Author: Robyn

chicken vindaloo and some Shield-watching. Hopefully they’ll appreciate the show as much as we do. Speaking of food (see: chicken vindaloo, above), Fred’s stepfather made a big batch of seafood gumbo over the weekend, and they offered some to us. We went to their house yesterday to visit with them, play with their new cat (who looks so much like the old one it’s scary), and pick up a bowl o’ gumbo, which we had for dinner last night. My GOD was it good, and I’m sitting here craving it. I’m going to make turkey stew later this week, and send some over to them in the same bowl. It won’t be as good as the gumbo they gave us, but I don’t think anything could be.

* * * From time to time I go through my “My Documents” folder, reading stuff I’ve written and getting rid of stuff I’ve saved for no apparent reason, like old addresses and the like. On my most recent foray through the folder, I found something that amused the hell out of me, but I have no recollection of having written. I mean, I vaguely remember the story idea, but I don’t recall actually writing down this one-page beginning. Since the entries have been boring as hell lately, I typed it up for y’all, and you can see it here. I wish I’d kept going with the story when I did write it, though. I’d like to have seen where it went – like I said, I only vaguely remember the idea. * * * Did you hear that Tubby was a hero over the weekend? Who’d’ve thunk it? Fancypants always acts like he’s the big badass, but when it came to defending house and home, he was hiding upstairs. I’m sure Tubby was just worried that the other cat would eat some of his food. For the record, the quilt Tubby’s sleeping on is the one someone (I have my suspicions) peed on last week, and which I washed twice (with bleach). I took it out of the dryer, folded it, and put it on top of that container (which holds Christmas wrapping paper), and in less than 5 minutes Fancypants had sniffed it out and was sound asleep on top of it. Damn cats. * * * The spud informed us over the weekend that she doesn’t believe people have really gone up into space. She has no solid reasoning – or even unsolid reasoning, no reasoning whatsoever – but has decided it’s all a big lie. Yep. Apparently I’m raising a freakish conspiracy theorist. Hopefully she’ll learn to have some reasons behind her beliefs in the future, rather than “I just don’t believe it.” Because really, you can’t argue with that.]]>

Friday Five. 1. As a child, who was your favorite superhero/ heroine? Why? I think Wonder Woman. As for why – well, cool see-through plane. Need I say any more? 2. What was one thing you always wanted as a child but never got? Nothing comes to mind, although I seem to recall wanting more animals than we had – we only had one dog and one cat. 3. What’s the furthest from home you’ve been? California, two or three times, to visit the ex’s family. 4. What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to learn but haven’t yet? Sign language. Maybe one of these days I’ll take a class. 5. What are your plans for the weekend? Oh, I have a couple of movies – Unfaithful and The Banger Sisters – to watch. Aside from that, the spud needs some new jeans and bras. I’ll either haul her to Wal-Mart tonight or tomorrow. Other than that, nothing specific. We might have Fred’s parents over to eat Chicken Tandoori and watch a couple of episodes of The Shield. Oh, yes. There will definitely be The Shield in my weekend!

* * * My eye is bothering me, damnit. I hope like hell that I’m not developing yet ANOTHER fucking case of conjunctivitis, but all signs are pointing that way. It’s my own damn fault for not continuing with the medicine once my eye wasn’t red anymore, but still. Why, god, whyyyyyyy? I have to remember to be online at 9 tomorrow morning to order Red Sox tickets for my friend Liz, who won’t be home. She gave me all her credit card information (whee! shopping spree!), and I’m deathly afraid I’ll forget, so I keep reminding myself, and then I get annoyed at myself, and it’s a whole vicious circle. My whole life is a vicious circle, really. * * * Big, bad thanks to the wonderful Melissa, who not only sent me Ella Minnow Pea off my wish list for my birthday, but also saw I Capture the Castle on my wish list and offered me her extra copy. Melissa rocks. But you knew that.]]>

