Author: Robyn

Fat Actress. We don’t have Showtime, but I had thought that I might get it so I could watch the show. That was before I saw Kirstie Alley on some news show last week, interviewed by Matt Lauer, and was reminded anew at just how incredibly fucking annoying she is. I think she’s going for “funny and sassy”, but her act wears thin (har!) after about two and a half minutes. She was annoying on Cheers, she was annoying in all those Pier 1 commercials, and now that she’s all over the place flogging her new show, she’s annoying times ten. “Oh, look at me! I am funny and sassy and zany!”, and all the while her crazy eyes are twirling in every direction. And you know what? FUCK YOU, Matt Lauer. Okay? Fuck you for this exchange right here: Lauer: So you threw yourself back into being a mother, and the version I read from time to time is that included spending times in the kitchen. And you like to cook and you like to bake. And I guess you like to eat. Wow, that’s incisive, intelligent, brilliant, DEEP reporting right there, isn’t it? “I guess you like to eat.” No shit, Matt. Ya think? Ya think she might like to eat? Because even though she’s been howling from the top of every fucking building “I’m fat because I eat too much”, I thought for sure she’d try to lay it off on her thyroid or genetics. But not with Bloodhound Lauer on the case. No one fools YOU, Matt. I don’t know – have you been talking to my friend Sean in Lakewood, NJ? Y’all seem to share the same kind of intelligence. Also, Matt Lauer, FUCK YOU especially for this one: Alley: The thing about gaining weight is it doesn’t happen, you know you don’t gain 70 pounds in two weeks. Lauer: But how do you get to 200 pounds from 130-something and not know you’re getting too much heavier? Alley: I don’t think you pay much attention to yourself. Lauer: How about when you get dressed in the morning? What about when you step out of the shower? Alley: First of all, when I step out of the shower, there’s no mirrors so it doesn’t make any difference. But what you don’t know about me is I usually wear pajamas, skinny or fat. Lauer: How about when you’re bending down to pick something up and it’s hard? Alley: Well, I haven’t hit that yet. I’m not saying I’m not stupid about it. I think people can actually be sort of dumb and I think I’m serious. I’d sit in an airplane. I’d go, look at it. They’re really screwing us in first class. This seat is smaller than a coach seat. And I’m sort of Duh.” do you know? Don’t you think you could have just shortened this exchange by simply saying “How were you fooling yourself about turning into a FAT FUCKING COW, Kirstie Alley? Don’t you think there was some denial going on there?”, Matt? Much simpler, and then you could have devoted much more time to the tabloids or just EXACTLY how fat she is or just HOW LONG it’s been since she’s had sex because she loathes her body so much that she can’t stand the thought of being with a man until she’s lost weight. Because the idea that fat is bad and horrifying and disgusting and how DID you let yourself get SO fucking fat? hasn’t been crammed down my throat often enough over the past 36 years; please try to clarify the horror of Kirstie Alley’s “extra” 70 pounds, Matt Lauer, if you don’t mind. Oh, and while you’re at it, would you please bite me? Thanks.

* * * If I disappear, please tell the police to take a good, hard look at the Matt Lauer Estrogen Brigade or whatever his fan club is calling themselves, would you? * * * Amazing Race watchers, I gotta ask. What the hell was up with Phil last night? I could NOT take my eyes off his crotch. It was very distracting. It’s like there was a spotlight on it or something. Fred got mad at me because I pointed it out, and then HE couldn’t take his eyes off it, and as he said “No one wants to think about Phil’s crotch!” Tell me I’m not the only one who noticed. Please? * * * “Maybelle! I said, ‘Where the hell is my beer?'” * * *]]>

