An acidic and hostile place: since 1999
Frankly, she’s just too cute, isn’t she? 
Have you bought YOUR Tubby loot yet?
On Interstate 20/ 59 in Alabama, there were orange wildflowers as far as the eye could see. They stopped dead at the Alabama/ Mississippi border.
Keeping The Daddy’s books warm.]]>
* * * So, we were watching The Restaurant Monday night (which we taped Sunday night), and there was this scene where Rocco and the general manager Laurent were walking down the street discussing whether Laurent was going to quit or not. We watched the scene to it’s conclusion, and then I said “Hm.” “What?” Fred said. I picked up the remote and rewound the tape to the beginning of the scene, where they’re walking down the street being filmed from behind. “Do you see a camera in front of them?” I asked. Fred looked and allowed that he did not. I let the tape play a little further until the camera was in front of them. “Do you see a camera behind them?” I asked. Fred looked and said “Motherfucker! It’s a staged scene!” We watched to the end of the scene again, and Fred said “Maybe they just filmed them walking from behind and cut that in with the part where they were filming them from the front, and they really were having that conversation.” “Except that at the end of the scene where the camera swings around in a single shot from the back to the front at the end of their conversation, it all matches up,” I pointed out. “Motherfucker!” was Fred’s response. “Suddenly I don’t like the show as much anymore!” The staged scenes with Gideon in his apartment receiving the phone calls from work are just horrifically bad. I like Gideon, but he’s no actor. I’m not crazy about Rocco’s voiceovers, either. But hey, I still really like the show a lot, so I guess I’ll shut up about everything they’re doing that I don’t like!
(I cut Sarah out of the picture, because I wanted to protect her from all you psycho stalkers out there. You’ll just have to imagine the incredible adorableness that is she.)
And SUCH a cute face Simon has! This picture really just doesn’t do him justice, though you can probably tell that he’s a cat with personality. SO CUTE!
Illustrating the description “Dumb and happy”…
Artsy Tubs.
Pretty Tubs.
Bitchy Tubs.
Hope springs eternal.]]>
* * * As we were sitting in the examining room waiting for Dr. Judy to come in and tell us the results of the blood test (yes, they took blood to send out for a TSH test, too), I said “Are you still nauseous?” I had my suspicions, frankly, that she’d been nauseous for more than a few minutes, because people who are nauseated do not act CHIPPER and HAPPY and CHATTY. “No,” she said. “I’m not.” “Oh,” I said casually. “What time is lunch at school?” She went through a whole song-and-dance about how it was over at 12:30 no, 12:35, no 12:45. “So why don’t I drop you off at school so you can go to your last two classes?” I suggested. Which is when she explained that when she said she was “not nauseous”, what that meant was that she wasn’t “AS nauseous.” Riiiiiiight.
Pardon the crappy picture. After partaking of the food for several minutes, he flitted over to the pot where my Four O’Clocks are, took a sip out of one of the flowers, and flew off.
An hour later, another one showed up (could have been the same one, I suppose). I wasn’t able to get a picture of that one, though, because he didn’t stick around long enough for me to take the memory stick out of the reader, stick it in the camera, and wait for the camera to turn on and be ready to snap a picture.
Hopefully word will go out in the h’bird community, and I’ll be able to snap a decent picture or two in the future.]]>
* * * People, who broke the internet? I spent the morning on the verge of a stroke because I couldn’t connect to my email and couldn’t connect to Stamps.com, and if I can’t connect to Stamps.com I can’t print out postage, and by 10:30, with my foot bugging the shit out of me (it’s more swollen than yesterday, goddamnit) and my FUCKING EMAIL CLIENTS BEEPING AT ME BECAUSE THEY COULDN’T CONNECT I was ready to put my fist through the monitor, and so I got up and walked away from the computer and vacuumed and mopped the dowstairs floors. And my foot hurts. I’d blame my crankiness on yesterday’s tetanus shot, but I usually respond poorly to frustration, and so I cannot. In retrospect I should have hopped on the stationary bike and worked off my frustrations. Although, that never really works, because I just pedal and think about everything that’s pissing me off, and it makes me madder. And my upper arm hurts where I got jabbed with that damn shot. I’m a mess. But at least the damn floors got mopped for the first time in a month.
