Author: Robyn

I just spent four – YES, FOUR – hours wrapping presents, and I’m in a bad, bad, BAD mood. Why do I do this to myself every year? Buy gift cards for everyone to make the Christmas experience easier, and THEN insist on putting each and every gift card in a scarf box and wrapping each and every scarf box? Why? Why do I do that? Because every year I spend hours wrapping presents and getting annoying and pissed that I’m wrapping GIFT CARDS and the Christmas spirit is just sucked right out of me. Next year, I’m going to find a simple – yet festive! – way to wrap the gift cards that doesn’t entail measuring and cutting and taping and all that happy crap. Got suggestions? Leave ’em in the comments! On the up side, I just have to make a quick trip to the pet store, and I’ll be ready to mail out the three boxes I need to mail out. Hopefully I can do that Tuesday or Wednesday. Whee!

* * * So, did you hear the story about how Britney Spears and her husband were flying to or from somewhere and she kicked off her shoes, and the smell of her stinky feet almost made her fellow passengers pass out? Good lord, how NASTY is that? To be sitting there, oblivious to the fact that your stinky, nasty feet are reeking up the plane? At least she had the good sense to be embarrassed and put her shoes back on. Speaking of, did you know that People magazine had a blurb about Kevin Federline in the (I think) “sexiest husbands” part of their “sexy men” issue? I don’t know who the holy hell looked at Kevin Federline and said “My, yes. That is one sexy, sexy man!”, but I suggest they get their eyes checked, and possibly some therapy. The man looks like a weasel and he also looks incredibly unclean, as if he can’t be bothered to take a shower because he’s far too busy getting wasted and servicing his equally unclean-looking stanky-footed wife. Those two just make me shudder. And not in a good way. * * * Reminder, Survivor watchers! The two-hour season finale is on tonight, followed immediately by the one-hour live reunion. I’d complain about not having anything to watch on Thursdays anymore, but we just got the third season of 24, so we’ve got plenty to watch! * * * Stumpy sings the blues. * * *]]>

* * *

“Reckon that made me madder than what Jesse’d made me, so I takened the kaiser blade, some folks called it a sling blade, I called it a kaiser blade, mmm, and I hit my mother upside the head with it.” * * *]]>

Clearly, I am getting OLD. I went to the grocery store this morning and while I was there I picked up a copy of Consumer Reports because someone recommended it since we’re in the process of shopping for a new elliptical trainer, and the big story in the January issue of Consumer Reports is all about elliptical trainers and treadmills. Anyway. I bought the magazine, and when I got out into the parking lot I took the magazine out of the bag and started reading it, and before I knew it, I’d spent ten minutes in the parking lot reading some very interesting articles. Then I thought to myself that not only was this a VERY good magazine, why had no one ever told me what a good magazine it is, but I also thought I need to subscribe to this magazine! Consumer Reports. I need to subscribe to this magazine, I thought. SUBSCRIBE. To CONSUMER REPORTS. Fred’s FATHER subscribes to Consumer Reports, and we’ve spent years making fun of him for acting like Consumer Reports is his bible, and yet I am fascinated by this magazine, which is unbiased and exists solely to help me make good decisions on things to buy. It cares about me! It doesn’t want me to get gypped! It has only my best interests at heart! IT LOVES ME. I want to marry you, Consumer Reports. Robyn Consumer Reports. Robyn C. Reports. Mrs. Consumer Reports. It has a ring to it, no?