I’m looking for a diet blog/jounal you had listed in your previous links list. I can’t remember her name or name of the journal. however, I know she lived near ocean city maryland, her daughter was diagnosed with crohns disease, and she has a new baby. The last entry i read she wrote her husband was leaving her…I can’t stop thinking about her and want to know if they got back togther. I hope all is well. I hope you can help me out. I’m pretty sure you’re thinking of Amy. Unfortunately, Amy hasn’t updated since August. Anyone know how she’s doing? Concerned readers want to know… Also from my comments: Show us your christmas tree? Or are you not doing one this year. I can’t remember I posted a picture of the tree (using the nightvision function on my camera) in this entry, toward the bottom. Sounds like you are getting back into your exercise and healthy eating. You mentioned issues that you did not deal with when you first lost weight. What are they? (Feel free to mock me in your diary for being horribly nosy.) Awwww, it’s NO FUN mocking someone when you have their permission. Hmph. No, seriously, it’s a good question and I’ll probably address it in the future (probably after the holidays are over) over in my weight loss journal. Never posted a comment before but just want to start with the fact that I love everything about you and you family. Question – is there something wrong with Meester Boogers’ eye? One of my cats paws his eye to the point that it tends to get swollen shut. The vet said he has OCD – um, yeah, I don’t think so but it could be true. So I guess, my comment is two fold – first I hope all is well with you and your family and cats (as in, I hope nothing is wrong with Booger’s eye) and second, have you ever had one of your vet’s diagnose any of your cats with a personality disorder? Nah, there’s nothing wrong with his eyes. If his eyes look funny in some pictures, that’s probably because the flash gave him redeye or completely erased his pupil, and Fred photoshopped it to look a little more normal. The vet thinks Spot might have OCD, which is why he grooms constantly and all the fur on his back legs and stomach is mostly gone (poor funny-looking cat). We had him on medication for a while but it turned him into a zombie, so we took him off it. We’ve recently started again with a lower dose, so maybe that’ll work. We’ll see! Did you get your Tivo set up? I’m looking into it, but I’m not sure I can do the connections. I have a VCR, DVD player, and cable box hooked up to an older TV now, and I’m not sure if there’s enough room and connections for yet another component. It says a broadband and a ‘one time’ phone connection. Was this difficult? Any pointers you can give? Sorry if this was already posted and I missed it. Y’all are forbidden to give me a hard time about this, understand? We got the TiVo and were setting it up, when we discovered (because we’re stupid and didn’t realize this when we ordered the freakin’ thing) that you can only tape one show at a time with TiVo. What the hell is the point of that? During sweeps months, we’re generally taping two shows at a time and watching something else we’ve taped previously. Taping one show at a time is just no help to us, you know? And yes, I know that we could have bought two TiVos and hooked each one up to a different TV (god KNOWS we have plenty of TVs in this house!), but each TiVo costs $299 for lifetime service or $12.95 a month, and that’s more money than we want to pay, you know? We sent the TiVo back, called the cable company, and they brought out a new DVR box a few days later. So far we’ve had no problems, but when we are having problems and I’m bitching about it, y’all have my full permission to say “You wouldn’t be having these problems if you had a TiVo, dumbass!” So obviously I have no suggestions for you as far as hooking up the TiVo, but I understand that they have a pretty good online support page, you might give it a try. Good luck! I LOVED the stories of how and why you got your kitties. Kitties are the best. Next time, can you also include why/how you choose Mr. Fancypants and Tubby even though they are gone now? And what happened to Spud’s cat PFE? Oh, you’re going to make me really think, huh? Let’s see… Tubby: In the summer of 1997, the spud was in Maine. Her cat PFE had died and she didn’t know, and we thought that having a new cat might distract her from her grief when she got home. Fred wanted a Bengal kitten and there was a guy in Huntsville who bred them. We went to his house and checked out the kittens he had available, but none of the kittens was particularly friendly, and would have cost something like $600, and I just couldn’t see paying that much for a cat when so many good cats needed a home. We went to South Huntsville, where at that time, the no-kill shelter I volunteer for now had a store where they adopted out cats and sold cat toys, food, and litter. We went into the cat room and played with several different cats, then Fred spotted a little black and white kitten sitting off to the side by himself. He petted the kitten and scratched him at the base of his tail, and the kitten purred loudly and raised his ass up in the air. Fred decided he really liked the kitten and I was so tired of looking at cats at that point that I just wanted to get the cat and get out of there. The lady running the store told us that Jack (the kitten’s name) had been part of a feral colony and they didn’t think he was going to be adoptable, that he’d always be feral, but he’d actually turned out pretty friendly. We brought him home and (of course) Spot and Spanky freaked out and the kitten chased them around, trying to cuddle. We went through a bunch of “s” names and finally settled on Snoopy, because he kind of looked like a Snoopy. We found out pretty quickly that he wasn’t much for being held and cuddled, though he’d rub up against Fred and purr loudly. That night after we’d turned the lights off, Fred and I were laying bed talking, and Snoopy jumped up on the bed, got under the covers, and snuggled up against Fred’s back. “Oh, he’s cuddling with me!” Fred said. “He – OUCH!” It seems that the kitten had gotten so overwhelmed with love that he’d felt the need to bite Fred. On his back. Hee! He turned out to be quite a character, with his bitchy talking-back to us and his demanding food (the idea apparently being that if we were eating, he should be, too. When we’d had him about a year it became pretty clear that he wasn’t going to be a skinny cat, and over time we gradually started calling him Tubby. I think Tubby was pretty much the most popular cat amongst you readers; I once took a poll, and if I recall correctly, he was far and away the favorite. He had a lot of character, and I think it showed in the pictures and stories we shared with you. He was the baddest of the bad-asses. Fancypants was all talk, but the time a stray cat came through the cat door and into the house, it was Tubby who kicked the other cat’s ass across the room, back out the cat door, and across the yard. Y’all really know the rest of the story. About a year ago he started peeing outside the litter box – on the floor in our bedroom, in the closet, on the bed. We found out that he had diabetes, and were treating it. Things got better for a while, but he was really never the same after that. In January of this year he started just not really looking right around the eyes. I can’t explain what I mean, exactly, just that I’d look at him, and he just seemed like he was unhappy and in pain. The vet couldn’t find anything wrong with him and his blood sugar levels seemed to be okay, but there was an air of not-right about him. It was a shock when he died, but not really a surprise. Tubby and I weren’t the best of friends and there were times when I wanted to smack him, but sometimes I just miss him so much it surprises me. There’s no one like Tubby.

