Opening Soon. Finished yesterday: Sympathy Between Humans. Good book!

* * * I’m glad y’all liked the entry yesterday. It took me for-fucking-ever to put together, so it’s a good thing y’all appreciated my hard work. Questions regarding yesterday’s entry: Does your neighborhood have an anti-front-yard- fence-covenant ?? Being a former farm girl,I am very territorial about the land I own. Yeah, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t let us put up a front-yard fence. It’s actually not all that bad – the kids run across our front yard from time to time and leave the occasional toy, but they don’t generally hang out in our front yard or anything. We’re looking forward to the day when we can sell this house and buy one on a little more land, for sure. Did I read that correctly…no breakfast and no lunch till’ 2 pm? That is typically when I eat my first meal but I don’t get up till around 11 am. I wish I got about 1/2 done of what you do on any given day. Something to be said for being an “early riser” I suppose. I do the grocery store run around 3-4 times a week, so you are definitely more organized than I. Wondering why you don’t just buy your groceries at the Super Target? Yeah, some days I don’t eat breakfast and some days I do. If I haven’t eaten breakfast by 10:30, I skip it for the day. Today I had scrambled eggs and an english muffin, though. Yum. I don’t know why we don’t get our groceries at the Super Target. I guess because the Publix is a whole lot closer and we know where everything’s located in the store. I’ll occasionally buy a grocery-related item at Target if I’m there for something else and remember we’re out of bread (or whatever), but the vast majority of our grocery shopping is done at Publix. For a while we were getting our groceries at Wal-Mart, but it drives me crazy, the way pallets of crap are all over the place in Wal-Mart, so I avoid that place like the plague. I was just thinking about your itching. Maybe it is some type of shampoo they use on the kitties when they come in. You don’t itch around your babies do you? I do itch at home – I itch most of the time – but it’s never as bad as it is in the half hour or so after I leave the pet store. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a combination of the sweat and all that cat dander – we’re talking 7 – 10 cats in a pretty confined space. I just may try taking a kid’s dose of Benadryl next week, like another commenter suggested, and see if that helps. Bradford pear flowers stink like rotten shrimp heads because whatever it is that pollinates them (cats perhaps?)is attracted to that lovely scent. We had them in front of the architecture building at A&M – quite a lovely way to greet visitors. I feel like someone’s told me that Bradford pear trees are pollinated by flies. I can’t find anything on Google to confirm that, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it’s true – that is one nasty, nasty smell. in the pictures of the cats eating their treats — what IS that furry looking toupe thing on the floor? That furry looking toupe thing – hee! – is a mink tail. Someone gave a pack of them to my sister for her cat at Christmas (did I get that right, Deb?), and she wouldn’t touch them, so I brought them home for our cats. Miz Poo is particularly fond of the mink tails, and will occasionally “adopt” one as her baby, and drag it around the house, keening the entire time. Please note: I didn’t take the tails off the mink, I didn’t purchase the mink tails from the store, I DO NOT SUPPORT THE REMOVAL OF TAILS FROM MINKS, so don’t be emailing me and giving me shit for this, people. The tails were already removed from the minks by the time I came along; I just took advantage of getting something for nothing, and brought ’em home. * * * Well, it finally happened. We knew it would, just not when. Last night, as Fred and I were sitting down, watching TV and eating our snacks, he said “Where the hell is Mister Boogers?” At snack time, Mister Boogers is always sitting and eyeballing Fred, hoping to be given a piece of popcorn. But last night? Nowhere to be found. Fred went out into the back yard and called for Mister Boogers. I checked several different places in the house where he might be. Nada. Fred went to the next door neighbor’s house to ask if he could look in their backyard. I got in my car and drove around to the back of our fence. We called for Mister Boogers, we looked for him, and he was nowhere to be found. I was just heading back to my car after several minutes of fruitless searching and calling, when Fred – who’d gone back into our back yard – called me on my cellphone. “He’s back,” he said. “Where did he come