* * * I spent a couple of hours yesterday afternoon making cookies. Say posted a link to a recipe for Rolo cookies, and I looked at the recipe and thought it sounded good. Then I remembered that every year I swear I’m going to make those cookies with the Hershey’s kisses in the middle (not the peanut butter ones with a kiss on top, but the ones with the kiss wrapped in the middle), so I decided that since I was going to be out running errands yesterday I might as well stop and get the stuff to make both kinds of cookies. Since Friday is the day we eat whatever we want, I decided to make the cookies Thursday and then send most of them to work with Fred because if we really put our minds to it we can eat a lot, but we can’t eat two batches of cookies. The Rolo cookies recipe is here, and the Secret Kiss cookies recipe is here. I didn’t realize until I was typing up those recipes that I had forgotten to add baking soda when I was making the Rolo cookies – which may be why the cookie tastes pretty similar to a brownie. Both of the recipes call for rolling the cookies in sugar or powdered sugar, but I skipped that step because I couldn’t be bothered.* Fred loved both kinds of cookies, and they were a big hit with the people at work, too. I bet the Rolo cookie recipe could be used with about any kind of small candy – so could the Kiss recipe, for that matter. I told Fred cutting a miniature Snicker’s in half and putting it in the middle of a cookie would be good. He thought an almond M&M would be good, too. Cookies rock. * Does the phrase “couldn’t be arsed” translate to about the same thing as “couldn’t be bothered”, or does it mean something completely different? Anyone know? * * * Okay, there’s just not a damn thing going on around here. If there are any questions y’all have for me, or something you’d like me to write about, leave a comment and I’ll see what I can do for you, okay? For now, we’ll just fill up the rest of the entry with pictures. Last night’s sunset, from our back yard: Some of my favorite Christmas decorations: I think I got this last year in Maine. I love the really cute little santas. I got this a few years ago at Linens ‘n Things. When it’s turned on, it changes colors. I’ve had this one for years and years. I have no idea where I got it. Another one I got in Maine last year. Fred thinks this looks like a Far Side cow. I got this at the Hallmark store in Maine last year. The tree is about three feet tall, but the pot it sits in really adds to the height. * * * Miz Poo, checking out a ladybug. * * *]]>

Pet store kitty pics from Monday are here.