Mr. Fancypants: It was a few days before Valentine’s Day of 1998. Fred had just proposed to me a few days before, and suddenly, for no reason that I can recall, we both decided we NEEDED another cat. At the time we had three cats – Spot, Spanky, and Tubby – and I guess we just wanted to even up the numbers. I think Fred and I had left work early, because the spud was still in school… No, wait. I think the spud might have actually been with us, but I can’t remember for sure. In any case, we went to South Huntsville, to the animal shelter. There weren’t a lot of cats at the shelter, but we saw this cute little girl tabby who seemed to be really friendly and sweet. We held her and petted her and decided she’d be a good addition to our family. We went into the office part of the shelter to start the paperwork, and a few minutes later a man came in. When he found out which cat we were going to adopt, he got upset. “I told you I wanted her!” he said to the people behind the counter. “I just had to go get money!” The counter people pretty much told us that it was first come, first served, and I thought the guy was going to burst into tears. Fred and I discussed it for a minute, then told the guy that if he wanted her that much, he could have her and we’d just go find another cat. So back we went to look at the cats that were left. In the cage above the sweet tabby was a fluffy black cat who swished back and forth in the limited space of his cage. He meowed sweetly at us and we saw by the note on his cage that he was the brother of the sweet little tabby, and that they’d been living under a trailer when Animal Control caught them and brought them to the shelter. We took him into the play room and, well, played with him for a little while. He seemed to be quite the character and we decided that he’d do nicely. Naturally, when we brought him home the other cats freaked out, but all he wanted was to be friends with them. None of the other cats we’ve had have been as friendly and willing to cuddle with the other cats as Mr. Fancypants. Tubby would let Mr. Fancypants cuddle with him, but it was never just a matter of laying and cuddling. Soon there would be grooming, and one or the other would get all worked up, and then there’d be biting and ass-kicking. We didn’t name him “Mr. Fancypants”, of course. He had to have an “S” name to go with Spot and Spanky and Snoopy (Tubby). We ran through a whole host of options before we settled on Stimpy. For a long time we called him “The Kitten” and then one afternoon he was flouncing across the living room, his long fur flowing in the breeze, and I said “He’s such a fancypants!”, and Fred laughed his ass off and then said “Well, hel-LO Mr. Fancypants!”, and a nickname was born. Mr. Fancypants was the most laid-back of all our cats. He’d let us pick him up and cuddle him and play with his paws, and he’d just lay there and purr and not fight to be put down. He fancied (hee!) himself a badass, but when it came down to it the night a stray cat came through the cat door into our house, Mr. Fancypants was hiding upstairs with Spot, Spanky, and Miz Poo. The only thing that really ticked me off about Mr. Fancypants was his habit of shitting outside the litter box when something was pissing him off – mostly, if we closed the cat door because it was raining or really cold, we could count on there being a turd outside the bedroom door. Little bastard. Mr. Fancypants went missing at the beginning of last summer (the summer of 2003). Although the back yard is fenced and the other cats can’t get over the fence, Mr. Fancypants was able to. He started jumping the fence at night and exploring the neighborhood, and one day I realized I hadn’t seen him at all that day. A few days went by and we called the local shelters and posted “Lost” posters of him, but we never found him. The hardest part of his going missing is that we just don’t know what happened to him, whether he was hit by a car and killed or attacked by a wild animal, or what. What I really hope happened is that in his neighborhood wanderings, he came across a family who didn’t have any animals, and saw him and fell in love with him, and he knew that in a family with no animals he’d be spoiled rotten, and went for it. A girl can hope, can’t she? PFE: It’s not a long story. When Debbie and I lived together in Lisbon Falls and the kids were either at my parents’ house or at the babysitter’s, Debbie and I went to the Humane Society to look at kittens. There was a black cat there who seemed sweet and friendly, and before we knew it, we’d adopted her. She had several names – I think she was Montana for a while, and then we decided she was a badass kitty who was Pure Fucking Evil (PFE), and then for a while the spud would call her Suzy. She moved from Lisbon Falls to Rhode Island to Alabama with us (on the trip from Rhode Island to Alabama, we had a litter box in the back seat, and more than once PFE about stunk us out of the car when she went back there and used it). The summer after we’d moved to Alabama, while the spud was in Maine, PFE started having serious health problems and one day could no longer walk. Before we could get her to the vet, she died. You can imagine how stunned the spud was when I had to tell her that her cat had died. Poor spud. Poor PFE. She wasn’t really evil – she was a sweetheart, in fact. * * *]]>

