Author: Robyn

am the lucky one, aren’t I? I need to invest in shirts that are low in the back so I can show off my badass scar. And for the record, I’m not worried. “Precancerous” means “If you wait long enough, it’ll become cancerous, but it isn’t yet”, so I’m just glad I actually had that physical. I made Fred take a picture of the spot on my back, since it’s in a place I can’t see and I was wondering what it looked like, and can I just say HOLY SHIT do I have a lot of freckles on my back! I had no idea. Luckily they’re all those little tiny freckles and not the big scary melanoma-looking ones. With all the sunburns I got as a kid, I’m surprised I don’t have to have all the skin on my body removed. (You do know the mole warning signs, right? Keep an eye on your moles!)

* * * Speaking of my skin issues, I have to keep a bandaid over the spot on my stomach. Regular bandaids just won’t cut it in the morning, because I sweat (heh – I originally typed “swear”. Which is also true!) profusely when I’m working out, and any regular bandaid will just slide off after a while. This morning when I was digging around in the basket where we keep our large collection of bandaids, I found a waterproof bandaid that sticks on all sides, and it swore on the box that the bandaid would stay in place through anything you could throw at it. I put it on, and went to work out, and sure enough the bandaid didn’t budge at all. When I took the bandaid off to take a shower, a small pool of sweat poured out. Gross. Yet also somehow cool. Is it better to let the spot marinate in a pool of sweat, or go without a bandaid for a little while? I suspect the latter. * * * I realized as I was vacuuming the downstairs this morning just how many damn spiders we have living in our house. I counted at least seven corners inhabited by spiders, and I’m sure there are many more. Like I’ve said before, as long as they keep their webs clean, I’ll let them stay. The problem is that spiders don’t actually eat bugs – they paralyze them and then suck the juices out of them, then toss the bug shell that’s left over out of the web. There were no less than eight bug shells on the floor under the web of the spider who lives in a corner of the kitchen. Did I suck up the spider who was making the mess? No, I vacuumed up the bug shells and let the spider stay. Because he’s killing the bugs like he’s supposed to! It is absolutely an amazing thing that I’m letting these spiders live in my house without freaking out, because as a kid I hated any kind of spider. Once (I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before) there was a spider in my room and I didn’t dare to get close enough to kill it and Debbie wouldn’t kill it for me, so we sprayed the fucking thing with half a can of furniture spray until it stopped moving. Most of the spiders in the house are fairly small-bodied with long legs. The spiders I can’t stand (and will either kill or shoo out of the house, depending on how close to the door they are when I spot them) are grass spiders. They tend to be HUGE – when we lived in the other house, we left a foam noodle in the pool one night. The next morning we decided to go for a swim. On the noodle was a grass spider the SIZE OF MY FUCKING HAND, and it was covered with baby grass spiders. ::shudder:: The other kind of spider I really, really don’t like is one I didn’t know the name of until I happened to find the page I linked above. It’s the jumping spider. Not only do they have what appears to be pincer-like front legs (I always think they look like tiny crabs), THE FUCKERS JUMP. REALLY FAR. LIKE FOUR TIMES THE LENGTH OF THEIR LITTLE BODIES. Ugh. I actually found a couple of jumping spiders facing off in the kitchen this morning. I put a cup over them, slid a piece of paper under the cup, and took them outside. When I dumped them out of the cup, one of them immediately JUMPED TOWARD ME. Little fucker. Spider pictures that have made me shudder this morning: the banana spider (UGH), the black widow (those things just look SO FUCKING EVIL), and the golden rod spider. I don’t know about you, but after looking at all those spider pictures, I’m feeling all itchy, as though thousands of spiders are crawling on me… * * * A couple of people asked in the comments yesterday whether it bothers the spud that I clean her room and get rid of stuff while she’s gone in the summer. It hasn’t so far, and she’s always glad to see her room clean and straightened when she gets home. This is actually the first year I’ve cleaned her room that I haven’t tossed any toys, mainly because she’s gotten older and isn’t getting so many toys that she never plays with. I’m going to take down the Little Mermaid poster and put a bulletin board in it’s place, but I’m going to keep the poster (it’s a nice one that her father’s cousin gave her when she was little) and if she decides that she wants it back, we’ll find another place on her wall to hang it. As for the shirts, I’ve packed them away so that if at some point after she gets home she says “Where’s my (blank) shirt?” I can go dig it out. It hasn’t happened in the five years, though, and I expect it won’t happen this year either, since I talked to her the other day and it sounds like she’s already got a ton of clothes to bring home with her! I generally give the old clothes until around Christmas, and if she hasn’t needed something I’ve packed away by then, I figure she never will, and I donate it to charity. * * * Yellow lilies. Pretty, eh? * * * I got the BEST LINK EVER from Laura this morning – Maine Goodies has anything an exiled Mainer could ever wish for. I’m particularly drooling over the whoopie pies and lobster stew! * * * Spot. He’s in his bed! (He spends all day in his bed. I suspect he does the exciting stuff at night when we’re asleep) ]]>