* * * Here are some great links to check out: Tree Decorating 101, with cats. (thanks, Linda and Melinda!) All cat owners need about ten of these. (thanks, Donna!) A ton of people forwarded this picture to me: (Thanks, everyone who passed it on!) The evil, eeeeeeevil Shannon passed on an email full of those creepy-ass cats with human faces. I’ve coded them so that the picture will pop up when you click on the link. They’re creepy as hell, did I mention? Don’t say I didn’t warn you! Creepy Cat 1 Creepy Cat 2 Creepy Cat 3 (Thanks, Shannon! I think…) * * * Okay, y’all. I need help. I’m looking for something to put atop my tree that isn’t a boring old angel or star. A cute cat tree topper might work, or a smiley face something might, too. I just can’t find anything online that I really like, so I’m asking for suggestions. The Disney store used to carry a Taz angel tree topper with Taz wearing a leather coat, but they’ve stopped carrying them, and there’s only one eBay auction, and it’s going for 5 more days, it’s already $15, and I don’t want to pay $300 for the damn thing, which is what I’m sure it’ll end up at! So, okay. Leave me suggestions in the comments, or email them to me. Hopefully one of you will suggest something that I really like. Or, more likely, a dozen of you will suggest something I really like, and I’ll have to buy them all. Please, please, please, though – no angels! * * * Have I mentioned recently that Getupgrrl quote-unquote rocks? Her quote-unquote commenters crack me up, too. I was going to post a comment about those horrid air quotes, but about fifteen people beat me to it. Air quotes always make me think of Friends, and Joey trying to use them correctly. * * * What sucks more than having to go from 565 to south Memorial Parkway? Why, having to go from 565 to south Memorial Parkway in the blinding rain, during rush hour, when it’s practically pitch black outside. And I get to do it again on Saturday. I am FUCKING tired of the rain. Rivers and streams are flooding and there was an accident in Athens this morning that had three fatalities and it’s 63 degrees outside, and I’m hot, and it’s supposed to get cold tomorrow, which means NO DOUBT we’ll have tornadic activity on top of the freakin’ rain and JESUS CHRIST. A little sunshine, please? Is that too much to ask? And a few weeks without a single torrential downpour? UGH. * * * From my comments: ohhh i tried to make them [the roasted chick peas] and they taste good (not nearly spicey enough, i’ll use more next time) but how do you dry yours? just leave them out for a while? i tried paper towel but it didnt work too well, they started to shed — unless thats what is supposed to happen 😀 heh. also, do you toss them in oil then add the spices and toss THEN pour them onto the baking sheet? think i messed up there too, i mixed the spices and the oil together then poured it onto the beans directly on the sheet & tossed them up. some were soft others super crunchy… guess i’ll just have to try again! YUM!! 😀 Okay, this is what I do: I open the can, rinse the chick peas under cold water, and then I dump them onto a layer of paper towels. With another piece of paper towel I gently blot them dry, but I don’t go overboard. As long as they’re mostly dry, I’m happy. And yeah, some of them shed a little, but I just pick up the skin (or whatever you’d call it) and toss that. Then I put the entire batch of chick peas in a tupperware container, dump in the oil, add the spices to that, then put the top on the container, and shake, shake, shake the chick peas for about thirty seconds. If no one else is around I might even dance a little, but that’s not required. Then I take the lid off the container, dump the chick peas onto the cookie sheet, and bake. Voila! Mo posted this in my comments last week, and I go back and read it every now and again, and it makes me laugh my ASS off every time. Oh, I can relate to your freaky scaredy cat thing. One morning I woke up to find a VERY heavy hand lying over my face, covering my mouth. I screamed, sat up, looked around, and it was GONE! It had been my own hand, which had fallen into a dead sleep, so I totally could not feel it. Talk about CREEPY. I was just curious that you seem to be an avid reader, but it seems that you always read fiction. Why? You seem to read very fast, so why don’t you take books out of the public library (I am assuming they have public libraries in Alabama) (Don’t mean to sound snobbish). Thanks. I do read the occasional non-fiction, but yeah – mostly I read fiction. That’s just what I prefer, because I like to be told a story in a way that most non-fiction doesn’t tell them. Like I said, though, I do like non-fiction every now and then, but it depends on the author or the subject matter. I particularly like Rick Bragg’s Ava’s Man and Haven Kimmel’s A Girl Named Zippy is a particular favorite. I have at least one and maybe two books by Augusten Burroughs that I haven’t read yet, but I’m looking forward to reading them. I’ve read most everything Ann Rule has written. I don’t read political stuff because it mostly annoys me and I usually don’t read biographies or autobiographies unless I’m particularly interested in the subject and think I might learn something interesting about their life – or unless I’ve heard really good things about the book. My usual rule when reading a book is that if it doesn’t engage me by page 25, it goes into the donation box. With non-fiction, I usually only give it about 10 pages. Because if you can’t get my interest in the first 10 pages of a book about your life story, that’s a pretty boring life you’ve got going on, there. I don’t take books out of the public library (and Madison has a really good one) mostly because I like to read a book when I feel like reading it, and if I have a book that’s due back at the library in two weeks, it makes me feel like I can’t take my time enjoying it. (Of course, I don’t think it ever takes me two weeks to read a book, but it’s the principle of the thing!) I like to add books to my wish list so that I’ll remember I want to read them, and when we get a little unexpected money, the first thing we always want to do is buy a bunch of stuff at Amazon. I look at my bookcase of to-be-read books, and it just makes me happy. I love books, and I love the fact that it would probably take me a year of reading to clear off that bookcase. Plus, having a wish list full of the books I want to read makes it easy when Christmas rolls around and people want to know what I want for Christmas! You (or Fred?) had a recipe (or instructions?) for cooking oat bran. I used to enjoy it, but when I tried to make it from memory, it tasted like ass. Could you post it (them?) again? Sorry I can’t be more specific. Except for the oat bran muffins recipe, I absolutely do not remember an oat bran recipe at all. I think that Fred just takes the oat bran, adds water, throws in a handful of berries, and cooks as long as the package directs. He might add some Splenda, too. * * * Meester Boogers does his Donald Trump impression. “Yer FIRED!” * * *]]>