We both got the same phone. It’s a Motorola V180, which we got because I’ve been wanting a flip phone forEVAH, because I’m a big dork. The guy at the T-Mobile store assured us that it was a way better phone than the ones we had, but like I told Fred, technology is moving at such a fast pace that our phones will likely be obsolete by tomorrow. We ended up spending about 45 minutes in the store waiting for the guy to get our phones set up and move the phonebooks from the old to new phones, and all that good stuff. While we were there, a guy came in to return a charger he’d bought last week. He only had the credit card receipt and not the printed-out receipt they give you with every purchase, so the salesman (not the one who was waiting on us, but a younger guy who bore a striking resemblance to Alex from Survivor: Amazon) told the customer he couldn’t take the charger back. The customer got really pissed off, and everyone else in the store kind of whistled and looked around and acted like we didn’t hear the customer giving Billy (the salesman) hell. He threatened to cancel his account, he threatened to sue (okay, maybe not. But he might have, I don’t remember for sure), he asked if Billy was calling him a liar, he used Billy’s name 63 times in a row, he asked for Billy’s card and said he’d be calling corporate headquarters, and the entire time Billy stuck to his guns and said he was so sorry, he just couldn’t do it. Finally the guy left, and we all breathed a sigh of relief. I mean, I get why the guy was so pissed – I would be, too – but Billy Da Salesman doesn’t make the rules, y’know? Another ten minutes or so, and we were finally out of there. Fred and I both spent a good long time messing around with our phones. His now plays Green Day’s Basket Case (the actual song, not the tune) when someone calls, and mine plays The Brady Bunch theme, but I might change that to Good Riddance (Time of your Life). I love that song – it always reminds me of ER and Jeanie Boulet singing it a capella during Scott Anspaugh’s funeral. I’m suddenly struck with the overwhelming need to see that episode again. When I die, I want Jeanie Boulet to sing that song a capella over my coffin. I suppose I need to get the book out and actually look through it, because I have a feeling there are things my phone can do, about which I have no idea. I’ll get around to it one of these days, I’m sure.

* * * Speaking of flip phones, we started watching the third season of 24 last week. We kind of want to get it watched as soon as possible because the new season starts in January, and we plan to watch it as it comes on (though we did talk about taping every episode and then watching them all at once, because it’s about going to kill us to have to wait a week between episodes). Anyway, about six or seven shows into the third season, Fred said “They all have flip phones this season, have you noticed?” I said, “That’s because it’s easier to show emotion with a flip phone.” “Emotion?” “Yes, because this -” I pretended to hold a phone up to my ear. “God DAMN you, Jack Bauer!” I said, and then pantomimed angrily slamming a flip phone shut. “Is much more convincing than this-” I held another pretend phone up to my ear. “God DAMN you, Jack Bauer!” I pantomimed holding the phone in front of me, a scowl on my face, as I searched for the “end” button, found it, and pressed it, making a “boop!” sound. “I see what you mean,” Fred said. Heh. Speaking of 24, what the hell is up with everyone’s hair this season? Kim has a particularly unflattering haircut, Sherry Palmer has the flip from hell, and Nina is running around with just the back of her hair pulled back into a ponytail, with the sides (which are certainly long enough to be pulled back) hanging down. What statement is she supposed to be making with that hairstyle? The actor playing Chase bears a striking resemblance to Liev Schreiber. * * * Miz Poo examines the lady bug. * * *]]>

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“I hate my mother and that infernal fucking flashy thing she’s always flashing at me…” “How YOU doin’?” “If I don’t look at her, she’ll go away… if I don’t look at her she’ll go away… Awww, crap. This isn’t WORKING.” * * *]]>

baby mongoose for Meester Boogers to play with (make sure you check out the photo slideshow! They’re so freakin’ cute!).