The Alamo and Fred was giving his order. “What are the vegetables of the day?” he asked. “Blah blah blah,” said the waiter. “Oh.” Fred pondered. “I’ll just have a side salad, then. With bleu cheese dressing, on the side. Also, can I have my salad without cheese on it?” “No cheese?” the waiter said, writing it down. “Right.” Fred paused and then gazed earnestly at the waiter. “I like cheese, just not on a salad.” He looked at the waiter as though he expected him to write it down so that he could go into the kitchen and say “One side salad, no cheese! The guy LIKES cheese, just not on a salad!” The waiter nodded and left. “What the hell?” I said. “Why on EARTH would you feel the need to explain that to him? He doesn’t care WHY you don’t want cheese on your SALAD!” Fred just grinned. Later, when we went to the UPS store so we could pack a box with all the crap we’d bought and then send it to ourselves, Fred felt the need to explain to the lady working there. “We flew up,” he said. “On a very small plane and we’re not sure everything will fit. So we’re going to mail it to ourselves!” “I see,” the woman said. The next day, we went to a movie store to rent a couple of DVDs to watch on the laptop in the hotel room that night. We chose a couple of movies, then Fred went to the counter to pay. It was hot in the store, so I got the car key and went out to turn on the air conditioner and wait for him. Ten minutes later, he finally moseyed out. “What the hell?” I said. “What took so long?” “Oh, I got to talking to the guy,” he said. It turns out that Fred had a conversation wherein the following bits of information were disseminated: *We flew to Gatlinburg (from Huntsville, AL) in a very small plane for a very good price. *Fred is a software engineer. *We have a laptop with a 17-inch monitor. *Fred owns his own company. After telling me all he’d told the counter guy, Fred said “I can’t help it. I’m a friendly guy!” “Did you tell him you like cheese, just NOT on a salad?” I said. “Shut UP.” I guess his willingness to strike up a conversation with just about anyone is what makes Fred so approachable, although no one asked him to take their picture on this trip. I, on the other hand – maybe it’s the Yankee in me – tend to stick to “tell them only what they need to know”: I go into a restaurant, I order what I want, I feel no need to explain anything to anyone, I eat, I leave. I’m not UNFRIENDLY, mind you – if they strike up a conversation with me, I’m perfectly willing to respond. I smile in a friendly manner, I say “Thank you”, and then I go on my way. I guess we complement each other pretty well – he’s friendly and chatty, and I… make fun of him for it. Works for me! Heh.

* * * I spent a couple of hours cleaning the spud’s room yesterday, and now it looks pretty decent. I got her a new comforter – the old one was looking pretty ratty – and I went through her closet and took out the shirts she never wears (the child has WAY TOO MANY clothes, that’s all I’ll say), and I dusted and straightened her bookcase. All I have to do now is put up a bulletin board so that she can tack things to it instead of the wall. I’m also going to take down her Little Mermaid poster and put it away, and then I’ll be done! Usually it takes me half the summer to get my butt in gear and get her room cleaned. Go, me! * * * The Mighty Hunter.]]>

episode of Friends, where they’re playing the game that ultimately ends with the guys winning Monica and Rachael’s apartment. The question “What is Chandler Bing’s job?” comes up, and the girls say: Monica: It’s umm, it has something to do with transponding. Rachel: Oh-oh-oh, he’s a transponce – transpondster! It’s just a good thing the air traffic controller didn’t start talking about the plane’s phalanges.