I swear to god that if (when!) I win the lottery, I’m going to hire someone to drive me around wherever I want to go (“Sonic, Jeeves!”) so that I never have to get behind the wheel again. I had to drive to South Huntsville yesterday, and there’s this piece of road where you get off I-565 onto south Memorial Parkway, and it’s a total nightmare. Once the onramp and south Memorial Parkway merge, you have to immediately get, like, three lanes over or you’ll be forced to exit. I hate that particular section of road more than anything in the world. (And, yes. I know that all y’all who live in New York City, LA, Chicago, Atlanta, etc. are feeling realllly sorry for me right now.) So if (when!) I win the lottery I’ll buy a limo – a big, gaudy one! – and hire a driver to take me to Target and the mall and Sonic when I’m having a hankering for a Route 44 Diet Coke made with their delightfully crunchy ice. Then I’ll hire a housekeeper – no, two housekeepers! One to do the regular housecleaning, and one to come scrub down the bathrooms once a day! And I’ll hire someone to come clear the crap off my desk when the piles get too high, and someone to cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner (“Cook, I’ll have the M&M omelet for breakfast. Please use only yellow M&Ms or I’ll have to fire you.”) and the occasional snack (“Cook, do we have any of those delightful spicy chickpeas left?”), and then someone to mow the lawn when the weeds get half an inch taller than I’d like. Oh! And I’d hire a landscaper to plant an acre-size bulb garden and then I’d have to hire someone else to follow the cats around and shoo them out of the bulb garden. Also, there’d be a gladiolus garden, and someone to pick japanese beetles off the glads. I’d need a secretary, too. Someone to answer all the emails in my inbox and maybe occasionally write me up a journal entry when my life of not doing anything but laying on my dead ass in bed and eating bon bons while reading or watching TV has gotten just too hectic for me. Above all I’d need to buy a house out in the country on about 40 acres because I will need my privacy and no small children tromping across my lawn and hitting balls into the front flower bed. I suppose I need to actually start buying lottery tickets to make these dreams come true.

* * * From my comments yesterday: Okay, I tried to make the chick-peas. Not sure I am baking them to the correct level of “cooked-ness.” The garlic powder turned totally black! Is this a stupid question (don’t answer that), but could you maybe put in a photo of the cooked chick-peas? Your request is my demand, so here you go: I actually think that Fred would have liked it if they were just a tiny bit darker, but I’ve found that I have to be really careful, because if I cook them just a little too long, they’ll burn. I’ve found that the best time for cooking is 15 minutes, stir, then cook for another 17 minutes and then take them out to cool. I know that the recipe says “30 – 45 minutes”, but if I go even as long as 35 minutes, it’s too long. I hope that helps – and if anyone else has helpful suggestions about the chickpeas recipe, leave ’em in the comments, please. * * * Y’all, I am aware of the danger of antifreeze. Not only have I heard about the danger on Animal Planet, but the vet’s office I drive by several times a week changes their sign once the weather gets cold to remind pet owners that antifreeze can kill animals. There’s no puddle of antifreeze and/or coolant on the driveway – I check every time I pull out, and so far there hasn’t been a thing. I don’t know when the coolant is leaking out, but it’s not while the car is parked, I can guarantee you that. I appreciate your concern, though. * * * Have I ever shown you my favorite salt and pepper shakers? They crack me up. I kind of have a collection of salt and pepper shakers going – if four sets can be a collection – and when the spud and I were in Myrtle Beach with my parents I mentioned it to my father. At some point when we were out checking out one of the bargain t-shirt stores my father jokingly held up some ugly salt and pepper shakers and said “You could add these to your collection.” My mother, who apparently hadn’t heard I was collecting them, shrieked “SHE DOESN’T COLLECT SALT AND PEPPER SHAKERS, I COLLECT SALT AND PEPPER SHAKERS, JESUS CHRIST, (HIS NAME)!” And I was left standing there muttering like Milton “I could collect salt and pepper shakers, just because you collect the salt and pepper shakers doesn’t mean I can’t collect them too…” * * * Yesterday it was in the low 70s and I was freezing. Today it’s in the 50s and I’m burning up. Tell me what the hell that’s about. * * * I finally made a decision about the 3-foot pre-lit tree at McRae’s. Since I was out running errands yesterday, I stopped by the mall and bought the tree. $29.97 – that’s a bargain, right there. This morning I brought it inside and put it together, and then got out all the Christmas stuff and scattered it around the living room. Add to that the fact that my parents sent us a wreath from Maine that is hanging on the front door, and it’s starting to look (and smell!) an awful lot like Christmas around here these days. * * *]]>