Do all of [your cats] have distinctive purrs, or meows? They definitely have distinctive meows – you can always tell who’s meowing! Spot has a squeaky, jagged meow. When he was a kitten, he showed up on Fred’s patio (this is before I moved to Alabama) and howled all night long. We suspect that this scarred his vocal chords, and as a result, he can’t produce a long meow the way most of the other cats can. He rarely meows, but usually when he does, it means he’s about to put the smack down on one of the other cats. Spanky has a high-pitched meow, and he’s really the only one who howls for long periods of time. You can never tell why he’s howling – I suspect he just likes to hear himself “talk” – but he’ll eventually shut up if you talk back to him. Tubby has a short, husky, bitchy meow that I always spell as “Meh. MEH! Meh.” And that’s pretty much how it sounds. He never just gives one “Meh”, but they come in sets of three or more, some of them more emphasized than others. Usually when he meows, it’s because he wants something, and if you tell him to hush, he can turn the “Meh” into a “Meeeeeeeeeeeh”, with it sounding more demanding and husky as the sound draws out. Fancypants has the highest-pitched meow of the bunch, and there’s no mistaking who’s meowing when you hear it. When he meows, he usually flounces back and forth, rubbing on anything in the area. In the evening when we’re watching TV, if Fancypants is flopped on the floor, Fred will lisp “Who’s a Fancypants?” at him, and Fancypants will respond with a soundless meow. It’s pretty damn funny. Miz Poo has a meow similar to Spanky’s, and they’re the only two I ever mix up. She doesn’t howl like he does unless she wants to be picked up, and then she adds a little trill to the end. She’ll also howl with an almost keening noise if she’s carrying a toy from one part of the house to the other. The only two cats with really distinctive purrs are Spot, who purrs so loud you can hear him from a room away, and Spanky, who – when he’s really happy – has a purr that sounds exactly like a cricket. Reader Elizabeth asks: In your mind, go back in time to when you met Fred online and say everything was the same except for one thing: he hated, despised, and loathed cats, and was even ALLERGIC to them. Would you still be where you are today? You know, I have no idea. I’m trying to think of more to add, but I can’t think of anything. I have no idea on earth how things would have worked out – and I’m VERY glad that he loves cats as much, if not more, than I do! I will say that when I moved down here, we each only had a single cat apiece. He’s really indulged my kitty jones, and I’m still thrilled that he caved in on the Miz Poo issue (go back to mid-November of 1999 to read about it). How’s that for a non-answer? Reader Shannon asks: I’d love to know all [your cats’] names/sexes/& nicknames! Going oldest to youngest, we have: Spot: Male. We usually call him “Buhhhhddy”, because he’s such a buddy. Spanky: Male. We call him “Skitty-boo”, because although he’s the happiest of the cats, he’s also the most skittish. Stimpy: Male. We always call him “Mr. Fancypants”, or just plain “Fancypants”, ’cause he’s such a fancy thang. We never ever call him by his “given” name, and if I’m making an appointment for him, I have to stop and think what his given name IS. Snoopy: Male. We always call him “Tubby”, for obvious reasons. I always forget his “real” name, too. Scrappy: Female, the only girl of the bunch. We call her “Miz Poo”, and I always have to stop and wonder who the vet is talking about when he uses her name! Reader Anne asks: Why is Tubby so tubby when your other cats seem to be lean? Well, ok, why are Tubby and Miz Poo fat and the other three not? Do some cats just eat like pigs and there’s not much you can do about it? Excuuuuuuuse me? Are you implying that my Poo is portly? Well, maybe she is, just a little. But if she’s tubby, then Tubby is in a whole separate class, as we see below. Right now, Tubby weighs more than 20 pounds, and Miz Poo weighs just over 10 pounds, so she’s literally half the size of him. But I digress. I think that Tubby has gotten so big because when he was a baby, he lived on the streets until the shelter brought him in, and as a result, in his subconscious he remembers not being able to eat, and is making up for that as an adult. Or he could just be a pig for no particular reason – he won’t tell me. As for Miz Poo, I have no idea. She was hand-fed as a baby, and certainly never went hungry, so your guess is as good as mine. We do leave dry food out all the time for the cats, so they can eat whenever they want, and surely having food available to them at all times has helped contribute to their tubby portliness. For a few days a couple of years ago, we decided to change the way we fed them, and went to feeding them twice a day, leaving the food out for 15 minutes, and then putting the food away. This didn’t work because Fred was the one feeding them when he got up in the morning, and the cats were waking him up earlier and earlier. We didn’t do that for long before we went back to the old way of leaving food available all the time. Interestingly, it was Spot – the skinniest cat we have – who was most worried about the fact that there was no food where it had always been. Every time we went near the kitchen, he’d try to lead us to the food bowl so we’d know there was no food. And: And about Miz Poo’s tongue shaving: Does that mean she can’t taste any more and will always have a slick tongue? How is poor Miz Poo and her sneer and her slick tongue? Actually, no. Her taste buds grew back pretty quickly, and she’s able to taste as well as she ever could. Thank god, because she was having one hell of a time grooming herself. She’ll always have a sneer, even if the lip heals, because of the plug the vet removed and sent off for testing. Overall, she’s doing fine. We started her on essential fatty acids last Sunday, and already there’s a remarkable improvement in her dry skin. She’s stopped grooming constantly, and her dandruff has almost completely gone away. She’s not the most beautiful cat in the world to everyone, but she is to me. Reader Lena asks: Where, when and how, did you get Tubby? How old was he when he got fat? We got Tubby at a store that the people who run the no-kill shelter were running, in June of 1997. Back then, all they had was a store, and not the entire house they have now. (We got Miz Poo at the same place) As for how old he was when he got fat – well, it’s really been a lifelong process. He’s always been a voracious eater and was never really skinny. Got a burning question? Ask!]]>