from?” I asked. “I don’t know. I was in the back yard, and he wasn’t out there, and then I went inside and a second later he came hauling ass through the cat door.” The little fucker. Fred’s going to ratchet the collar of doom up to almost it’s highest level, and set the electric fence so that the little shit can’t go within ten feet of the fence, and we’ll see how that goes. If he gets out again, though, that’s it. Either we’re shutting the cat door for good, or we’re going to get a dog run-type fence to put around the outside of the cat door, one that he can’t climb or jump. My heart can’t take losing another cat just yet, especially not that crazy little Booger Butt. The cat door is closed right now, because Fred’s going to fiddle around with the electric fence when he gets home. We unplugged it last night when we realized the Booger Bastard was missing, because if he’d jumped over the fence, he might not want to jump back over for fear of getting zapped. At the moment Mister Boogers is upstairs snoozing, but it’s a semi-sunny and warm day outside, so he keeps coming downstairs to look through the window and meow with exasperation because I won’t put his collar on and open the cat door. Sucks to be him. The little bastard. * * * I watched The Bachelor yesterday via the DVR. I had actually forgotten that it was on Monday night; luckily at some point in the last week I’d set the DVR to tape it. ABC isn’t hyping this season of The Bachelor one-tenth as much as they hyped the Jen Scheft season of The Bachelorette. And I think I know why. Charlie O’Connell is a freakin’ dork. He’s not particularly good-looking, intelligent, OR charming. No charisma. Nothin’! Who the hell is this guy, and why is he making lame-ass jokes on my television screen? And furthermore, WHY are these girls killing themselves to get his attention? Ugh. Except for that Danushka chick, who was sooooo very impressed with herself. She totally deserves him. Why do I watch this stupid show? Whyyyyyyy? * * * “Yeah? Well, I don’t even WANT to go outside! No, I don’t! I just want to stay here in my cozy bed, snoozing in the sun. Don’t open the cat door. I don’t care! Bitch.”]]>

A Day in the Life (Monday, March 28th) Warning: This entry is hugely image-intensive. If you’re on a dial-up, it’s going to take forever to download. If a lot of pictures freezes up your computer, you’ll want to give this one a miss. I’m not kidding about there being a huge number of pictures. I’m awakened every morning except Sunday by Fred coming out of the bathroom after his shower and jiggling my foot to wake me up. He goes into the closet to finish getting dressed, and if I’m awake enough we talk for a few minutes. After a goodbye kiss (this is what he looks like to me, since I’m wearing neither contacts nor glasses), he leaves. I lay in bed for a few minutes, and then roll out of bed to get ready for the day. I hit the bathroom for my morning ablutions – pee, brush my teeth, brush my hair, take my synthroid – and then go back out into the bedroom to get dressed. Because I’m not completely sure whether I’m alone in the house, I shut the bedroom door to get dressed, because no one needs to watch me do the pulling-up-the-granny-panties dance. As always, Mister Boogers freaks out at the thought of a closed door and tries to figure out how to get on the other side. Once I’m dressed I head into the laundry room to clean the litter box (I edited out the full litter box. You’re welcome). Outside the laundry room, Spanky and Mister Boogers tussle. I head downstairs where I hang out in front of the computer for ten or fifteen minutes, waiting for it to be time to leave for the pet store. I need to go to Target after the pet store, and Target doesn’t open until 8:30. I don’t want to have to hang around waiting for it to open and it takes me about an hour to clean cages and bond with the kitties, so I don’t want to leave for the pet store too early. When 7:30 rolls around, I go out to the car and leave. The traffic isn’t too bad this morning. It’s moving at a pretty steady pace, for once. Hey, look! A yellow truck! Maybe I should have bought that… nah. The idea was to get a smaller vehicle than the Jeep, after all, not a bigger one. I can see the mountains Fred loves so much to climb. One of the managers lets me into the pet store and then goes to get the key to let me into the cat room. The cats see me walk by and know I’m there to feed them. They get all excited and start meowing and rubbing on things. I get a ton of cat pictures (which I’ll put up later this week) and I have to break up a few fights. I’m done cleaning and snuggling by 8:50, and I check the cages one last time (to make sure they’re all closed, and everyone has sufficient food and water), tell the kitties I’ll see them next week, and leave. As I drive to Target, I’m itching like hell. It’s got to be a combination of the cat hair I get all over me, and the sweating I do while I’m cleaning out the cages. In any case, every single week I itch like hell for half an hour or so after I leave the pet store, and I drive along scratching everywhere I can reach – especially my face – until the itchiness stops. I go to Target, where I find that they’ve moved the aisles around some. I look at food processors for a long time before I find that they actually sell a slice-and-grate attachment that will go on the front of my Kitchenaid mixer. I think that’s pretty damn cool, so I buy it. I look at the slippers. The ones I have are ruined, because I kicked a bowl of tuna juice (left on the floor for the cats) across the room, and got tuna juice all over my slippers. I couldn’t get the smell out, so I tossed the slippers. I don’t really like any of the slippers at Target, so I decide to wear my upstairs slippers downstairs for now. (I have one pair of slippers for upstairs and one for down, so I never have to go up and down the stairs looking for slippers. Yes, I’m spoiled rotten.) I wander around Target for about ten minutes longer, but end up only buying the slice-and-grate attachment, some Jolly Ranchers, and Wintergreen gum. I leave Target and have to go back to the pet store, because I forgot to pick up a canister of catnip. We can’t run out of that, you know! I go to the grocery store to buy what we’ve run out of since Fred got groceries on Saturday. It’s quite a sizable list and I wonder for the zillionth time how people make it on one grocery store trip a week. Do these people really exist, or is it an urban myth? I find that there are no whole wheat pitas – only white – and call Fred to see whether he wants me to get the white pitas or not. Not, he says. Two minutes later I have to call because he’s put “Starkist Chunk white tuna” on the list. Starkist has chunk lite, and solid white, but no chunk white. Because I’m in the middle of the store I have an awful connection, so I have to go to the front of the store and call him again. Does he want chunk lite or does he want solid white? Chunk lite. I peruse the Easter candy, which is on sale, and end up buying several bags to stick in the freezer until Friday. Fred worries that I might be tempted by the candy, but as long as the bags are unopen, it’s not a problem. Once they’ve been opened, though, they need to be hidden from me because I am WEAK. After I leave the grocery store, I swing by McDonald’s to buy a large Diet Crack Coke. Finally, almost three hours after I left the house, I’m home again. I drag all the groceries into the house and pile them on the counter. Mister Boogers supervises the putting away of the groceries. Once the groceries are put away, I sit in front of the computer, check my email and start my journal entry. I shoot off an email to Fred (our neighbors – the ones we call the Property Line Vigilantes because they were seriously concerned about the fact that Fred mowed a few feet over onto their property last summer, yet have no problem letting their child leave his toys all over our front lawn – have gotten a puppy. I suggest that they’re trying to keep up with the neighbors on the other side of us, who got the most adorable puppy a few weeks ago. He’s maybe a foot long, and his name is Bruiser. Heh. I wonder to Fred how long it will be before we’re scooping dogshit off our lawn. Then, because I can put it off no longer, I change into my exercise clothes, head out to the garage and exercise on the elliptical for 35 minutes. I haven’t got a clue why the TV screen says “34F”, because I was watching Sex and the City, Season 2. At the end of 35 minutes, I’ve gone 3.01 miles. Woot! Fear me! I sit in front of the computer and drink the rest of my Diet Coke while surfing (that’s Chubby Girl Brigade on my screen). Miz Poo is worried that I might be visiting unsuitable sites, so she comes to check it out. She decides that Aimee can’t corrupt me too much – though she does warn me against getting any ideas about bringing a baby into the house – and moves out of the way into her bed, where she falls asleep and makes disturbing sucking noises. After half an hour, my the color of my face has faded from bright, heart-attack red to medium pink, which is a sign that I’ve cooled down enough to take my shower. I finish my Diet Coke and head upstairs to do some cleaning. I’d intended to clean the bathroom, but it’s getting late so I decide to just clean the shower and tub and