* * * So, remember the mole I had removed from my stomach, and then the spot where the mole had been got infected? Despite being on antibiotics for a week and putting antibiotic cream on it, it didn’t really get better. In fact, it got worse. Naturally it did most of the getting worse while we were in Gatlinburg. It was continuing to drain and seemed to get bigger. I watched it to see if it would start putting out the red streaks or start hurting, neither of which it did. Since I had an appointment at 8 this morning to have the stitches removed, I just kept putting cream and a band-aid on it and taking my antibiotics. This morning when I got out of the shower I looked down at the spot where the mole had been removed, and messed with the stitches, making sure they were sticking up enough so that the doctor could remove them. Then I dried off, combed my hair, and grabbed a band-aid to put over the spot. The stitches were gone. “Wha?” I said. I poked around the spot a little to see if maybe the stitches had sunken below the puss-y looking area in the middle. Then I glanced over at the floor in front of the shower, and saw the little piece of thread that had comprised one of the stitches sitting there, still knotted. Apparently drying myself had pulled the stitches out without me even realizing it. When I got to the doctor’s office, I explained what had happened to the doctor (not my usual doctor; she doesn’t work on Monday and Tuesday) who was to remove my stitches. She took a good long look at the spot on my stomach, said she had a plan, and proceeded to remove the stitches from the spot on my back (which did NOT get infected, thankyajeezus). Then she had me lay back, and put silver nitrate on the spot on my stomach to cauterize it, so that it could heal from the bottom up. She said it might burn, but I didn’t feel a damn thing, although now – an hour later – it’s itching like hell. AGH! Make it stop! Anyway, it’ll take a couple of weeks to completely heal, but in the meantime I’ll be supporting the band-aid industry by putting antibiotic cream and a band-aid on the area three times a day. I’m just glad that this didn’t happen with the spot where the mole was removed from my back, because I can’t quite reach that spot, so it would have been a matter of driving to Fred’s office during the day so he could change the band-aid for me. That would be NOT FUN, I think. (Also, no word yet from the lab tests on the moles I had removed. She’s going to have her nurse call the lab and yell at them, so I should be hearing something in the next few days.) * * * Apparently everyone wants to know about my Seasonale experiences thus far, so here it is: My first two months on the Seasonale were just fine. At the end of month two, I accidentally skipped a pill (because I’m a dumbass), which seemed to be the trigger for a month of breakthrough bleeding. At the end of the month (month three), it was time to take a week off from taking the pill (I don’t bother with the placebo pills), so I did, and had a fairly normal period. The Sunday following that, I started up on the pill again. My period ended, and almost two weeks later I haven’t had any breakthrough bleeding (yet!). I said when I started taking the Seasonale that it was going to take my body time to adjust, and I wasn’t going to give up unless I’d been taking it for a year and was still having problems. I was on the regular pill for eight years before this year, my body had adjusted to that schedule, and switching to a schedule where I only have my period every three months is surely something that it’ll take time for my body to adjust to. I’ll give y’all a final report on whether it works for me when it’s been a year. * * * From my comments: Hi Robyn. I’m a long time reader (well a couple of years anyway). My family and I will be in Gatlinburg this weekend to. My two year old daughter and my pregnant self will be strolling the streets with Mamaw and Papaw (hopefully I won’t pass out from the awful heat we have been having). Do you ever wonder if you might run into one of your readers some day! Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker or anything, so if I see you and Fred I’ll just smile and be on my merry way!! 🙂 Did you see us? What were we doing? Oh no, don’t answer that – I was sweating my ass off, and Fred was carrying all the bags. Heh. Hey Robyn, here’s a question you might wanna answer someday in an entry: when you say “slap up an entry,” how much time are you really talking about putting into creating one? I’m curious to know what’s the longest amount of time you ever spent on 1 entry, and the shortest amount of time. It depends – if it’s 1:15 and I’m hungry, I can get an entry done in about 30 minutes, and about five of those minutes are spent putting the links at the bottom of the page. The longest I’ve ever spent on an entry would probably be this one, which took me two days to write, because the original entry was a lot more pissed-off sounding than the finished entry. I had to do an awful lot of editing. On the average, though, because I almost never sit down and just write an entry – I’m always distracted by email, cats, shiny things – I’d say it takes about an hour. (Hard to believe, eh?) Your Gatlinburg trip sounded wonderful! My sister and I are going down there to do some hiking in a couple of weeks, and I wondered if the cicadas had invaded Gatlinburg. As far as I know, I didn’t see any cicadas. But then, I’m not quite sure what they look like. In any case, the streets weren’t littered with dead bugs, so I’m going to say that the cicada invasion hasn’t hit Gatlinburg. Yer killing me! No review posted for Crow Lake yet? Put me outta my misery, I’m dying to know how many stars.. or square thingamajiggys.. (That comment is from the wonderful Adena who asked me if I’d read the book yet – I hadn’t, so I put it on my wish list, and then she went and bought it for me! Adena rocks.) I absolutely loved it, and I rated it 5 Poos! Thanks again for recommending it and then buying it for me; I had never heard of it before you mentioned it, and it was a total gem of a book – I enjoyed every word of it. Don’t know if your pharmacist told you this or maybe you already know but some antibiotics can mess with your birth control and since you guys are going to be doing the nudist thing while spud is away I thought I would remind. People. Nudity does not NECESSARILY lead to sex. Get your minds out of the gutters. Heh. I think the airlines are NUTS. They shouldn’t charge (IMO) parents who want to take their minor kids to the gate, I mean you cant go anywhere w/o a ticket anyway, whats wrong with a free pass? I just called my dad, my mom took my grandma to her gate several times and they never charged her. Oh well. No, they didn’t charge me the $75 to acompany her to the gate – they charged me the $75 so that when she landed in Atlanta a flight attendant would take her from the gate she landed at to the gate her flight to OC was leaving from, so she wouldn’t get lost and spend the rest of her life wandering around the airport. $75 is SO worth it for the peace of mind, knowing that someone will make sure she gets to her gate okay. My pass to accompany her to the gate she left from at the Huntsville airport didn’t cost me anything. Didn’t you write recently about an Experience you had with Pizza Hut’s buffalo chicken pizza? Cause I think I had that same experience. What the hell is in that pizza? No, it was Alicia and Nance who tried the buffalo chicken pizza and suffered from it. I did say that I still wanted to give it a try, but I’ve since changed my mind. The funny thing is that when we were in Gatlinburg, Fred wanted to order the buffalo chicken pizza, and I wouldn’t let him. Because who wants to be sick while they’re on vacation? I have a question as well: I’m not a native English speaker, so I am wondering what the word “Spud” means? “Spud” is slang for “potato.” Heh. So, you say that Spanky is your ‘special’ kitty… what makes him not the brightest bulb in the pack? I must’ve missed it somewhere! Everything scares him. EVERYTHING. I’ve watched him see a spot of sunlight on the floor and get freaked out by it. Also, when he sits and stares into space, you can just tell there’s nothing going on in there. Of course, we love him to death, dumb or not. Ok….why couldn’t you drop Fred’s ass (and his fucked up leg!) off at the door of the auditorium? I could have dropped Fred’s ass off at the door of the auditorium the night of the spud’s (last!) band concert, but it really is quite a hike even from the door, so I decided to be the wonderful person I am and give up the fight. Now I have something to hold over his head for all of eternity. When I’m 93 and he won’t go get me a Diet Coke, I can say “Okay, that’s fine. EVEN THOUGH I didn’t make you go to the spud’s last band concert, you bastard!” * * * I went to the pet store to feed the cats yesterday. After I had pressed the buzzer so that someone would come and let me in, I looked to the side of the door and realized that there was a carrier sitting there. And then a cat peeked out at me. When one of the guys who works at the store came to let me in, I pointed and said “Did you know there’s a carrier over there with a cat in it?” He hadn’t known, of course, and went out to pick it up. Later, he came and got the number to the cat shelter from me. I expect once the cat is medically cleared and neutered or spayed, I’ll be seeing it at the pet store. Poor kitty, it looked absolutely terrified. I’d go on a rant here about people who are assholes and abandon their pets, but I’m actually kind of glad that whoever left the cat there did that instead of taking it out into the country and dumping it alongside the road. But still. Poor kitty! Pet store pictures are here. * * * “I am NOT stupid. YOU’RE stupid. Bitch. Stop calling me stupid, or I’ll come steal your breath while you’re sleeping…”]]>