* * * When Fred got home from work yesterday, he shoved a teaspoon full of vitamins (with essential fatty acids!) down Miz Poo’s throat, and then followed it up with an Elavil chaser. She spent most of the evening hiding under the couch, poor baby. Speaking of cats, one of the little bastards peed on our new chair in the computer room. I didn’t realize it until the spud asked me what that stain on the comforter that sits on the chair was (so actually, whichever little bastard it was peed on the comforter, and it soaked through to the chair), and I realized it was CAT PEE, which is the worst-smelling stuff on earth. Except for Fred’s farts. I bought Nature’s Miracle, and some stuff to repel the cats, and if they ever pee there again, I’ll strangle all of them, I really will. Whenever something like this happens, I always try to blame Tubby, and Fred always tries to blame Miz Poo. Heh. Of course, it could be worse. As I was leaving the pet store yesterday after buying the bottle of Nature’s Miracle, one of the employees told me of how she’d had to hold her cat down and give it some medicine, and the cat responded by going on a shitting rampage through the house. Man. Better her than me!

* * * I can’t get my friggin’ mail from Hiwaay.net, and it’s pissing me off. I don’t know why I care so much – probably 60% of my mail is spam – but it’s driving me nuts! I’m thinking about just creating new email accounts on bitchypoo.com and robynanderson.com and trashing the hiwaay.net account. We shall see. * * * We’re trying to decide where we’re going to go for Spring vacation, which is at the end of March. Right now we’re considering DC, Las Vegas, or the Bahamas. Could we get any further apart than those three? Time’s up. That was 7 minutes.]]>

* * * Miz Poo is in for another trip to the vet, poor thing. I noticed Friday that she was constantly grooming herself, and her lip – which had gone down some with the last steroid shot – has puffed up again. I hoped the continual grooming was a one-day thing, but by noon on Saturday it appears that she’s been doing nothing these days but groom and sleep. I think that part of the problem is that last week was so cold that we had the space heater and gas fire going almost constantly, and if she could have actually sat IN the fire, she would.