leave the rest for another day. I spray cleaner in the tub and shower, and then I take a moment to praise getupgrrl. Not because she’s a talented writer, though of course she is. Not because she’s funny as hell sometimes, though of course she is. No, I am praising her today because a few days ago she mentioned, almost in passing, the idea of using toothpicks to clean those crevices that regular cleaning solvents and sponges will not reach. And ever since, I have been a cleaning-with-toothpicks motherfucker. Today, I use toothpicks to clean around the jets in the tub, around the drain, and around the faucet. And three years of crap comes out from those crevices which is just too fucking cool. When the tub is clean, I put some laundry in. I don’t separate the laundry into darks and whites or anything, because I CANNOT BE BOTHERED. I just toss it all into the machine in one heap and let god sort it all out. I get out the Dyson and empty the canister (this will be important later). I start in the guest bedroom and vacuum like a vacuuming demon. When I pass the bookcase in the hallway, I turn the Dyson off. A few months ago Fred sold the Clavinova that was taking up space in the spud’s computer room. We’d talked about moving the bookcase in there, but it just hasn’t happened yet. I don’t want to pull all the books off the bookcase, then have to put them back when the bookcase is moved, but I really want to get the bookcase moved. It occurs to me that I should see if I can move the bookcase with all the books still on it. I give it a try and it’s not easy, but it’s doable. When I see all the cobwebs along the bottom of the back of the bookcase, I stop and suck ’em off with the Dyson. My god, I love my Dyson, have I mentioned? Almost there! And there it is. Almost perfectly centered on the wall, even! There are a few marks on the wall behind the bookcase, but you can’t see ’em so I’m not going to worry about it. The hallway looks so big and barren without the bookcase there! Once the bookcase is moved, I finish vacuuming the upstairs. The cats scatter for parts unknown. I go in to vacuum the bathroom, and when I come back out, Miz Poo is huddled on the bed giving me the big dark eyes. I have to chase her off the bed, because I need to vacuum the comforter. With four cats spending a lot of time snoozing on the bed, the comforter collects a lot of cat hair. Especially on my side of the bed, because that’s where Spot likes to sleep, and he’s a shedding motherfucker. When I’m done vacuuming the bed, I’m done vacuuming the entire upstairs. I take a look at the canister – which I mentioned was empty when I started vacuuming: …and I once again vow to vacuum more often than twice a week. I put the vacuum cleaner away and head for the shower. While I’m waiting for the shower to warm up, I notice that the top of the wallflower by the tub is just nasty looking. I grab it, toss it in the sink and use a toothpick to clean the hell out of it. It only takes a moment, and I dry it, put a new refill on it, and plug it back in. I think the scent is Mango Mandarin. Usually it takes me about ten minutes to shower, but today it takes more like half an hour, because I take toothpicks into the shower and I scrape so much gunk out of the crevices around the door that it almost makes me fall to my knees and praise jesus. When I’m out of the shower, I hear the washer stop, and so go into the laundry room to toss the laundry into the dryer. The spud has left her last load of laundry – she does laundry on Saturdays – in the dryer, so I fold her towels while Miz Poo supervises: then put the towels in her room. I put my laundry from the washer to the dryer, and then put a load of towels in. I go back into the bathroom and do my morning stuff – put gel in my hair, comb my hair, put rosacea medicine on my face, put moisturizer on my face, put Cortizone on a few itchy spots (I made the mistake of using DERMATOLOGIST-RECOMMENDED Eucerin on my stomach, legs, and arms, and ended up with welts that are just now starting to dry up and go away). I’m just done with combing my hair when the phone rings. It’s Fred. He’s not having a good day, so I listen sympathetically. Miz Poo climbs up on me and makes herself at home. I hang up the phone and pick up my book to read for a few minutes before I blowdry my hair. I get dressed, pet the cats, and head downstairs. They don’t pay any attention to me. I sit in front of the computer for a few minutes, and then remember that I need to pick up a prescription for the spud. I put on my shoes and go to the grocery store. While I’m there, I pick up four 2-liters of Diet Coke, because they’re on sale for 89 cents apiece. I’ll