The squirrel, under the platform feeder (good pickin’s under there, I guess).
Coming out the other side.
Two seconds before Miz Poo exploded out the cat door after him. He’s not nearly as scrawny as he was before he started dining at the And3rson buffet on a regular basis.
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these books, these books, these fucking books. And these books sat happily in the library, with the occasional visit from the occasional cat to keep them company, and then Fred had to go ruin it.
He emailed some people who had volunteered to try out his ordering system, and suggested they give it a try. They did so, and I packaged a bunch of books to mail out.
On a side note, why did he have to start selling the book on the WEEKEND, when the post office isn’t open? Whywhywhy?
And then he emailed the rest of the people who had volunteered to test out the ordering system, and he let them go ahead and make their orders, and all went smoothly, and I packaged many more books to go out, and then we ran down to the post office and dropped them in the box, because we use Stamps.com for our postage, and thus everything except the foreign orders had postage affixed already.
But was this enough for Fred? Why, no. No it wasn’t. He had to go and send out an email to his entire book list, and orders began to flow. I was up until midnight printing out invoices (and there will be a plea for help in a minute, believe you me) and stuffing envelopes and making notes for Fred. And when I got up this morning? Another slew of orders screaming my name.
Quickbooks is PISSING ME OFF, because for some reason you can’t cut and paste an entire name and address from an email – you can only paste one line at a time, and thus it is easier to print out the email and type the name and address in by hand, which is PISSING ME OFF. Why? WHY? Quickbooks users, is there a way to override this FUCKED UP function? Please say yes, and tell me how in the comments, pleasepleaseplease.
And also, I decided by order #10 that I loathe the fucking shit out of Pegasus because it’s difficult and a pain in the ass, and so I downloaded a second version of Eudora to use for company email, and I managed to NOT fuck it up this time, god knows how, and all is going well. Except – and perhaps someone out there can help me with this – is there a way to respond to an email and not have the text of the email you’re responding to copy over to the new email? Because I’m using the signatures function to say “Hi, hey! Your book will ship soon, really!” (only not in so many words), and Eudora puts the signatures down at the bottom of the email, and I don’t want that, so help? Does any of this make sense? I have no idea.
I’m averaging 6 minutes per order processing time, and I’m trying to figure out how to lessen that time, because those 6 minutes really add the fuck up.
I am the Queen of the packing tape, oh yes I am.
12:30, and I haven’t had a shower yet. I believe I’ll go do that right now.
(By the way, the horrified disgust with a soupcon of panic came about when we went to feed the ducks at the pond by UAH on Sunday. We were practically snatched from the Jeep and carried around on the backs of all the freakin’ Canada Geese who were there. There was shit practically two inches deep wherever we walked, and I was wearing sandals. I expected to get my ass nipped by a goose or two, but luckily they decided I was too scary. Thank god.)
* * * So, for the last few years – it’ll be 4 in October! – I’ve referred to my daughter as the spud. I’m not sure why I gave her a pseudonym to begin with, just the idea of creepy people out there knowing her name, I guess, and it’s pretty much stuck. Except that Fred wrote this book, see, and he had the nerve to use her actual name instead of referring to her as “The Spud”, and so I guess it’s time to out her. Some of you already know her name, but most of you do not. So here we go. Here’s her first name. Danielle. Yes, her first name is Danielle, but her last name isn’t And3rson, so good luck, you stalkers. Don’t be surprised if I keep referring to her as “The Spud”, though. That might be a difficult habit to break. So, Danielle. Danielle, Danielle, Danielle. It feels odd to type her name in this box without freaking out and saying “Oops, wrong name!”, although I haven’t done that in a long time. When she was very little, we called her Dani. When she was in first grade, she decided that that was a boy’s name, and I’d damn well better stop calling her Dani and start calling her Danielle. Which I did, because I am nothing if not an obedient mother. Her father still calls her Dani – or rather “Daaaaaani” – and in the past few years she’s rediscovered a fondness for the nickname. It’s too late for me, though. I’ve called her by her full name for too long, and I don’t think I can revert to Dani, so I’ll be one of those parents who always call their kids by their full name. Fred says that when I call her for dinner, I yell “DanYELL!” Heh. So now you know… the rest of the story!