She spent most of the week sitting under my chair, two inches from the space heater, and surely that’s got to dry a kitty’s skin out. I know that the skin on my legs is pretty dry, so it stands to reason that her skin is as well. Fred went to the pet store yesterday to buy some vitamins with essential fatty acids, and let me tell you – it is NOT fun trying to squirt that stuff down Miz Poo’s throat. Who’d have thought she could fight so hard? Anyway, we’ve got an appointment with the vet later today, me and Miz Poo, so I’ll let y’all know how it goes. * * * And now it’s later! The vet gave Miz Poo a steroid shot (but not before subjecting her to the indignity of having her temperature taken) and prescribed Elavil for her. Elavil is an anti-depressant, and he’s hoping that being on it for a couple of months will break her of the constant-grooming thing. It’s also going to mellow her out, so maybe she won’t go out of her way to smack the other cats upside the head any time they have the nerve to pass by her. * * * This past weekend was absolutely Shield-eriffic. Although I’d thought we’d missed half of the first season, it turned out that we’d only missed the last two shows. We watched those two shows, and then Saturday night went back to the beginning and watched the first four shows. Sunday, I spent a great deal of time looking for information on Jay Karnes, who plays Dutch on the show. Shockingly, the man has almost no online presence whatsoever. I’m nominating me to start up a fansite for him, I think, since most everyone else on the show has a fan page or two. No online presence in the day and age where every Joe Dork has a page? Inconceivable! * * * We watched most of the SuperBowl last night, although I’ll admit that I still don’t know who played. Who the hell watches the SuperBowl for the game? We watch for the commercials! And the Pepsi Twist commercial made it well worth the effort. I thought I was going to pass out, I was laughing so hard. If you haven’t seen it, you can go to the Pepsi page and check it out. I love me some Ozzy.]]>

Friday Five. 1. What is one thing you don’t like about your body? My stomach. 2. What are two things you love about your body? My eyes and my calves. 3. What are three things you want to change about your home? 1. I hate that we only have one heating/ air conditioning unit, and the control is by the stairs, so that when it’s freezing downstairs in the winter, it’s sweltering upstairs, and when it’s hot as hell downstairs in the summer, it’s freezing upstairs. 2. I wish we had a screened-in sunporch in the back. 3. I wish there was a door between the computer room and the dining room, so that the cold air coming in through the cat door in the dining room couldn’t make its way into the computer room. 4. What are four books you want to read this year? Oh, let me think. I want to read an F. Paul Wilson “Repairman Jack” book, since according to Fred they kick ass. I want to re-read To Kill a Mockingbird, Good in Bed, and On Writing. 5.What are five promises you have kept to yourself? That I would never harass my child about her weight or what she eats. That I would divorce my first husband. That I would get my ass back on the eat-right-and-exercise wagon. That I would start deleting emails that annoy me instead of responding to them (for the most part I’ve kept this promise).

* * * Speaking of email, possibly the quickest way to get your email to me flung into the trash folder is to begin it with “To whom it ever it may concern, I didn’t really get your name” and then go on to say “was it alot of money you put out on this traning?and did it work?” See, if you can’t be bothered to look at the email address that your email is going to, and note that it’s going to ROBYN at hiwaay dot net, then I should help you out why, exactly? And further, if you can’t be less vague about “this training”, then why would I go out of my way to figure out what the fuck you’re asking? And even more, if you can’t be bothered to look through the site to SEE if “did it work?”, then why the fuck is the site there in the first place? Anyone? Jesus. * * * I’m certain that one of these days when I slam my poor pinky toe into something, it’s going to go bouncing across the room, where one of the cats – most likely Tubby – will snatch it up and eat it, after playing with it for a little while. I swear, I have no control over my body sometimes. These days, I chew gum a lot, and I’ll be minding my own business, chomping away, and ALL OF A FRIGGIN’ SUDDEN my lip will get in the way, and I’ll bite down on it hard enough to make it bleed, and then go reeling around the room, swearing loudly. Same with my feet. I’ll be walking along, and suddenly my foot FLIES out and slams into the nearest object, making my pinky toe throb and ache for the rest of the day. This morning, I was stepping into the shower, as I do 7, maybe 8, days a week. My pinky toe went slamming into the shower door, and I screamed and swore and then thanked god that Fred wasn’t around, because he would have been laughing his ass off, the bastard. I’m sorry, pinky toe. I really am. * * * Reader Louise asks: What ever happened to your sister’s fiance? I assume he’s still living and thriving. He and my sister broke up some time ago. I won’t go into details in honor of her privacy, but I will say that I think she’s way better off without him. Good riddance! (I can rest easy saying that, knowing that he doesn’t read this journal, because he told my sister that he doesn’t. He has no interest in cat pictures, he said. He’s far too busy spending his time harassing someone who used to love him and wishes he’d go the hell away. Loser.) Have a burning question you’d like answered? Ask!]]>

Yep. READY FOR SPRING!