asshole with too much time on his hands. I mean, I didn’t really think it was a bomb, but you never know with these things, and when I turned the key in the ignition, my ass puckered until it became clear that I wasn’t going to be blown into tiny bits, at least not this time around. I told Fred about it (he’s responsible for dealing with car shit because I have no desire to) and he came out and looked at it and said – this is a direct quote – “Huh.” “What do you think it might be?” I asked. I grew up with a father who did 99.98% of our car repairs himself, so I always assume men know more about what might be going on with my car than I do. I’ve actually considered taking an adult education class so that I can be more educated when car issues come up, but usually before I can complete the thought “I should take that adult education class about doing small repairs to your car”, I’m face-down in a puddle of drool. Let’s just say the idea doesn’t much interest me. So Fred said “I don’t know. Why don’t you take it to Firestone tomorrow and see if they can figure it out?” “Pffft,” I said. “I don’t do that. YOU take it to Firestone tomorrow.” And he gave me the “My god in heaven, I am married to the most annoying woman on the face of this planet” look and snapped “Yeah, whatever” or something similar and went back inside. A few days passed and then one day after I left the grocery store and was driving home, I thought to myself “Self, this Jeep is not driving the way it should be. Why am I feeling that… drag?” But it was a false alarm, because I was accidentally driving around in second gear, and when I put the gearshift in Drive, all was back to normal. (I never claimed not to be a dumbass) Then a few more days passed and the spud and I were going shopping, and I started the car and the “coolant low” light came on, and I went into the garage to see if we had any coolant. We did, and I went inside to ask Fred where I was supposed to put the coolant and he all but drew me a diagram, telling me that the place to put it was in the front, center. I went back out, coolant in hand (in bottle in hand, even) and looked carefully at the front, center part of the engine and couldn’t find anything that indicated I should pour coolant in it, so I looked in places other than front, center and finally located a cap saying “engine coolant” in the left back corner of the engine. I debated whether this could possibly be the wrong place to pour the engine coolant, and decided there was no way, and I dumped all that was in the bottle into the “engine coolant” tank and when I started the car, there was no more indication that the coolant level was low. Three days later, the coolant level was low again. And I know nothing about cars, but I thought that possibly it wasn’t a good idea to drive around with a low level of coolant, and since I had to go to the grocery store anyway, I made a mental note to look for coolant. Only there was no bottle of just plain coolant at the grocery store. Instead, there was a bottle of coolant/ antifreeze, and I stood over said bottle for a good five minutes having an inner debate with myself. “I don’t want antifreeze,” I told myself. “I want COOLANT.” “This IS coolant,” I responded. “Coolant AND antifreeze.” “But… can I pour it in the “engine coolant” tank if it has antifreeze in it?” I said. That was such an idiotic question that I did not deign to answer myself. So I bought the antifreeze/ coolant and took it home, and then to be sure I could put it in the “engine coolant” tank (shaddup) I called Fred, who said (surprisingly enough) that I could. So I waited a few hours for the engine to cool down and when I was leaving the house to do some errands, I dumped about half the bottle into the coolant tank, and all was fine. Saturday morning, early, Fred took the Jeep over to the nearby oil change place where he knows the manager and feels somewhat certain he won’t get too fucked over. The guy took a look at the car and said “It’s the radiator.” Fred said, “Y’all replaced the radiator a year ago. Is it still under warranty?” And the guy said “I don’t know. Let me go look it up.” Well, long story short (way, WAY too late for that, I know), during the accident Fred was in two years ago, wherein an old lady slammed into him, the something got shoved back against the something and something somewhere cracked, and no one ever noticed it until now, and that’s why the engine is leaking coolant. Also, I way overfilled the engine coolant tank, and all the oil change guys stood around and laughed at Fred until he said “Yeah, my wife did that”, and then they all laughed at me, who was sound asleep in bed at the time. Bastards. So we’re leaving the cracked what-the-fuck-ever the way it is for now, because it would cost an arm and a leg to repair. This fucking Jeep has never given us anything but trouble. Even better, this morning on my way to the pet store, I discovered that the roof of the Jeep, near the inside rearview mirror, is leaking. One of these days I’m going to be driving along and the engine is just going to drop right the fuck out of the Jeep and the roof will fly off, and I’ll have to cut a hole in the floor and run along like Fred Flintstone.