My brother Randy’s dog, Cola. She’s a sweetie.
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* * * I had forgotten what a pain in the ass running a business can be, with trying to figure out how much sales tax to collect, and where to send it, and all that crap. I tried to convince Fred that we should just refuse to sell the book to anyone in the state of Alabama, but he didn’t seem to think that was a good idea. (And I’m kidding, anyway. Alright? Close the email clients, you rabid Fred fans who reside in Alabama.)
Damn I love to take pictures of the clouds from the plane. Isn’t the sky the coolest shade of blue?
Benji, demonstrating the meaning of the words “baleful look.”
I’m fairly certain that this damn seagull is the one who ran up and grabbed part of Brian’s sandwich out of his hand at the beach. Bastard.]]>
entry up in the diet journal that y’all may want to check out – there are pictures and the story of the Hike from Hell.
here.
She ran out after the squirrel (we both noticed that she wasn’t running at him as fast as usual), and I went upstairs to shower. When I was out of the shower and ready to go, I looked out the window and saw that she was still sitting and looking up into the tree where the squirrel had run. I brought the carrier box downstairs, opened it and set it by the back door, and then walked out onto the patio.
When I called her name, Miz Poo, came running toward me, chirruping happily. I picked her up and she settled on my shoulder, happily purring, chirping, and rubbing her head against my hair. We stayed like that for a few minutes, and then I stepped back inside. Miz Poo continued to purr until she was almost in the box, and then she let out a sad whimper.
I am so going to hell.
I dropped her off at the vet, gave them the tube of what the vet tech at the other office had put in her eyes (and the lady at the front desk said “Well, this is hydrocortisone based. If she’s got corneal abrasions, this will just irritate her eyes, and she’ll need a different medicine.”), and came home. About an hour later, Fred surprised me with a call telling me to go pick her up, that they were done with her. She did, in fact, have corneal abrasions on both eyes, and they vet showed them to me under the black light.
I swear that cat is going to be blind before she’s 10.
Since we got home, she has been fairly clingy and talkative, wanting to be picked up and loved and wanting to never be put down.
Which made it difficult to haul 88 boxes of books (38 in each box!) into the library without running her over. We managed, though – because how much would it suck if I just spent $150 to fix her this morning, and then she died in a freakish book avalanche?
I bought some stuff at Bath and Body Works, because there’s a store everywhere you turn. I’m limiting myself to sample sizes, because if I buy a full-sized bottle, I get tired of the scent before I’m halfway through it. Except for the bottle of honey-almond shower gel, which was 50% off, so I couldn’t resist. A girl can only be so strong, y’know.
At the Big Dogs store in Freeport, I discovered this insulated mug. You can’t really tell from the picture, but it’s HUGE – it holds 44 oz, so I don’t have to fill it up as often. I had to go out and buy tall straws, though, because the regular ones were getting lost in it.
There’s a Hallmark store in Brunswick (Cook’s Corner to be exact) that is just the best Hallmark store I’ve ever been in. They have the coolest stuff, and I actually dragged the kids back to the store the day after we’d already been all over it because I decided I’d wanted these chilis. They crack me up, with their goofy expressions. There are vegetables other than the chilis, but the chilis really spoke to me.
When I was in Filene’s with my mother, I happened upon a display of a collection of different breeds of The Dog: Artist Collection. (There’s a collector’s page here) I got one of the big ones for Mireya for her birthday, and grabbed this small one for me. It cracks me up with it’s huge head and tiny little body!
A magnet from the cool Hallmark store. I don’t know why the magnet pictures insisted on coming out so crappy.
“Life is too important to be taken seriously”, in case you can’t read that. I think that should be my tagline, actually. “Bitchypoo. Because life is too important to be taken seriously.” Has a ring to it, no?
I love this one, ’cause it’s SO true in our house!
A Maine hat. I know I bought one last year, but it doesn’t fit that well, and this one was on sale for $5. Whee!