* * * So, ever since we spent 12 hours driving to Memphis, hanging around Memphis, and then driving home from Memphis the week before last, we’ve really REALLY not been looking forward to making the 4 1/2 – 5 hour drive to Gatlinburg. We bitched and moaned about how long the drive would be, we talked about staying home (but not seriously), and then on Tuesday Fred said “I’m kind of looking forward to the drive. It’ll be fun!” But come Wednesday morning he called me from work and said “God. I do NOT want to drive for five hours tomorrow. Wah!” “Baby,” I said. “We are not canceling our vacation! No other place on earth can provide me with the high levels of sugar that are contained within the boundaries of the Gatlinburg/ Pigeon Forge area! We are GOING, so quit your bitching!” But Fred, he is a resourceful person and he came up with a way to get to Gatlinburg fast. Very very fast. Like, in a little more than an hour. And it didn’t even require a transporter machine! It’s a Dakota Piper. Fred is one of three owners of his company. One of the other owners – longtime readers will remember the man known as “Tex” – has his pilot’s license, and he’s not only visually rated, he’s also instrument rated and a whole bunch of other ratings that mean nothing to me. He actually teaches other people to fly. He’s flown 800 hours in the last year and had nary a single scary incident. AND he owns a small plane with two other guys. “Think of it!” Fred said. “We can leave the house at 8:00, and we’ll be in Gatlinburg by 10:00! We’ll have the whole day, and all day Friday, and all day Saturday, and then he can pick us up on Sunday!” Because I am a brave soul and because I have no desire to spend five hours in a car when I can spend one hour in a plane, I agreed. (I didn’t tell y’all I was flying because I knew you’d worry. Aren’t I sweet? Also, I knew you’d tell me horror stories about your aunt’s brother’s nephew’s cousin’s sixth cousin once removed who knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy who flew a small plane directly upwards into the sun, and the plane melted and fell apart and the guy who was flying the plane ALMOST DIED!) We left the house at 8:00, got to the tiny little airport near Decatur, and were taking off around 8:30ish. Tex on the left, Fred on the right. Fred was the “copilot”, and promised to scream for help if Tex keeled over and had a heart attack. The runway. The Tennessee River, on the other side of that line of trees. You can’t really see it, but believe me – it’s there! Passing through the clouds. Fluffy clouds. Hey, look! Clouds! The horizon (and more clouds). Mountains… and traffic and houses and stores, oh my! We did a sudden sharp turn when we were about to land at the Gatlinburg/ Pigeon Forge airport (which is actually located in Sevierville) and it felt like the wing was about to touch these houses. Heading for the runway. All in all, it was a pretty cool experience. It was like being in a flying SUV. I sat in the back seat, and had plenty of leg room (though, granted, I have short, stubby legs). There was a storage area behind me where we put our luggage. It was pretty smooth flying most of the way, though we went through a couple of big clouds that were bumpy. Rather than being scared, I laughed my ass off – it was like being on a roller coaster. I was honestly not scared for one minute of the flight. And I think we’ve been spoiled rotten – I don’t ever want to have to drive to Gatlinburg again! Once we were at the airport, we got our luggage and our rental car (yes, that’s money we wouldn’t have had to spend if we’d driven, but we decided our time was worth it – and then some!) and were headed for Gatlinburg in no time. Two hours after we’d left the house, we were ordering lunch. An hour and a half after that, we checked into our hotel room (they let us check in early), and we headed downtown to do some looking around. We spent an hour or so in the aquarium (I took a buttload of pictures, which I will put up at some later date). We bought some coffee, we looked in a few stores, and after a few hours, we headed back to our hotel room, but not before stopping for… Fudge! Oh, I almost forgot! We were looking through one of the many many t-shirt stores that Gatlinburg has, and Fred poked me. When I looked at him, he nodded toward the back of the store, where there was an airbrushing booth. Leaning on the counter of the booth were two girls. One of them was wearing a skirt so short that had she been standing straight up might have just covered her ass. But she wasn’t standing straight up – she was leaning forward on the counter, as I mentioned. And her bare ass was sticking out for the world to see. She MIGHT have been wearing a thong, but I couldn’t tell for certain. I swear, I felt like I was seeing live porn right there in front of me. I have no idea how old she was, either – everyone under the age of 30 looks like they’re about 12 to me now. I guess that’s one of the signs that I’m getting old, eh? Friday we walked back down into Gatlinburg, stopped in almost every store, and then went to the Ripley’s Moving Theater, because they had new movies this year. This is a ride where you get 3-D glasses, and you go strap yourself into a seat. When the movie starts, your seat moves as though you’re on a roller coaster, or whatever the movie is showing. It’s usually pretty cool, but this time around both the movies were particularly violent, and when I woke up Saturday morning I had bruises on my thighs and arms from being thrown around. I hated it, but Fred loved it. Go figure. We ate lunch at Blaine’s (we always eat there at least once – Fred loves their steak fajitas), then spent another couple of hours walking around downtown before heading back to the hotel with our purchases. Fred ran our bags up to the room while I started the car, and then we went to Pigeon Forge for a few hours before going back to the room and hanging out for the rest of the evening. Saturday was more of the same – shopping, people-watching, eating lunch at The Alamo. We had talked about going on a hike, but since it rained Friday figured it would be rather muddy to go hiking, and opted not to. Sunday morning Fred woke up to find that it was raining like hell. He called Tex to see if we’d still be able to fly home. Tex checked the something-or-other and told Fred that it should be no problem. We showered and packed and ate the last of our fudge (okay, that would be ME), then checked out and headed to the airport to wait for Tex. Twenty minutes later, he was there, and we were loaded and on our way. The trip back was a lot less smooth than the trip there – it was very cloudy and we had to go through a large number of clouds, which was very very bumpy. I wasn’t worried, though, and we were home by 12:30ish. This is the first time we’ve been gone for a few days since we got Mister Boogers, and he was very VERY vocal in expressing his displeasure all afternoon yesterday. Fred went out into the garage to work out, and Mister Boogers sat by the garage door and howled and howled until I went to pick him up. He actually slept on the bed with me all last night, too. Which sucked a little, because he’s a total bed hog. Good thing he’s cute. “I SO don’t hog the bed. Much.” ]]>