* * * Petstore kitty pics from Monday are up here. * * * So this morning I had to drive to South Huntsville, and it wasn’t bad at all. I got all tense when I drove from 565 onto South Memorial Parkway, but there wasn’t a whole lot of traffic at that time, so the transition from the interstate to the parkway went fairly smoothly. On my way home, I was driving up highway 72 from Huntsville to Madison, and the traffic on my side of the highway was fairly sparse. The traffic going from Madison (and all points beyond) toward Huntsville was at a crawl for several miles. I’ve never been so glad to be going in the opposite direction from a traffic jam in my entire life. I stopped at the grocery store on my way home to pick up a red onion (it was on the grocery list this morning but Fred somehow didn’t see it, and I need the damn onion to make coleslaw tonight for dinner tomorrow). Fred’s mother was there doing her grocery shopping so I talked to her for several minutes. I swear to god, she is the sweetest lady. Then I picked up my red onion, some sushi for a late breakfast (yumMY), and stood in line forever before I could check out and come home. Grocery stores are busy on Saturday. Who knew? Okay, not much going on here today, so I’ll slap up a series of Meester Booger pics and call it an entry, mm’kay? I said it was going to happen someday, and now it did. He yawned his ears right off his head. “Hey! Maybelle! Bring me another beer, toot sweet*!” *Yes, I know the correct spelling is tout de suite. HE doesn’t know that, though. “Urrrrp! Oh, ‘scuse me. Maybe I don’t need another beer. Hee.” “Dad, this is the third time I’ve sniffed it. It smells FINE. What stink are you talking about?” “You. Come here. Rub mah belly.” “I sure do lead an exhausting life.” * * *]]>