Love this cute little planter! Another buy from the cool Hallmark store. Now I just need to find a plant to put in it. And since all of my plants are too big, I either need to root some cuttings, or buy another plant.
This sticker cracks me up. It was designed and distributed by Jeff Pert of Entertain Ya Mania. I love his stuff, and in fact own many stickers and postcards of his. On my bulletin board over my desk, I have this sticker and this one, and I know I have more somewhere.
I got this t-shirt from Cool as a Moose in Freeport, and it’s an EYM design as well. Plus, yellow. How could you go wrong? There’s also a Dances with Woofs design (I bought the magnet for my parents’ fridge).
That’s right, another EYM design. I should just empty out my bank account, box it up, and send it directly to them, don’t you think?
Love the crazy postcards! And yes – Jeff Pert/ EYM again.
I bought this one at Cool as a Moose. For some reason the picture and the words together make me laugh.
Hee!
I love this one so much I made it the picture on my front page, and I’m thinking I may leave it that way for a while.
Meh, I say.
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my-god-how-can-these-people-be-so-stupid-and-annoying eyeroll, so either it runs in the family or all teenagers do it. I suspect it’s the latter.
Naturally, I also saw my parents, my sister, my grandmother (who is now living in an assisted living home and adjusting well. To me she’s more lucid than she was last summer. My mother informs me that that comes and goes, though), my best friend Liz, my other brother Darrell Randy, and my uncle, not to mention the adorable yapping squirrel-hunting Benji. We had an especially good time Saturday afternoon, when we had a family barbecue. When my parents left to take my grandmother back to The Home, the rest of us sat around and got started on all the “Oh, Jesus Christ!” stories (for the uninformed, that’s what my mother says when exasperated), and laughed our asses off. It was a definite great end to the visit.
* I discovered that the ex told the spud that I am stupid. After I stopped laughing, I told Debbie “That would be like me calling Twiggy fat!” Later, I asked the spud what the conversation leading up to the statement consisted of, but she either couldn’t remember or wouldn’t say. The ex’s fiancee stepped up and said “That’s her MOTHER you’re talking about!” and smacked him, so I have to say that I wholeheartedly approve of her, and she’s clearly too good for him.
* I burned the top of my forehead, the tops of my knees, and the tops of my feet. This after faithfully slathering a ton of sunblock all over my body every hour on the hour the day we went to the beach. The sunburn on my forehead is now peeling all over the place (the burn went up into my hair), and now I look like I have a seriously bad case of dandruff. However, I have a lovely 6-inch tan in odd shapes on both of my knees.
* I had my first alcohol in probably three or four years in the form of a Strawberry Daiquiri at Applebee’s (I went shopping and out to lunch with Liz Saturday afternoon). By the time I was done with it, I was seriously buzzed. I’m a lightweight, what can I say?
* Fred went for a walk and found a cat head one day, and was accosted by a stranger another. After writing an entry about the latter, he was inundated (lookit me, ma! Using the big words!) with emails calling him a dumbass and a sucker, and threatening to tell on him to me.
Now, just because I’m in Maine doesn’t mean I don’t still talk to Fred 14 times a day. There’s this new invention called a telephone, y’see… And I knew what had happened hours and hours before any of Fred’s readers, because (this may be shocking…) we TALK to each other. We COMMUNICATE about odd and weird events in our lives. Of course he’s going to tell me first, because he’s my HUSBAND, an adult, not some naughty little boy who does stupid things and then tries to hide them from me. How could someone tell on him to me when I already know what’s what?
And also, here’s the thing. Sometimes we give money to people who ask (shut your mail client, smartass) and sometimes we don’t. If we have the money and are willing to give it, we do so. The $20 that Fred gave that man Thursday morning took nothing away from us, because we can easily afford it. If he comes back and asks for another $20, we won’t give it to him, and it’s really that simple. If we have money and can help someone in need, it’s not up to us to quiz them to be sure they truly need the money. What happens with that money once it leaves our hands is nothing we can control. And in the end, it’s our money, and we get to decide what we do with it, y’know?
And lastly, if in the future you send an email calling Fred names and treating him like a recalcitrant child, don’t be surprised when he responds in kind.