my baby!!! There’ll be no birthday cake tonight, but we’ll make up for that in Gatlinburg, I’m sure.

* * * Warning: Mild Paycheck and The Sopranos spoilers in this section – it won’t ruin the movie or show for you, but it does give a little away. Proceed at your own risk. Speaking of Fred’s birthday, I think that Fred must have knocked something loose in his fall down the mountain last week. I swear, he’s aged 20 years in the last week. First of all we were at The Rockabilly Cafe eating lunch when we were in Memphis last week. A woman walked in and looked around, and then said to us, “Do we seat ourselves?” I started to answer her, when I realized to my horror that Fred was leaning forward, CUPPING HIS HAND TO HIS EAR to illustrate that he hadn’t heard what she said. Who does that? Aren’t you legally required to be at least 73 before you can complete that particular move without being ironic? Secondly, we were watching Paycheck Saturday night, and ten minutes after the bad guys see Uma in the bathroom first crying and then smiling, after Uma had left for work and then the bad guys were in the apartment trying to figure out what message Ben Affleck had left for Uma, AFTER the one bad guy said “Look at the mirror” and then sprayed something (hairspray?) on the mirror, Fred said “Ohhhh, he left her a message!” and I gave him a look and said “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.” Which is when he challenged me with “What, you knew?” and I responded with “Yeah.” and he said “When did you figure it out?” and I said “As soon as she turned the shower on.” and he said “Oh”, making it clear that he’d had no idea at all until the bad guys discovered the message. Thirdly, Sunday night we were watching The Sopranos, and we watched the part where Chris-tuh-fuh was at the gas station and he saw the family in the crappy car, and like TEN MINUTES LATER, Fred said in a confiding I-don’t-want-to-ruin-this-for-you-but-I’ve-figured-it-out tone, “I think he saw the family and realized he didn’t want to live like that”, to which I could only respond, “No shit, babe, ya think??” So, yeah. Clearly he knocked something loose. That, or it’s early-onset Alzheimer’s. One or the other. * * * I spent the morning cleaning the hell out of the house, because Fred’s mother and stepfather are going to be feeding the cats while we’re in Gatlinburg. I moved the last few boxes of Fred’s book from the corner where they’re been sitting for ten months, and I found about 300 cat toys and ten pounds of dust. Our cats have WAY too many cat toys, that’s all I can say. We’d better buy them a few more when we’re in G’burg! * * * The And3rson family medical problems continue. Miz Poo, sitting on her pillow on my desk yesterday, held up her back paw to lick it, and I realized she had some weird kind of wound. It almost looked like she’d torn or chewed off one of her toe pads, but all her toe pads were present and accounted for, so that wasn’t it. It wasn’t hurting her, because she let me look at it to my heart’s content. After talking to Fred we finally decided that maybe she’d cut herself (Meester Boogers knocked a lightbulb off the counter last weekend, and Miz Poo immediately came running to investigate, so we figure that’s when it happened), and I tried to rinse the litter out of the wound, but had no luck. Fred took her to the vet’s around 5:00, and he cleaned it out (poor Miz Poo!) and examined it, and it was definitely a cut. Fred told him we were going out of town and wouldn’t be able to give her antibiotics over the 3 1/2 days we’d be gone, so the vet gave her a shot, told Fred to soak her foot in salt water a couple of times a day, and to put Polysporin on it. I swear, with the money we’ve spent on vet bills on Miz Poo alone, we could be living in a mansion. Good thing she’s so damn cute. * * * Since I share EVERYTHING with y’all, I am pleased to announce that after an entire month of breakthrough bleeding and a week of a semi-painful period, I appear to completely through with bleeding from the nether regions. Whoo! (Oh, hush. You KNOW you wanted to know!) * * * So we’re leaving for G’burg early in the morning. I may slap up a quick entry before we go, I may not. We’re taking the laptop with us and will have wireless internet access at our hotel, so I may post entries while we’re gone… and I may not. Who knows? I’ll see you when I see you – definitely by Monday. * * * Such a happy, happy boy. (Love the kitty toes!) ]]>

