Category: Crooked Acres

Yesterday morning, I spent almost two hours yanking up squash plants. They’re dying off due to those FRIGGIN’ squash bugs, and I took great pleasure in squishing every one of the fuckers I came across. I don’t know how many squash and zucchini plants I pulled up, but I filled the wagon up four times with squash plants that I then pulled over to the compost heap.

There are, I don’t know, five or six squash plants left. One of them is covered in baby summer squash, so I’m hoping we get at least one more harvest of yellow squash before we give up for the summer.

The weeds in the garden have gotten out of hand due to my lazy ass (and the fact that squash plants are scary in the morning because they are absolutely covered in bees). I did start yanking up the weeds in the squash patch, but it’s such an overwhelming job that I gave up pretty quickly.

I find that spending time working outside in the morning puts me in a better mood for the rest of the day. Go figure.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Scenes from around Crooked Acres.

Our blueberry bush. Ha. I ordered this from somewhere last summer, and at the end of last summer it was just a stick in the pot. This spring, it grew some, and I actually thought we were going to get a couple of blueberries, but it was not to be. Maybe we’ll plant it in the ground before Fall comes around. We’ll see!

I think these are our key limes. They might be the oranges, though, I’m just not sure. Whatever they are, they’re happy. I don’t honestly expect these trees to make it through the winter, but it would be cool if they did.

A month ago, this ground was bare. I yanked up every bit of wisteria. Now the wisteria’s come back. Given that it grows so easily and is so tenacious, I may yank it up again and toss it in the woods at the back of the back forty. I wouldn’t mind if that area (beyond the fence) was covered in wisteria.

Sungold cherry tomatoes.

What’s left of the row of tomatoes. I took this picture to show the feed bags on the ground around the tomato plants. They’re doing a fine job of keeping the weeds at bay.

Jalapenos! I told the jalapeno plants that they’d better step up production because I’ve gotta make more sweet pickled jalapenos. They didn’t seem all that impressed with my instructions.

Japanese eggplants.

Okra flower.

Look away! I AM DISEASED! Fucking blight.

Cherry tomatoes in the raised bed.

Lemon thyme.

We’ve got an obnoxious number of little chicks right now.

Pretty Gracie.

This frog lives under the hose reel by the pig yard. I touched him with the toe of my boot to make him jump, and he just looked at me like “I don’t even THINK so, lady.” Unimpressed with me, was Mr. Frog.

Gracie and the chickens.

I call this chicken “The pigeon” because she’s shaped like a pigeon, in my opinion. The only reason she hasn’t been processed is because Fred couldn’t catch her.

Sweet Gracie.

The only adult rooster we have left. Fred processed the rest of them.

George under the coop. It’s cool under there.

We call this baby “Screamy” because if he’s more than 6 inches from his mother, he screams for her. What a drama queen.

This hen and her chicks spend all day wandering around the property. Last night one of the chicks got into the back yard but couldn’t figure out how to get out. Sugarbutt was stalking him when I realized what was going on and went out to rescue him.

Dog wandered onto our property. When George and Gracie charged the fence, the dog rolled over onto his back. They just stood and stared at him and wagged their tails.

I got a package in the mail. Bolitar checked out the box, and then checked out the produce while he was at it. He is the nosiest cat in the house, and that’s saying something!

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Check out Martin’s crazy eyes.

He’s a bitey little brat.

But cute. SO cute.

I am a tiny bit too amused by this picture.

Snuggly Moxie.

::thlurrrp::

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Joe B. in the Joe Cave.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: Hint to the chickens: You can ensure yourselves a long life by being friendly.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: “Did you fart?” I said accusingly.
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: “KITTIES!” I scolded, and after a moment the thumping and running stopped.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

Scenes from around Crooked Acres.
(But first! Some leftover vacation pics.)

I got this t-shirt at the Pet Pantry in Freeport. I was going to provide a link to where y’all could buy your very own (they had a dog version, too), but I don’t see it on their site, and I’m not finding it online anywhere.

This is the house on the other side of my brother’s house. No one lives there, and I don’t think it’s actually been abandoned – I think someone shows up from time to time to make sure it’s still standing – but still, what a waste. It’s right on the water.