be visiting the grocery store twice a day so that I can buy (the maximum) four 2-liters per visit. The sales on 2-liter Coke products are few and far between. When I get home, I realize I’m wearing the dorkiest sweatshirt I own. It wouldn’t be so bad except that the black stripes at the bottom make it look like I’m going for a Charlie Brown look. It’s after 2, so it’s time for lunch! I make a turkey and ham rollup out of a low-carb tortilla, deli-sliced ham and turkey, mayo, mustard, and a handful of lettuce. I also have a side salad, a dill pickle, and a container of white chocolate and raspberry yogurt. Yummy! I forgot to take a picture, though. I eat in front of the computer (bad!), catching up on my journal reading. When I’m done eating lunch I head into the kitchen to start putting dinner together. We’re having CORE Salsa Meatloaf, which means lots of shredding. Which is why I was looking for a food processor at Target earlier – we only have a small food processor. I turn the TV on and start last week’s Lost while I get out the veggies I need to shred. I get the Kitchenaid attachment up and running and begin shredding an onion. Which is when I quickly come to an inescapable conclusion: the Kitchenaid attachment sucks ASS. I take it apart and get out the small food processor. It takes the better part of 30 minutes, but I finally get the damn meatloaf put together just as the spud walks through the door. She shares a bit of the school gossip with me, and then settles in to do her homework while I clean wipe down the counters and put all the dirty dishes in the sink. Mister Boogers watches in hopes that I’ll give him something to eat. I do not. By the time I’m done cleaning the kitchen, it’s almost 4:00, and thus time to start dinner. I put the meatloaf in to cook, and sit in front of the computer for a few minutes, doing some more catching up on my journal reading. (That’s Melissa) A little while later, Fred gets home (he had an appointment with the dentist today and was his usual charming self), and we go upstairs to lay down and talk for a few minutes. Spot and Spanky are in the exact same spots as they were when I went downstairs two and a half hours previously, which is par for the course. Spot grudgingly moves when I nudge him, and then I have to use the lint roller to pick up the cat hair he’s left behind so I won’t get it all over me when I lay down. Fat lot of good vacuuming the comforter did, eh? Spot and Spanky wait for us to go the hell away so they can stretch out and have the bed to themselves. Mister Boogers just sits and looks disapproving. We talk for about ten minutes, then go back downstairs. I put corn on the stove to cook, and some veggies in the microwave. Sugar snap peas for me, and brussels sprouts for Fred and the spud. I used to love brussels sprouts, but I just can’t abide them anymore. The timer goes off, indicating that it’s time to put the salsa on the meatloaf. As I’m doing so, it pops into my head that I forgot to add the four egg whites that the recipe calls for. Uh oh. Hopefully the meatloaf will be okay even without the egg whites. I leave part of the meatloaf bare, because I don’t care for cooked salsa on ANYTHING. Twenty minutes later, dinner is ready and we eat. The meatloaf is just fine. The spud doesn’t like meatloaf, so she has a piece of thickly-cut deli turkey instead. Usually Fred and I would go upstairs to lay down and talk for a few minutes, but he’s working on an entry so we both repair to the computer room. He works on his entry and I begin editing the pictures I’ve been taking all day long. Believe it or not, I only use about a third of the pictures I’ve taken. Fred goes upstairs to take his evening bath (the man loves his baths) and I continue to edit pictures, taking the occasional break to surf. Just before 7:00, which is the time we always stop hanging out in front of our computers and go spend time together watching TV, my computer freezes. I reboot and it freezes again. We (at least Fred does) spend the next half hour trying to figure out what’s going on. It turns out that my memory card reader has gone bad, so Fred gives me his and all is well. I’m assigned the task of getting a new memory card reader for his computer, which I put off for another time. We settle in the living room around 7:30 and Fred flips channels for a while. Fear Factor is on, and we watch until they get to the food challenge. I make Fred change the channel because the food challenges always gross me out. Fred flips channels at random while I read O Magazine and eat a no-sugar-added Fudge Pop. (That’s Yoko Ono on the screen.) Finally, 24 comes on and we watch it while I work on