Nance!!!!

* * * So, the spud arrived safely in The OC yesterday. When we got to the airport, the guy working the ticket counter said that he could get her on an earlier flight to Atlanta so she’d have a little more time there and wouldn’t be rushing from gate to gate. We opted for that, so she ended up leaving on the 2:08 flight instead of the 2:45. After processing her ticket information, he handed over her ticket and a pass so that I could go to the gate with her, which is when I had to say “Um, wait. I thought I could pay so that she’d have someone take her from gate to gate?” The guy said “Oh, did you want to do that? You don’t have to, since she’s 15, she can just get from gate to gate on her own…” Which is when I had to look at him as though he were on drugs, because hell-O? Did he really think I was going to send my head-in-the-clouds 15 year old across the country without someone to hold her hand and tell her where to go? I think NOT. Anyway, I paid the $75 and we got through Security without being wanded (very VERY lax security, in my opinion. I could have TOTALLY gotten a pair of nail clippers through without them even noticing!), I bought her a few snacks for the plane, and we only had to wait about ten minutes before it was time for her to board the plane. Then I came home and spent the day worrying, of course. Her flight landed in Orange County at 9:26 my time (and according to Delta.com, it landed on time), but she didn’t call until almost midnight. Which is my own fault, I suppose. I told her several times to call when she got to California, but didn’t tell her to call as soon as she got in. But anyway she’s there, she’s fine, and now Fred and I can commence swanning about the house nude all the time. Woot! * * * I sure am MIGHTY FUCKING TIRED of going to the FUCKING doctor’s office all the damn time. The mole I had removed from my stomach last Thursday has been draining ever since. It started to look infected to me sometime on Saturday and BECAUSE I AM STUPID AND I KNOW IT AND YOU DON’T HAVE TO TELL ME BECAUSE I KNOW IT ALREADY, OKAY? I took the advice of SOMEONE and tried self-medicating with a lose dosage of Doxycycline, since it’s an antibiotic. It never did get worse, but it also never got better either, despite the Doxycycline and cleaning it with peroxide and putting Neosporin on it. Finally, since I wanted to get this taken care of before we leave for Gatlinburg, I decided to call this morning and they were able to get me in at 10:00. The nurse practitioner gave me QUITE a look when I told her that I had dumbassedly self-medicated, but I admitted that I’m a dumbass before she could say anything, so she didn’t have to TELL me what a dumbass I am. Anyway, she prescribed an antibiotic ointment and an antibiotic to take by mouth, so hopefully this will clear up pretty quickly. On the up side, my gastroenterologist called last night and said that all my bloodwork came back just fine – no autoimmune hepatitis, no lupus, no nothin’, so he’s pretty sure it’s a fatty liver. I have to go back in six months to have my liver enzymes checked again. Which is good, because I did a search on autoimmune hepatitis, and guess how they treat it? With steroids. No steroids for me! Yay! * * * Such a purty boy.]]>