* * * One of the truest truths in life is that if you’ve spent a week putting off getting gas because you “don’t feel like stopping” because “it’s 48 degrees! Brrr!”, the morning that you wake up and it’s BELOW ZERO out is the day you have no choice but to get gas, or you won’t make it to your destination and home again. And when you stop to get gas, the wind will be just right so that the instant you step out of your car, you’ll get a face full of cold, cold snow. Serves you right. * * * Ah, me. Let’s see what the FAQ fairy has in store, shall we? From reader Cecpet: Do you get bored not working and staying at home? I have to say that honestly, I very, very rarely get bored. I spend less time in front of my computer recently than I used to, but there’s always something to do – housework, errands, reading, messing with the cats. On the rare occasion that I get bored, it doesn’t usually last for long, because like I said – there’s always something to do. Housework just unfortunately comes last on that list. 🙂 When I was working, I got bored far more often than I ever do at home. Of course, I couldn’t strip down and climb into bed at the office if I was feeling sleepy, either… From reader Lorraine: Do you like being a homemaker? Have you thought about pursuing a career other than shopping, reading, and ass-sitting? Like writing, perhaps? I like staying at home – I don’t know that I’d consider myself a homemaker. I think of a homemaker as someone who does more housework than I do. Hee! I would love to pursue a career, but I have NO idea what I want to be when I grow up, seriously. Nothing’s appealing to me, I can’t imagine what I’d want to pursue, but I’m open to suggestions. I have an idea for a novel bouncing around in my head – where it’s been bouncing for some time – but I’m having some problems getting it down on paper. I think it just needs to bounce around a bit more before it settles down and is ready to be written. From reader Krissy: Do you ever think you’ll go back to work? If circumstances required it, I would. I have no desire to go back to work right now, but I DO keep an eye on the help wanted ads, so you never know! From reader Denise: I’ve read where you refer to the fact that you used to work with Fred at his office. What did you do there and why did you stop working there? I was the office manager for the company Fred started with two other men in ’97. I did the books, the ordering, the making sure there was enough soda in the fridge, and for a while I went in every weekend and cleaned until they hired a cleaning company. I stopped working there for two reasons – one, because I’d finally paid off the huge credit card bills I’d brought with me when I moved to Alabama. Two, I had a bit of a – shall we say – constant personality clash with one of the other partners who felt I was there to run personal errands for him, which pissed Fred off, so Fred and I decided life would be far easier if I didn’t work there anymore. And we were right, it’s way better. From reader Connie: When you worked at Fred’s office, something happened there that was bad ( I think) you said when you were able to tell us you would, I think it was with an office girl or something, so what ever happened? I still can’t say, lest the person who did the bad thing stumble across this site and decide to sue me. I can tell you that this person is who they hired to do my old job as Office Manager. You can read the description of what the job entailed in the answer above, and imagine what the worst thing someone doing that job could do, and you’d probably be right. From reader Karen: Why don’t you hold a job? If you did, what would your dream job be? I don’t hold a job ’cause I don’t gotta. (And for the record, I’ve asked repeatedly, and Fred is fine with my not working. I don’t know what he’d do if I had a job where we couldn’t call and email back and forth all day!) I don’t know what my dream job would be – kitty wrangler? I’d like to say someone who sits and reads all day and writes reviews, but I’ve never been good at reviewing books. Maybe Twinkie taster? That sounds pervy, doesn’t it? It sounds like a job in the porn industry! Anyway, like I said above. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. When I was a kid, I said that my dream job was one where I could sit and take calls all day and not have to deal with people face-to-face. When I got a job like that, taking orders at LL Bean, I don’t know which went numb faster – my brain, or my ass. From reader Trevor: What does Fred do for work? I know he has his own company, but I don’t know what he does. He’s a software-writing geek. His company does contract work for a government agency. I could tell you more, but I’d have to kill you. Reader Louise asks: How come you never talk about that guy your hubby works with? It was hilarious hearing about him. Ah, yes. Longtime readers will remember Tex. I no longer write about Tex – and took those entries down – because Tex found Fred’s site, and called him to give him hell about something he’d said about Tex. Fred, worried that Tex would find my site, asked me to take all references to Tex out of my journal, so I did. Tex is a big cry-baby, and would have had all kinds of temper tantrums if he’d found those entries. I have those entries in a safe place, though, and should I ever get my ass in gear and start working on that novel that’s bouncing around in my head, there will be plenty of Tex in the story to entertain and disturb. Have a burning question you’d like answered? Ask!]]>