a cross-stitch ornament. Oh, Jack Bauer. You get yourself into the most impossible situations, don’t you? When the show is over, we check our email one last time and head upstairs. Mister Boogers yowls impatiently because he wants his snack, damnit! By the time I walk into the bedroom, the cats are lined up and waiting for their nightly snack. Spot hangs out on his pillow. Tonight, he’s not interested in a snack, but he keeps an eye on the other kitties. Fred kneels on the floor and squirts some antibiotic down Miz Poo’s throat. She fusses a little bit, but lets him do it. She’s learned that the less she fights him, the faster it goes. The kitties eat their snacks. I brush my teeth, pop out my contacts, and put medicine on my face, then get into my nightgown and we read until 9:30. We turn out the light and talk for half an hour or so. We toss some toys for Mister Boogers for a few minutes, then Fred kisses me and goes off to bed. I get up and turn the laptop on. While Mister Boogers and Miz Poo run around and play fight, I sit in the recliner and answer almost every single last bit of email sitting in my Inbox. A couple of the emails are from the last part of December. How embarrassing! I’ve now caught up on my email, so if you’re expecting a response for something you wrote and haven’t received one (unless you sent it in the last day), email me again, ‘k? After an hour of answering email, I turn off the laptop, climb into bed, and read for a few minutes before turning off the light and falling asleep in no time flat.

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reading: Shoot the Moon. Finished over the weekend: The 37th Hour. Excellent book! I gave it 4 out of 5 smilies.

* * * Stolen from Amy. Accent None! Shaddup, I do NOT have a southern accent. Bra size Like I’m going to tell. Chore I hate Judging by how long I go between the times I do it, I’d say I hate dusting most of all, followed closely by cleaning the shower. Dad’s name Hugh. Essential make-up I only wear makeup on Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve, which is when we see Fred’s family. The rest of the year, I go au naturel. Favorite perfume I go through stages with other perfumes, but Sand & Sable is my perennial favorite. Gold or Silver Either. At the same time, even! Hometown Lisbon Falls, Maine (though I was born in Bangor, I consider Lisbon Falls to be my hometown). Interesting fact Job title Professional Couch Potato, Cat Wrangler, and the only person who throws away those GODDAMN pieces of paper and wrapping that OTHER PEOPLE like to leave on the counter. Kids Just the one. Living arrangements A house in the suburbs, shared with a husband, a teenage girl, and four troublesome cats. Mom’s Birthplace Brunswick, Maine. Number of apples eaten in last week Zilch. Overnight hospital stays One when I had the tumor removed from my knee, one when I had a c-section… and that’s it, actually. Oh, wait – I had my tonsils out, too, which necessitated an overnight stay. Phobia Talking on the phone to anyone other than the select few I’ve been talking to my entire life (my parents, my sister, Liz, and Fred); I mean, I can DO it, I just don’t like to. Also, spiders that jump because I KNOW THEY’RE AIMING FOR MY FACE. Question you ask yourself a lot “What the fuck?” Religious affiliation Eh. That’s right, I’m affiliated with The Church of Eh. Siblings Two older brothers, one younger sister. Time I wake up Depends on the day. Earlier this week I was up at 5:15 so I could exercise before an appointment. Usually during the week I get up around 8 (except Mondays, when I go to the pet store and get up around 7), and on the weekends I sleep in until 9. If I’m not up by around 9:05 on the weekends, Fred and the Booger come wake me up. Unnatural hair color It’s unnatural in that I have my hair colored every six weeks, but it looks natural. Someday I’m going to go blond, though. Vegetable I refuse to eat Beets. Beets are vegetables, right? I don’t know, they just look nasty. Worst habit Chewing my fingernails, popping my gum, scratching whatever itches, jumping to conclusions. I am classy. X-rays Too numerous to mention; I couldn’t even begin to list them all. Yummy food I make General Tsao’s Chicken, Pancit, Roasted Chick Peas, Rolo Cookies. Zodiac sign Capricorn! * * * You know, when I kept whining and moaning about how ready I was for Spring, what I failed to remember is that (a) Spring is tornado season and also rainy season and (b) the Bradford Pear trees that are planted every two and a half feet in my neighborhood fucking REEK when they’re in bloom. I walked outside the other day to get into my car, and I sniffed and thought to myself “God. Did someone have FISH for dinner or something?”, and then I sniffed again and thought “God. Did someone have a DECOMPOSING BODY for dinner or something?” and then I realized that the very distinctive 24-bodies-buried-in-the-backyard-and-decomposing smell was coming from the Bradford Pear tree next to our driveway. They’re pretty when they’re in bloom, but holy god does that smell make me want to rip my nose off. Back when I used to walk outside for exercise, there was a particular section of my walk where there were a LOT of Bradford Pear trees, and that happened to be near a scary section of woods, and every morning I’d walk by and think “My god, is there a dead animal back there, or what?”, and of course that line of thought graduated to “My god, is there a crazy person living back there and will he grab me when I’m not paying attention and cut my throat and scoop out my eyeballs with a spork and eat them, then throw my body on a big pile of decomposing bodies?”, and I’d pick up the pace, walking as fast as possible – almost running – while keeping a wary eye on the scary bit of woods to my right. And it wasn’t long before I changed my walking route around so that I never went by that scary patch of woods. Because there’s nothing worse than having your eyes scooped out with a spork when you’re not quite dead yet, believe you me. Even now that I know that that awful stench was less the smell of a pile of decomposing bodies and more the reek of Bradford Pear trees in bloom, I’ll have nothing to do with that patch of woods. Because there could still be a crazy spork-wielding psycho back there. You just never know. * * * Also, since Spring has started in earnest, we were inundated with ants for about a week. They were coming in under the back door and made for the kitchen, where they ended up on the kitchen counter and kind of wandered around, as if they knew there was food somewhere but they weren’t quite sure where. Until the day someone WHO IS NOT ME AND NOT THE SPUD made his snack and used the dishcloth to wipe up spilled food and yet did not rinse out the dishcloth when said food was wiped up, and when the spud went into the kitchen the next day? THOUSANDS (okay, maybe more like TENS) of ants were swarming all over the dishcloth. I squished as many of them as possible, and then sprayed ammonia and water all over the counter and scrubbed it down. There’s a spider who has a web located pretty close to the path the ants were taking to get into the kitchen, and the day after the swarm of ants on the dishcloth, I looked at the spiderweb to find at least twenty ant husks on the floor, and the spider was sitting at the back of his (or her) web, looking fat and happy. Apparently killing a shitload of ants and scrubbing down the counters with ammonia and water was what was needed, because it’s been three days and I haven’t seen a single ant since. At least until Fred made coffee yesterday and poured himself a cup to find that there were ants in his coffee. Serves him right. On the good side, at least they were those small ants and not the big fat ones. I hate those big ants, because they scare me a little. Also, they make a bigger mess when you squish them. * * * Look what Fred made in Paintshop Pro yesterday while I was out huffing and puffing on the elliptical: That’s my monitor and desk. Kind of cool, eh? * * * Fred’s father and stepmother came over Saturday night to watch a movie with us. Mostly they came because Fred’s father wanted to see the new setup with the high definition TV and everything. Fred showed them the Discovery High Definition channel for a while, then flipped back and forth between regular cable and high definition cable, and then put in Pearl Harbor to show off the sound system. They seemed impressed. Anyway, after we’d watched the movie – Cellular – and they were getting ready to leave, Fred’s stepmother pointed out that she’d left a small packet of pictures that she’d taken at Thanksgiving and Christmas. She takes horrible pictures of us (well, probably she doesn’t INTEND to take horrible pictures of us, they just turn out that way!) and then gives us copies of the pictures. There was a picture of Fred and I at the dinner table on Christmas Eve, and I looked horrific (Fred looked at the picture and laughed, so even though he said “You look fine, Bessie!”, I know and he knows that it was a particularly bad picture. I look like I’m trying to belch and have one hand clasped to my chest, and I’m kind of smirking, and just UGH. No, you may not see it.) but Fred looked particularly good. Doesn’t he look like he knows a secret and is just busting to tell someone? * * * Such a pretty Boog.]]>