* * * My god that was a fascinating story, wasn’t it? * * * Update on the chickpea situation (and here is the recipe for the roasted chickpeas, if you’re interested): after an email from Cheryl suggesting I try hot Indian seasonings such as curry powder and hot pepper, I asked Fred what he wanted me to put on the chickpeas and he said (drumroll) curry, cumin, and cayenne. I went him one better and added red pepper flakes to the mix, and the verdict? The perfect seasoning, but not quite cooked enough (I like them a little soft in the middle – he prefers them really crunchy). I tried a small batch with cinnamon and splenda, but I must not have put enough of either on them, because they were just bland. Chickpeas seem to call for spicy-hot seasoning rather than sweet, anyway. I tried a couple from the curry/ cumin/ cayenne batch and they were too spicy for me. I mean, please. I’m so delicate that an outdoor temperature of 61� has me huddled inside in front of not one, but two space heaters, bundled up in the blanket, wearing my slippers. You think I can handle spicy seasonings on my chickpeas? I think not. I’ll make a batch of wimpy garlic salt chickpeas for myself, and we’ll all be happy. * * * ]]>

* * * The spam seems to have mostly stopped, but I’ll give it a few more days before I stop moderating the comments, just in case. Spam just pisses me off, and comment spam pisses me off even more. I mean, who in the holy hell sees a comment spam and says “My goodness, I hadn’t realized before now that I want to do some online gambling, but I think I’ll check this link out and give it a try!”? I guess if even one person tries it out the spammers have done their job though, eh? Fucking spammers. I think they should all be strung up by their tender parts until such a day that all the spamming stops.