A few months ago Fred went on a long hike wearing boots he hadn’t worn before. As a result, when he got home the second toe over from the big toe (the “index toe”, if you will) on his left foot was painful. As time went by, the toenail turned black, and we were pretty sure that it would eventually fall off. But more time went by and nothing seemed to be going on and except for the occasional glimpse of his toe when it caught my attention, I pretty much forgot about his nasty black toenail. A few nights ago Fred called me into the living room, where he was watching TV. “Look!” he said excitedly. I sat down on the loveseat and prepared to be amazed and impressed. He reached down, put his finger on the end of the black toenail and pulled upward, saying “There’s another toenail under there growing in! I bet this one is going to come off!” Now, I can hardly think of anything nastier than a toenail that’s about to fall off, because the thought of that naked toenail bed under there being exposed to the elements… gah. I swear to you, if I had balls – real ones, not figurative ones – they would crawl right up into my body at the thought of a toenail lifting up. I just now had to walk away from the computer and think happy thoughts, I am so disturbed at the thought of nails – toe and finger – being lifted up. Gah. Gah, gah, gah. So as Fred lifted the nail up to show me that it was loosening from it’s moor, I stood up and ran around in circles screaming “OH MY GOD, THAT IS SO GROSS!” at the top of my lungs before blacking out. When I came to, Dr. Poo was sniffing at my eyeballs to see if I was still alive and – oh yes, could I pay her fee in catnip, please? Fred tried to show me the Nasty Loose Toenail again, but I refused to look, and I resorted to screaming “NO! NO! STOP IT, I AM NOT GOING TO LOOK, NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” whenever he opened his mouth. Finally, he got the message and stopped trying to make me look. Last night we were sitting in front of our computers. “Hmm… what the?” Fred said, and I turned to see what was going on. He was sitting with his left foot propped on his right knee. He’d pulled off his sock and was looking at The Toe. Immediately I knew what was going on. “NO!” I bellowed, turning to face my computer. “Bessie, look, the toenail came -” “NO!” “Just look at this, this is so cool, there’s like a little half-toenail-” “NO!” “Just LOOK, there’s a toenail there, it’s not a naked toe-” “NO!” “It’s so cool, though, you have to see-” “NO!” “Look at the toenail then, it’s kind of nas-” “NO!” “Bessie, please! Just look! Why won’t you look?” he begged in a sad look, and finally just to get him to SHUT THE HELL UP, I turned around and looked. Except that I let my eyes go unfocused, so while it might have looked like I was gazing in admiration upon his freakish toe, in reality I could see nothing but a big white blur. Ha! Later, we were sitting in the living room watching TV. Meester Boogers was in a state of high dudgeon because he’d left his bed on the end table to investigate something, and while he was gone, Miz Poo had climbed into the bed (they both like it because it’s under a nice warm lamp) and gone to sleep. He sniffed at her several times and thought about climbing into the bed with her, but it was a small bed and there was really no room for both a portly Poo and a Booger, so he gave up and sat on the back of the couch looking disgruntled. When it became clear that his sitting on the back of the couch looking pissy and pouty wasn’t going to convince us to toss Miz Poo out of the bed and let him have it back, he jumped down onto the couch, stretched out, and went to sleep. At some point I looked over and he looked so damn cute that I had to rub his belly. I put down the cross-stitch I was working on and leaned over. As soon as I touched him, he made a grumpy “Who’s touching me?” noise and opened his eyes. He decided that he could go for a belly rub, and flopped onto his back to allow for maximum belly exposure. Finally, Fred could stand the cuteness no more, and he got up from the loveseat and walked over to pet Meester Boogers, who grumped again and stretched out some more. Fred kneeled down in front of the couch and bent down to give the Booger a kiss on top of his head, and a moment later pulled back with a horrified look on his face. “Oh my GOD,” he said. “Whew!” “Oh, is it bad?” I asked sympathetically. I don’t know whether it’s the fact that Meester Boogers only has a short tail and thus not enough tail to cover the occasional stink from his butt, or that he’s a nasty boy and thus doesn’t clean his butt often enough, but he seems to have more Stinky Butt episodes than the other cats, and every so often Fred catches a whiff of stink from him, and has to go after his butt (Meester Boogers’ butt, that is) with a baby wipe. Fred nodded. “God, he reeks!” And then. People, this is so gross, the width and breadth of the grossness cannot possibly be fully explained to you. As I sat there on one end of the couch and Meester Boogers sat there on the other, Fred kneeling in front of him, the most disgusting thing ever happened. Fred leaned down and SNIFFED MEESTER BOOGERS’ ASS AGAIN. “Whoo!” he said, shaking his head. “That is just nasty!” “Oh my god!” I said. “What the fuck? Why on EARTH would you INTENTIONALLY sniff the cat’s ASS again, when you already KNEW it stinks?” “Smell it!” he said, gesturing toward Meester Boogers. “What? NO, I’M NOT GOING TO SMELL THE CAT’S ASS!” “Bessie, just put your head down there and smell it.” “NO! Jesus christ, what is WRONG with you? I am NOT going to sniff the cat’s ass! I already know it smells repulsive, I don’t need to CONFIRM IT!” “Just smell it,” he wheedled. “I need to know if it really stinks, or if he just farted!” “NO!” “Smell it!” “NO!” “Bessie, come on!” “NO! Get the hell away from me. GOD!” “You just don’t love me,” he said sadly. “Not enough to smell the cat’s ass! JESUS!” I mean seriously, people. What the hell would make a person who is apparently in full control of all their faculties INTENTIONALLY SMELL A CAT’S ASS? I just don’t get it. The thought makes me want to throw up. I can’t stand the smell of nasty things, so I don’t go out of my way to lean down and sniff them. That just seems to make sense to me. GAH.

* * * “This is not dignified.” ]]>

* * * When I was standing in line at the post office this morning, a woman from the local Chick-fil-A came in and asked the postal clerk waiting on me about how many employees worked at the post office. The postal clerk wasn’t sure, so the Chick-fil-A lady counted out thirty business-card sized cards, and handed them over. She saw me watching, and gave me one, as well. It was a card for a free Chick-fil-A chicken sandwich. Score! I guess it really does pay to be in the right place at the right time, eh?

* * * When I got up yesterday morning and came downstairs, there was a box sitting by the front door that had apparently been left in front of the door the night before by the UPS man. On her way out the door to wait for the bus the spud saw it and brought it inside. I thought at first that it was a box I was waiting for from Amazon, but upon closer inspection it didn’t have the Amazon logo on the outside of the box. I opened it, and what did I find? A yellow box… Filled with yellow M&Ms! Upon checking out the packing slip, I remembered that awesome reader Katy had emailed me last week and asked if she could have my home address, because she wanted to send me something and couldn’t send it to the PO Box. Since we’d exchanged emails in the past, I was comfortable with letting her have my home address and then promptly forgot that I was keeping my eyes peeled for a package from her. Who rocks more than Katy, huh? That’s right, NO ONE! (Thanks again, Katy!) * * * A little splash of Christmas color in our back yard… * * * “Dude, I swear to god it was this big. I didn’t think it was going to fit in the litter box!” We call him Fang. Fang McBoogers. * * *]]>

* * * Oh, shoot. I just realized I forgot to pick up presents for Fred’s Mom and stepfather’s cat, and his father and stepmother’s cats, as well. I’ll need to remedy that before next Friday. As I told the lady at the pet store on Monday as she rang up my humongous pile of cat toys, I spend way more time, energy, and money on the stuff I get for everyone’s cats than I do for the people themselves. That was a pretty awkward sentence, right there.