there’s a pretty little thing waiting for the King down in the Jungle Room…) was awesome and I want me one o’ them. Everyone needs green shag carpeting on the ceiling! After the tour, we went back across the street so I could buy an Elvis shot glass (shaddup) and a few other things, then we went to eat lunch at the Rockabilly Cafe. We all had cheeseburgers and they weren’t bad. Fred also bought a fried nanner sandwich for us to share, and let me just say, yuck. Too much butter, too much peanut butter. It was gross, but the spud seemed to like it. (For those of you who have no idea what a fried nanner sandwich is – it’s a peanut butter and banana sandwich, fried like you’d fry a grilled cheese sandwich, only in a ton of butter. Elvis loved ’em, or so they say.) (Let us not mention the fact that my mother once made me a peanut butter, banana, and MAYO sandwich and amazingly it was REALLY GOOD (yes it was!). She told me it was another favorite of Elvis’.) Once we’d killed a couple of hours at Graceland and eating lunch, we still had time to kill (did I mention we went to Memphis because Fred’s mother had an all-day appointment at a hearing clinic?), so we went to Border’s and looked browsed for an hour or so. Then we went back to the hearing clinic to pick up Fred’s mom and had to wait for a little while, and like the idiot I am I didn’t bring a BOOK with me (it’s sad but true that I have a book with me when I don’t need one, and don’t have one when I do. Damnit.), but I did get to stare at this sign: Yes, it amuses me that they carry sushi at the gas station – though I’m one to talk, since I buy my sushi at TARGET. So I’ll shut up now. Anyway, we left at 6:20 am and got home at about 6:50 pm. It was a long damn drive with not much to look at and not one I’m eager to do again anytime soon! Fred’s got an entry with Graceland pictures, here. He’s also got a funny-ass entry for Sunday.

* * * The spud has been packed to leave for California since yesterday morning. It took her maybe fifteen minutes to pack and now she’s sitting in her room watching TV and impatiently waiting for it to be time to leave. It’s going to take her about 7 hours to get there, with a layover in Atlanta. She’s been flying alone since she was 10 years old, but I note that I don’t get any less worried about her flying alone the older she gets. At least when she flies from California to Rhode Island, she’ll be with her grandparents and I won’t have to worry. At least THIS year the Terror Alert hasn’t been raised… YET. * * * I got more funny cards in the mail from my awesome Secret Goddess – who happens to be Debbie – AND a hilarious comic strip. She’s absolutely spoiled me rotten these past two months, and she rocks! ]]>

1. So, how’s your day been? So far, so good. I’ve been up for about half an hour, showered, dressed, and we’re about to leave to take Fred’s mother to an all-day appointment at a clinic in Memphis. She won’t hear of us staying with her through her appointment, so we’re going to Graceland! 2. We all know how much you love yellow, but if you absolutely had to choose one, what would be your least favorite color and why? Drab olive, because I always have a visceral “GOD what an ugly color!” reaction to it. 3. Now, explain again why it is that you and Fred don’t share a bedroom? (Kidding! 🙂 Heh. Brat. But for any new readers who are interested in the answer, you can read it here. 4. Can I have one of your cats? I’ll let you pick. Ahem. You know, we still haven’t buried Tubby’s ashes… 5. You are hereby ordered to give up one of the shows you watch and write about over on Couch Potato. So which one is it gonna be? Why, why, WHYYYY, Heather, why would you cause me such pain? ::sob:: Heh. Actually, at this point I’d happily give up American Idol. I don’t really care who wins, since my favorite – Jennifer Hudson – left weeks ago. 6. If you had to work outside the home, what would your ideal job be? Something around cats, that kept me busy, and didn’t include spending the entire day at a desk. 7. You’ve been commissioned by Fred to create a soundtrack for his life, and you have a five song minimum. What songs do you pick? Birdhouse in My Soul (They Might Be Giants), Safety Dance (Men Without Hats), Steal my Sunshine (Len), Blue (Eiffel 65), Love Changes Everything (Andrew Lloyd Webber). 8. Are there any other animals besides cats that you could see yourself co-habitating with comfortably? What one non-domesticated animal would you love to have around? (Pretending it’s cleared for safety first and housing and food are no issue.) I’d like to say I could be happy with a dog, but I’m just really not a dog person. Dogs require too much attention. I’d love to have a big ol’ fish tank, and maybe some hamsters (they crack me up!), but that’s really about it. As for a non-domesticated animal? That’s easy – a meerkat! 9. Looking over your wishlist, which five books would you really like to have and what about them interested you in the first place? Like a Charm, by Karin Slaughter (I read her previous two books and really enjoyed them), Eventide, by Kent Haruf (Kent Haruf is just the most amazing writer. I’ve read everything else he’s written, and each of his books are simple gems that I absolutely love), The Enemy, by Lee Child (I have a little crush on Jack Reacher. He kicks ASS.), Down Here, by Andrew Vachss (I have a crush on Burke, too – is it weird to have a crush on fictional characters?), and Dead to the World, by Charlaine Harris (one in the Southern Vampires series, which I absolutely adore). 10. What’s Miz Poo doing right now? Snoozing on the pillow on my desk after an exhausting 20-minute grooming session. 11. What are your current short-term goals? Mostly to get the final four chapters that I have to write for Erin’s book done. To keep up with the Smart & Sassy questions as they come in. Mostly, to make it through today without going completely nuts.