* * * I made a huge batch of roasted chick peas for Fred yesterday. Because he likes his food spicy, I dumped a ton of chili powder and tabasco on them, along with spicy creole seasoning, and some garlic salt. At one point I thought to myself “Boy, I hope this isn’t going to be too hot for him…” When the chick peas were done, he tried some and then every time he passed through the kitchen he grabbed a handful. “So what do you think?” I asked. “Are the spices good?” “Yeah,” he said. “They’re not hot enough, though.” If that’s not a challenge, I don’t know what is. It’s now my goal to make him CRY when he tries the next batch of chick peas. Bastard. * * * The spud went to a party Saturday. It started at 2 in the afternoon and went until 10:30. It was more than a little weird to see her get into the car with a friend (and his mother – he doesn’t have his license yet) and drive away, since pretty much anywhere she’s gone in the last eight years, we’ve taken her. She was supposed to call when she was ready for us to come pick her up, but she called sometime after 6 to ask if it was okay for her to get a ride home with the same friend who brought her. We said yes, and then I spent the evening worrying. “What if they’re doing drugs? What if they’re drinking? What if they’re sneaking off into rooms to have sex?” “She’s with a bunch of church kids,” Fred said. “(This one) goes to church, (that one) is home-schooled so he probably goes to church*, (the other one) is a church-goer. She’s fine, I’m sure they’re behaving, no one’s going to get pregnant!” “Oh, right. YOU were a church-goer when you were a kid. Are you trying to tell me you didn’t do things you weren’t supposed to?” I said. “Not with my church friends,” Fred said. Oh, yeah. THAT made me feel better. She got home a few minutes before 11, and Fred and I were waiting at the top of the stairs to interrogate her. She had a good time, there were lots of kids there, there were parents present (yes, I’m a dumbass for not asking that particular question BEFORE she went), and there was no wild drugging or drinking. She went to the party, had a good time, and came back in one piece. MAH BABY IS GROWING UP! * No, we realize that not all home-schooled kids’ parents are religious types. But we’re in the south, and chances are good that they are. NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT. * * * Ugh. It’s a crappy, rainy, wintry day (hush up, Jane! 61 degrees IS TOO cold!), but I have the space heaters (one at each end of the room) going, so I’m not suffering too much. I think I’m going to go take my shower, do some laundry, and curl up under a quilt in the chair in the corner of the master bedroom while I try to finish reading the book I’ve been reading for, like, five days now. (I’ve been catching up on my magazine reading, which cuts into my book reading time considerably) See y’all tomorrow! * * * “How YOU doin’?” * * *]]>

* * * I’m just putting off going out into the garage to exercise. I always come downstairs ready to hop on the elliptical, but get sidetracked checking my email, talking to Fred, playing with the kitties. It’s so cold in the garage right now that it hurts a little to walk out there with bare legs and arms, but if I wear sweatpants and a sweatshirt, I get too warm while I’m working out. I know the perfect idea is to layer, but I’d much rather be a martyr, don’tchaknow. The movie I’m currently watching while I do the elliptical is Dying Young. Vincent D’Onofrio looks like he’s about 12 years old in that movie and Campbell Scott, dying of leukemia (or whatever cancer he was supposed to have) or not, is one good-looking man. I was going to say I wonder what he’s doing these days, but a quick check at IMDB shows that he still works pretty regularly, just not in anything I’ve watched. Okay, enough putting it off. I’m going to go exercise. I’ll be back.

* * * Yep, fuck that. The elliptical is squeaking so loudly that I can no longer hear what the fuck is going on on the TV no matter how often it is greased or the bolts are tightened, so I’m on strike. This is what we get for buying the rock-bottom cheapest elliptical we could find, I suppose. * * * Have I mentioned that the kitties lurve the space heater? ]]>

The good thing is that Fred showed me how to turn on the gas fireplace so that if I get really cold during the day I can turn it on and bake in front of the fire instead of just suffering.

* * * Oh hey, remember the cat in the fruit hat I got from a reader a few months back, and everyone was wanting to know where the hell they could get one, too? Well, I was flipping through a catalog the other day, and check it out! Now, you have to buy all four cats if you want the fruit-hat cat, but I just thought I’d let y’all know. They also have magnets. You’re welcome. * * * Fred loves to push Meester Boogers’ lower lip forward so that he looks like an old man. Or something. Meester Boogers usually puts up with it. ]]>

mad internet skillz, he could really be dangerous!