* * * From my comments: I just wanted to comment on the post office thing. I myself have went to the post office with my box not taped closed. No, not because I don’t have tape. The reason I do it is because I sell a lot of books and dvd’s and such on ebay and I ship them via media mail. The post office here, will make you rip the tape off the box and open it so that they can make sure it is indeed something that can be shipped media mail. So I got smart and I now just wait to tape it after they inspect it. I do always have it addressed and ready though and I always take my own roll of tape in with me. Anyway, maybe that is why some of these people do not have their boxes taped up. I had no idea they’d actually make you open your box so they could make sure you weren’t trying to put one over on them! Yesterday, there was a woman mailing a box to Europe, and she was surprised when the postal clerk told her he didn’t need to look through the box before she taped it up. I had no idea they ever looked through boxes going to Europe, anywhere – though I have to say, I don’t think I’ve sent many boxes to Europe, so it wouldn’t have come up. On behalf of all people who visit the post office everywhere, Ginny, I thank you for showing up prepared with your own tape! See, if the woman standing in line in front of me the other day had had her own tape or even any awareness of the fact that the post office doesn’t provide free tape unless you’re shipping Priority, I would have had a little more sympathy, but she was pretty clueless. I’m not going to complain too much, though – both Monday and yesterday, I was in and out of the post office in less than ten minutes, and I consider that pretty awesome! Robyn, I have a cat question for you. My husband and I are going to the animal shelter to pick out a cat this week. We’re trying to decide between male/female and long-hair/short hair. Any opinions on whether males or females are easier, (we have an infant, so we’re looking for something gentle.) And do long-haired cats or short-haired cats tend to shed more? Any opinions on this? Honestly? It depends on the cat. Sometimes females are less playful and more cuddly, but I’ve also come across plenty of females who are very playful. If you’re looking for a gentle cat, I’d suggest you get an older. Not that kittens don’t learn to be gentle, but they can get awfully rambunctious. I’ve only had one long-hair cat – Mr. Fancypants – and he left piles of hair wherever he went, but Spanky and Spot (who are short-hairs) are our worst shedders. The biggest problem with a long-hairs is that they need to be brushed on a regular basis or their hair clumps up. If you got a long-hair and didn’t have time to brush it on a regular basis, you could have it shaved the way we did with Mr. Fancypants. So, really all I can advise is to not get a kitten. Do take your time and spend as much time with the cat one-on-one (most shelters have “play rooms” for that exact purpose) and really get to know it, rather than going in and making a spur-of-the-moment decision. Talk to the shelter attendant and tell them what you’re looking for; they may be able to help. Good luck, let me know what happens, and don’t forget to send pictures! What kind of space heaters do you have? I need to get one for my girls’ room. I’d like to find with a thermostat so the room doesn’t get too freakin’ hot. On one end of the room, we have a Holmes One-Touch. This is the newest one, and we like it because it does have a thermostat. Fred got it a couple of weeks ago at Lowe’s. And on the other end of the room, we have a Pelonis. I like this, because you can set it to oscillate or not – and during the day when I’m home alone I have it pointed right at me, but when Fred’s home we set it to oscillate. Whatever you decide to get, just make sure you get one that turns itself off if it gets tipped over. I’m pretty sure all heaters do that now, but you’ll want to check, just to be sure. * * * “I do NOT shed a lot. Bitch.” * * *]]>

I was reading a thread over at The Usual Suspects regarding the remake of Willy Wonka, and the question How much the artist’s original intentions or dislikes influence your opinion of the work? struck me as an interesting one. I guess that for the most part, I don’t really care what the writer’s opinion about a movie is – remember back when Ann Rice was having a cow at the idea of Tom Cruise as Lestat in Interview with the Vampire and there was a whole brouhaha about it, and then in the end she came around and admitted that he’d done a pretty good job? (All I can think of when I think of that movie is Kirsten Dunst telling everyone who would listen that kissing Brad Pitt was gross, and he had dry lips. Hee!) It’s interesting to see a movie that has an author’s stamp of approval, because – at least I’d assume – the finished movie is closest to how the author saw it in his or her head when s/he was writing it. But then I think of The Stand, which was perfect except for the fact that Molly Ringwald was Frannie (I DON’T THINK SO) and Laura San Giacomo was Nadine (DON’T THINK SO, PART 2) and I think that maybe if I were queen of the universe, as I should be, and could cast every movie ever made that is based upon a book that I love, in the movie version of The Stand, Frannie would be someone LIKEABLE and Nadine would be someone drop-dead gorgeous, like in the frickin’ book. But Stephen King was apparently thrilled with the cast of the mini-series and though I think everyone else in the movie is perfectly cast, the fact that Frannie, one of the main characters, is Molly Frickin’ Ringwald just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Gary Sinise as Stu? Matt Frewer as Trashcan Man? Bill Fagerbakke as Tom? Perfection. Molly Ringwald as Frannie? Laura San Giacomo as Nadine? Corin Nemec as Harold? Not so much. So anyway, in conclusion (“Thank god!” you’re saying, right? “Thank god she’s concluding the section!”) it’s interesting to see the story as the author intended, but it’s not always better that way. Because once the book is written and I’ve read it, my perception of the book and the author’s perception of the book may be exactly the same, or it may be worlds apart. When you read a book, you’re bringing your own experiences to it with you and that always colors what you see in your head as you read it.