* * * Thanks this morning go to Athena, who sent me the first season of The Shield on DVD for my birthday! I cannot wait to start watching it, because we missed about half the season, and there are things they occasionally refer to that we don’t get. Every single time we watch the show, we’re blown away. Last night, I said “I think my second favorite character is -” “Teeth?” Fred guessed. We couldn’t remember his name during the first season, so started referring to him as “Teeth”. For obvious reasons. “No,” I said. “Dutch. He’s such a sweetheart. If I had a crime that needed to be solved, I’d want Dutch on the case.” Fred agreed. Thanks this morning (although now it’s actually afternoon. I bet you never guessed that I don’t sit down and write my entries all at once, huh?) to Jolene, who sent me Great Big Beautiful Doll for my birthday. That’s right, I had a book about Anna Nicole Smith on my wish list. After looking through the pictures in the book, I am anticipating a HUGE cheesefest, and I’m definitely looking forward to it. And last (though certainly not least), thanks go to reader Micki in SC, who sent me some stuff from the college where she works – post-its and magnets and bookmarks, oh my! She also sent three yellow balls, which are cute as hell, but which the cats claimed for themselves, so I can’t show you a picture of them. But I will reclaim them one of these days, yes I will, for they are MINE. Thanks, Micki! Speaking of gifts, these days I’m having a battle of wills with the Tubbyman, who is bound and determined to lay his ass on the afghan Nance knitted (knat?) for me. And is he interested in laying on the part where his white hair would blend in with the yellow? Of course not. No, he MUST lay on the blue part, so that you can see the pile of shedded (shad?) hair he leaves behind. Little bastard.

* * * No FAQ questions today. I frittered away the morning cleaning the (nasty as hell) kitchen floor and dusting and the like, and Dr. Phil is about to come on, so I’m going to put this entry up and call it good enough. But fret not. I’ll get to all the FAQ questions sooner or later, I promise!]]>

Moira sent me a Barbie Beetle for my birthday! I am stylin’ and cool, I am. The trunk opens with a key, and there’s a keychain and a little suitcase and everything. I’ll have to dig one of the Spud’s Barbies out of storage, dress her up, and push her around. I’d love to get Miz Poo in it, but her ass is just a TAD too big. I’ll have to settle for freaking her out by pushing it toward her. Moira rocks!

* * * Let’s get to the FAQ questions, shall we? Reader Joan asks: I find your journal interesting and enjoyable . . . and now, of course, the inevitable “but”, why do you find it necessary to use foul language so incredibly often? Yes, I know you’ve said if (to paraphrase) “you’re offended, no one is forcing you to read this…” sometimes, it appears as though you’re forcing yourself to talk/write this way. Do you talk like this around your daughter? Just curious. Thanks Oh, this question makes me so tired. I get it at least once a week, and usually I discard the question, but since it is asked so often, I might as well answer it instead of thinking “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out!” I use foul language for various reasons. When I’m mad, when I’m annoyed, when I want to make a point, when I’m having fun with it. Sometimes I don’t even notice the bad words, and if I did, I probably wouldn’t think twice about them. I guess I use foul language because I can, and if it bothers you, well, don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. Seriously, if the language bothers you (“you” in the general sense, not “you” in the directed at reader Joan sense), there’s no reason in the world to be reading my journal – there are thousands of them out there, and I’m certain that lots of them wouldn’t dream of swearing. As for forcing myself to write this way, no. I’ve never put a “fuck” or “goddamn” where I didn’t fully believe it belonged. The most recent fuck-filled entry – 34 uses of the various forms of “fuck!” – started out as a fairly sedate rant, but I got started with the fucks, and was enjoying myself so much that, well, you see where it led. Do I talk this way around the spud? I’ll quote from an email I sent to Jolene on Friday: Well, yeah, if I get all pissed off about something I might, but it’s never directed AT her. What’m I going to say, “Spud, eat your fucking cereal and pick up your fucking clothes, or I’ll toss them out the fucking window!” ? Swear around her? Yes. AT her? No. And when I say “Can you believe that fucking idiot fucking cut me off? Asshole!”, she thinks it’s funny as, well, fuck. And for the record, in real life I don’t generally swear around people I don’t know. In fact, the only people I swear around in real life these days are Fred, the Spud, Debbie, and Liz. So if you meet me in person and expect a “Mighty fucking fine to meet you, fuckface!”, you’ll likely be disappointed. I’ll probably be thinking it, though. (Back to FAQ page) * * * From Jolene: Are you ever going to print the cussing disclaimer on your page in 72 point font so that the FUCKING people who keep FUCKING asking you about your FUCKING language will finally FUCKING get it? I can’t believe you still have people fucking asking you about fucking that. Damn fuckers. I’ve considered it, but it would mess up my layout. Hee! * * * From reader Connie: We already know you’re intelligent and witty. Do you hold any degrees? ::blush:: You just say that ’cause you covet my cool Barbie Beetle. I don’t hold any degrees, though I do have about 60 credits from classes I took at New Hampshire College and the University of Southern Maine in the early and mid 1990s. I was planning to get at the very least an Associates degree at the local community college when I first moved down here, even got as far as applying, but every time I seriously consider going back to school, I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’ve always hated school with a passion, which is probably why once I graduated from high school I never went to school for more than two semesters at a time. I may reconsider in the future, but at the moment I have no school plans. (Back to FAQ page) Have a burning question you’d love to have answered? Let me know!]]>