* * * New pet store kitty pics from Monday are up here. * * * I took my first beta blocker last night and was a little lightheaded and loopy for a little while. I also slept like a rock last night, though I can’t necessarily attribute that to the pill. Fred and I spent about half an hour moving beds around last night. See, we decided to switch his bedroom and the guest bedroom around, because the spud has talked about having friends over to spend the night, and we figured that if we switched the rooms around, her friends could spend the night in the guest bed instead of on the floor and Fred wouldn’t be kept awake by the shrieking and giggling of teenage girls all night long, since he’d be on the other side of the house. Besides, I think that room is more suited to be a guest bedroom anyway, because not only is it closer to the bathroom, but it also has a closet (the other room doesn’t) and a dresser. It’s way smaller than the other room, but it’s not like we get a lot of guests anyway, and even when people come to visit, it’s not like they spend all their time in the bedroom, either. Moving Fred’s king-size mattress was a huge pain in the butt. I thought yesterday that my arms and shoulders would be hurting this morning, but in actuality my abs are screaming. I always forget how much you use your abs when you’re lifting stuff. The entire time we were moving the beds, Meester Boogers ran around like a big dork, all freaked out, with big, dark eyes. He’s never seen us move furniture before, and so he had no clue what was going on. We got Fred’s bed moved into the other room and set up and made, and then Fred shut the door, and Meester Boogers howled forlornly. “Whyyyy? Why is the door closed? I like to hang out in there and lay on the bed and harass Spot! Where will I lay now???” We got the guest bed set up in the guest bedroom and then I shut the door because I had a headache and had no desire to mess around with making the bed at that moment in time. Meester Boogers howled even more forlornly. A few hours later, after I’d eaten dinner and my headache was beginning to abate, I went back upstairs and made the bed. I left the door open, and then went into Fred’s room and carried a table from his room to what is now the guest bedroom, and put it in front of the table. Meester Boogers sniffed around nosily, interested. When I opened the shades, he got very excited. He jumped up onto the table and sat there, looking out into the neigborhood (which is exactly why I’d put the table there – so the cats could lay on it if they so desired). The rest of the evening we didn’t see much of any of the cats. I think they were taking turns sniffing around the new guest bedroom and wondering why they couldn’t go into Fred’s bedroom. When we went upstairs to go to bed, Spot was laying on the guest bedroom bed. This morning, Meester Boogers and Miz Poo were laying in the sun that was coming through the guest bedroom windows. Because, in our house, it’s not possible to do too much to make the kitties comfortable, I located a couple of cat beds in another part of the house and brought them to the guest bedroom. I think Meester Boogers has adjusted to the change. Also, the room’s not as small as it looks – there’s plenty of room to walk between the end of the bed and the dresser, though it doesn’t look like it in this picture. * * * A few weeks ago I set the TiVo to tape Maury! every day, not because I’m all that crazy about Maury and his ten thousand “Are you my baby daddy?” shows, but because MB is going to be on his show, only I’m not sure when and I don’t want to miss it, so thus the every day taping of the show. When I have a few minutes on my hand and want to clear the TiVo queue, I go through the list and look for the episodes of Maury!, then start them playing to see what they’re about – to make sure it’s not the episode MB is on – before I erase it. Last week there was an episode that looked like it might be interesting – I don’t remember what the show was called, but the beginning part of the show looked like something I might want to watch. So I started watching it, and this woman came on who had set up a camera before she left for work because she had a suspicion that her boyfriend, who was babysitting her two little boys, wasn’t doing the job he should. People, it was possibly the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen. This grown man was throwing a little boy down on the bed and PUNCHING him as hard as he could, many times. It still disturbs me just to think about it. This week Maury did a follow-up and they showed the tape again and I showed it to Fred, and even HE was disturbed by it. And we’re talking about a man who isn’t disturbed by much. For the record, as soon as she got home and saw the tape, the mother called the police and they arrested the boyfriend’s ass. He was in court recently, trying to plead to a lesser charge and the judge wouldn’t allow it. When we heard that, we cheered out loud. Fucker. * * * * * *]]>