* * * We’re off to Memphis. There may be an entry tomorrow – then again, there may not. Who knows? * * * When the Bean sees a bird out in the yard, he likes to stop halfway through the cat door and just stand there, chattering. “I can’t believe she put a picture of my ass on the internet…” ]]>

* * * Last night Fred and I were watching TV. We’d just finished watching our taped episodes of The Shield and That 70s Show, and were waiting to see who’d been voted off American Idol, and we hate all the filler they do (I can’t even believe they have the utter gall to stretch the results show to an hour), so Fred was flipping channels in search of something to fill the time until the result was announced. We ended up on poker, and you can imagine how thrilled I was. I got bored inside of 10 seconds, so I started reading a magazine. At some point I realized that a clicking noise was drilling through my eardrums and into my brain, and I looked up to see that one of the players was making the clicking noise with his chips. “I wish he’d stop doing that,” I said. “I think he’s nervous,” Fred said. “Some of the guys get really fidgety. And then there are the other guys, like the one with the cowboy hat on. Hoyt. He’s from Alabama.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah. He sits there with his hat on and dark glasses so you can’t see his eyes, and he doesn’t even move. He’s like a little Bubba. Uh. Buddha.” We laughed, and a few minutes later, Fred went on to say, “I had it right the first time, he’s like a Buddha! Uh. Bubba.” First day with the new brain, you know.

* * * My father sent this picture from Hawaii (I have no idea who those people are). I was a little excited about going to Hawaii in July before, but now I can’t wait! * * * “I am struck with the urge to raise my ass in the air, but I don’t know why…” ]]>

* * * From my comments: A comment from the youngest of 4 children. If I ever heard my Mom say “Thank God, it’s the last time I have to sit though __________” once I heard it fifty times. If I hear it again – I’ll scream! OK – I’m 38 so I doubt I’ll hear it again so don’t worry. It really put a damper on things in life. I let her know it – she did not listen. No wonder I was crabby when I graduated from high school! Last awards ceremony, last “sing out”, last graduation ceremony, last graduation party, last, last last. . . So moral of the story – Don’t let your kids hear you celebrate. Oh, we celebrate – but we celebrate when she’s not around. She thinks we’re thrilled to go to her concerts, and was very concerned about the fact that Fred wouldn’t be able to attend, so she made sure that I brought the camcorder with me. As we were walking into the school the night of the concert, I said “Are you sad that this is your last band concert?” and she said “NO. Band is kind of boring…” AMEN TO THAT, SISTER! Hey – in your previous entry you mentioned you found the earrings you were searching for – where did you find them? I love them too and would love a pair — Please tell me it was somewhere on-line and not a specialty store in your local mall… Actually, I didn’t find the ones I was looking for, but I did find some that I really like – these. I don’t know why I love earrings so much. I wear them maybe ten days out of the year, but I keep buying them! (Ooh, and I REALLY like these. Pretty, no?) Also, I’m kind of picky about the earrings I buy – for instance, I really like these, but I can’t wear earrings where the back is like that, because the end irritates the skin under my ear, so I have to have earrings with posts or lever backs. Fascinating, no? I totally got the song reference! “He’s Spot, he’s Spot, he’s Spot, he’s in his bed…” I haven’t heard that song (Presidents of the USA, right?) in forever. Also, AHEM. I’ve been going on and on and ON about “24” at my journal FOREVER. Just proof that you do not read, and therefore you MISS OUT. Missy. I never thought anyone would get that reference, because I could hear the tune in my head when I was typing it, but I didn’t really think it was going to come across. Never underestimate the readers! Also, I do SO read your journal. But you know how you read someone’s journal and they start talking about something you’re not interested in, so you’re like “Eh, yeah, 24. Whatever.”, and you skim that part? (I suspect many of my readers do that. Heh.) So I musta skimmed. And while I’ll read someone’s glowing review of a book and immediately add it to my wish list, for some reason if I’ve decided I’m not interested in a show, you can say the most amazing things about it – “And then Kiefer STRIPPED NAKED and monkeys flew DIRECTLY out of his ASS!” – and I’ll be all “Yeah, yeah.” And since Fred and I had watched the very first 24 when it was on TV and decided we weren’t interested, that was all she wrote. Because clearly we’re idiots. Speaking of TV, we were flipping channels last night and we happened across the WB, and it was the second episode of Superstar USA, and let me tell you something. That is the BEST SHOW EVER. It’s like American Idol, flipped. How the judges keep a straight face, I DO NOT KNOW. Because some of those people are just incredibly awful, and they keep coming with the praise. That Briggs guy, especially, is hilarious. It’s on again Friday night, so check it out! Definitely worth your time. (Heh. I wonder how many of you just went “Eh, Superstar USA. Whatever.” and skipped that paragraph.) Whoot! Sounds like your liver is on the right track, but I wonder – how do you get it to exercise? It won’t. You know how some people have a lazy eye? I have a lazy liver. It sits on the sidelines and mocks me when I’m on the elliptical. Stupid liver. All I can do is set a good example and hope it sinks in. Otherwise, it’s outta here.

* * * Good thing he’s pretty, ’cause he’s not the brightest bulb. ]]>