* * * So, we watched The Golden Globes last night. Was it the Golden Globes? It wasn’t the Emmys, and it wasn’t the Oscars, so I think it was the Golden Globes. You know, the one with the categories like “Best Actress in a Comedy, Drama, or Action, Between the Ages of 16 and 44, Blondes Only.” Here’s the thing with award shows. Most of the time, there’s a celeb or two that you look at and shake your head, and say “Oh, that was an unfortunate choice”. Of course, that’s just your opinion, and sometimes it’s shared by many people, and sometimes everyone else thinks they looked great. And then, my friends. And then there are the celebs who come out, and you say “Holy crap. Someone dared them to wear that! That HAD to be a dare!” I present to you the star I said that about last night (and I’m sure you won’t be surprised at ALL):

Come on. SURELY someone dared her to wear that, don’t you think? And doesn’t she bear a striking resemblance to Susan Lucci? It’s Lara Flynn Boyle, in case you can’t tell. The wins Fred and I were most excited about? The ones for The Shield, of course. Every time we watch that show, we say “It’s SUCH a damn show!” And it is. * * * While we were watching the show, we started talking about Daniel Day Lewis. Fred doesn’t care for him, and in fact hasn’t seen any of his movies. “Not even the indian movie? What was it, Dances with Wolves?” “The Last of the Mohicans,” he corrected me. “No, I’ve never seen that.” I pondered for a moment. “What was the name of that movie he did, the first one I heard of him in? My Left Foot?” “No,” Fred announced with certainty. “That was My Two Left Feet.” I fell on the floor, I was laughing so hard. Sure that he was right, he went into the computer room to look on imdb.com, and came back, smiling. “It is My Left Foot,” he said with surprise. “I thought it was about some crippled guy in a wheelchair, and it was My Two Left Feet, because he couldn’t walk…” That just set me off into a fresh gale of laughter, and it was some time before I could get myself under control again. “It’s ABOUT a guy with cerebral palsy, who can only control his left foot,” I told him. “My Left Foot is a heart-warming drama. My Two Left Feet would be a comedy!” For the rest of the evening, every time I thought of My Two Left Feet, I laughed my ass off. Memories like that only come around so often, y’know. * * * This is what Fancypants does when Fred gets out the catnip. He swishes back and forth, then starts stretching alluringly. We took this really big Amazon box, cut a hole in it, and stuck a cat pillow in there. After a few weeks, the only one who really hangs out in there is Spanky, but he sure looks happy, doesn’t he? Spanky always looks like he has the hardest time waking up. Tubby, right before he started meowing bitchily at me. Miz Poo, guarding the top of the stairs. Spanky looks like he just melted off that pillow, doesn’t he? ]]>