This is the view from my brother’s house, and to the side a bit. You have to walk, like, 30 seconds to get to this view.

Same place, pivoted to the left a bit.

I think of chipmunks as a forest creature, so it was surprising to see this guy on the rocks near the water.

And still from the same spot.

My parents got out the furbie for the baby. They gave one of these to the spud the year they were the big toy, and it freaked the spud out a little. I found it facing the wall in her closet, with the closet door shut. Heh.

Oh my god, the bread from When Pigs Fly (in Freeport) is SO GOOD. They also have a blueberry/ raspberry lemonade bread that is TO DIE FOR. I brought a loaf of the Carrot Cake bread and a half loaf of the blueberry/ raspberry lemonade home with me in my suitcase. It’s enough to make me take up artisan bread making. Almost.

Please note that I am halfway wet, here. I got into the pool a little past my waist, and decided it was too cold. The pool finally got up to about 90 the next day, and it was perfect.

Yesterday, Fred sent me an email telling me that it was supposed to get very hot, and asked if I’d run the hose over to the pigs’ wallow and fill it up. (It’s been really dry around here lately.) I went out there a little after 9:30, and pulled the hose over toward the wallow, but the fucking thing didn’t reach the entire way. I stomped and swore.

Then I solved the problem.

The pigs were appreciative.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go yank up some tomato plants that have THE MOTHERFUCKING BLIGHT, so I’m going to yammer on about the kittens and call it an entry.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

I adore Martin’s eye makeup. See how it goes around his eyes at the bottom and then goes out at the sides with a dramatic flair?

This boy, oh he is SO CUTE. He’s gotten past this whole “feral” nonsense at breathtaking speed. Now when you walk into the room, he doesn’t run and hide, he just sits there. And then when you lay down with him, he comes right over to play. He purrs, he rubs, he rolls onto his belly and play-fights with you.

I think he’s lonely, honestly. I think giving him some playmates will be a good thing. I hope they get along!

We’re still worried that he must have siblings out there somewhere. Last night, Fred put the trap out with a plate of tasty mackerel inside, hoping that we’d catch one of them, or possibly even his mother. (Martin’s mother, that is. Not Fred’s. Fred’s mother isn’t partial to mackerel.)

We caught Maxi. Probably tonight we’ll catch Newt or Coltrane. Hopefully our cats will figure out to stay away from the trap eventually. All we can do is keep setting it.

In the meantime, Martin is safe and well-fed. He’s using the litter box like a champ (he’s such a skillful litter box user that for the first two days I was beside myself with worry because he wasn’t using the litter box. Then I went digging with the scoop and found out that he’d been using it plenty. He just managed to make the litter box look completely untouched!), and he’s putting up with being kissed.

It’s hard to stop kissing his sweet face.

Someone asked if we might make Martin a permanent resident. In the past when I’ve categorically said “NO MORE CATS,” we’ve gotten another cat within seconds. So I’ll carefully say that at this point, we do not intend to keep him. We plan to raise him ’til he’s neutered and there’s room at the adoption center, then we’ll kiss him and wish him a happy life.

We’ll see how that goes.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Sofia, mid-knead.

Sleepy Hermano.

I love that all the kittens love this hammock on the cat tree.

Sending Sofia off to her new home seems to have changed the dynamic in the kitten room. Pancho’s as friendly as he ever was, but now Hermano’s started to come around. When I walk into the room, they both come right over and purr and rub against my ankles. Evita, on the other hand, runs and hides behind the chair. She’s a bit skittish – and thus the reason you haven’t seen many pictures of her. She’s starting to come around slowly, though. Last night she almost let me pet her.

I figure she’ll turn friendly about ten minutes before I have to cart them off to the adoption center tomorrow!

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Corbett, in his favorite spot on the couch. Which used to be Spanky’s favorite spot.

Bolitar makes himself at home on top of the pantry. We put that cat bed up there when we brought the pantry in from the garage, intending for Joe Bob to sleep in it (he always slept in the cat bed on top of the bookcase that used to be there), but he wasn’t interested. I guess it’s good that someone is getting use out of it!

Pretty Rhyme.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Someone asked for an update on Coltrane.