* * * It is in the 20s here today, IS IT OKAY FOR ME TO BE COLD NOW? I have two space heaters going in the computer room, and I have the fire going in the living room, and if I could possibly do so without causing permanent damage, I would sit IN the fire, I’m so fucking cold. Keep in mind, people, that the reason I am so freakin’ cold is because this fucked-up house has two floors, but only one heating unit and one air conditioning unit, and the control for both floors is located on the wall halfway up the stairs. So right now, it’s toasty warm upstairs, but my computer is downstairs, where it is MIGHTY FUCKING COLD. Because aside from the fact that there is only one heating unit for the entire house, the computer room sits directly in the path of the window where the cat door is located, and so when the wind blows outside, it blows in through the cat door and directly on me, thus freezing me even more. I suppose I could shut the cat door; the cats aren’t out there in the cold – they’re upstairs, where it’s warm and toasty. Little bastards. Okay, the cat door and window are now closed. But I’m still freeeeeezing, damnit. * * * “Yes, the one in the window with the waggly tail. How much?” ]]>

You guys are awesome with your gift-wrapping suggestions! I went to Target this morning because I’d done my animal Christmas shopping (for other animals in the family) at the pet store and needed something to put the gifts in, because you can’t just toss cat toys in the box! The cats would be appalled, and they’d play with their toys before Christmas! Anyway, I was in Target, and I wandered up the aisle with the gift bags in it, and there were all KINDS of awesome alternatives to gift bags and gift envelopes, nice boxes and cases and such. I only bought a few – a wine box to put my parents’ dog’s present in, for one – but I’m for sure going to hit Target the day after Christmas to stock up on boxes (they had a ton of chinese take-out boxes!) for next year. A couple of people suggested that I just put the gift cards in decorative envelopes, and I could do that, but I prefer the gifts to take up a little more space than that, y’know? I don’t know, I guess I’m just weird about that. I also prefer not to stick gift cards in little gift bags, because that just makes it too easy for people who are Snoopy McSnoopersons (DEBBIE, I am looking at YOU!) to look through their gift bags and see what’s in there. (Oh, OKAY, I do it too. Sometimes. Not always, though!) But like I said, Target had a whole aisle of gift boxes and cases and such, and I’m definitely going to go in that direction next year. I’d go in that direction THIS year, but I already wrapped all the gift cards I’m giving. Thank you so much for your suggestions!

* * * I mailed out the first three boxes of Christmas presents, to the spud’s father and his wife, her paternal grandparents, and her father’s sister. I showed up at the post office ten minutes after noon, which is possibly one of the least intelligent things I’ve done this month. (The month is young, though!) The line wasn’t too bad, but there was a woman in line in front of me who didn’t seem to understand the concept of having your box ready and addressed before you got to the counter. Not only was the box not addressed, it wasn’t even taped shut. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again – who ARE these people who show up at placed unprepared and expect to be provided free tape to tape their packages closed and for everyone to wait while they address their packages? Ah well – the line moved pretty quickly and they had three postal clerks working, so I guess I don’t need to complain TOO much. I have to mail another two packages tomorrow and two more on Wednesday and unless I forgot to pack something, I’ll be all set with the mailing of Christmas gifts this year. Whee! * * * The boy next door is standing out in his front yard pointing and pulling the trigger of his cap gun. You have no idea how tempted I am to call 911 and report a small child holding and firing what appears to be a gun… (I’m not that much of an asshole. But it sure is fun to imagine!) * * * “Where the hell are they hiding my presents this year?” “They must be nearby, I can practically smell the catnip!” “Grrr! Where ARE they??” (The joke’s on him – they’re hidden in a dresser drawer he can’t get to.) * * *]]>