Coltrane is doing just fine, after his neuter surgery. He’s mostly forgiven us for that.

We don’t always see him every day (I’m still not completely sure whether he belongs to someone in the area, so he very well might be spending most of his time there), but he’s around most mornings and evenings. I think he spends a good part of his night in the back yard (which is fenced in and safe, though small possums can get under the fence, apparently), and usually Fred sees him in the mornings. He hangs out in the back yard ’til it starts to get warm, then he disappears for the better part of the day.

If I have my way, we’ll set up a place where he can stay safe and warm when it starts to get cold out. He could hang out on the front porch, but Maxi is pretty sure that that territory belongs to her and Newt, and she’s not inclined to share.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Previously
2009: Dehydrating zucchini slices.
2008: It’s a rough life, but someone’s gotta live it.
2007: No entry.
2006: Maine facts.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: “Okay, first of all she wasn’t married to Frank Gifford, that was Kathie Lee, and secondly FRANK GIFFORD ISN’T DEAD!”
2002: “Hallo, Clarice,” he said.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

Sights from around Crooked Acres.
(All pics taken last week, before I left for vacation)
(PS: Flickr is being a pain in the ass, so I won’t be linking these to larger images at Flickr, sorry.)

Those pups sure do love their rawhide.

“How come THEY always get the good stuff?”

Happy Gracie.

The dogs dug out a space under the tree to lay in, and the chickens have taken it over for their dust baths.

Happy George.

Happy peeg.

I love it when the chicks get to this age. They’re so gawky and goofy.

I love the casual “Just hopping off the ramp, here. Nothing to see. Move along.”

The Rock Star and the Featherhead.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Bolitar is an explorer. If there’s a place to be, he’s been there. It took him a little while to figure out how the big cats were getting on top of the kitchen cabinets, but once he figured it out, he was up there checking things out.

He doesn’t want to miss anything, y’know.

For the record, Jake and Elwood – who have been with us for close to a year – haven’t figured out how to (1) Jump up on the counter, (2) Hop from the counter to the top of the refrigerator and then (3) Jump from the top of the refrigerator to the top of the cabinets. They haven’t even figured out the FIRST part of that three-step process.

They must not be adventurers.

“What?”

Trying to figure out how to get past Sugarbutt, so he can do more exploring. (He finally tried just walking past Sugarbutt, who has been known to smack kittens who get up in his space. It worked!)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Previously
2009: Garden pics
2008: Boneheaded things I have recently done
2007: No entry.
2006: Just a quick picture to let y’all know what we did with our Saturday morning.
2005: I turned and gave her the Bug-Eyed Look of Annoyance*, to no avail.
2004: “Agh!” I yelled. “I hate you kitties! I hate you all!”
2003: Do motherfuckers retain water?
2002: “Your cheatin’ heeeeeart…”
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

New month, new banner! This was created by Christine, who’s done so many of my banners lately.

Thanks, Christine! You rock!

(And Sofia, I’m going to use the banner you made in August. I haven’t forgotten you and your adorable banner!)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Sights from around Crooked Acres.

One day’s haul. What I did with all this stuff:

Zucchini: shredded and sealed in Foodsaver bags (1 cup in each bag) and stored in the freezer. I’ll use shredded zucchini in various and sundry dishes through the winter – tossed in spaghetti sauce, hidden in casseroles, or sauteed with onion and garlic. You can blanch shredded zucchini before freezing it, but I don’t. I live dangerously that way.

Cucumbers made into bread and butter pickles, and refrigerator dill pickles.

Yellow squash cut into slices and sealed in Foodsaver bags, then stored in the freezer. I’ll sauté this with onion and garlic over the winter. You can blanch the squash before freezing it if that floats your boat, but I find that it makes the squash mushy.

Scalloped/ pattypan squash boiled until tender, drained, and then mashed. Drained it some more, then measured by 2 cups into Foodsaver bags, froze, and then used the Foodsaver to seal the bags. We’ll eat it heated up, sprinkled with salt and pepper and a handful of cheese.

(I don’t think scalloped squash is nearly as flavorful as yellow squash, and have requested that next year we only have a couple of scalloped squash plants and more yellow squash plants.)

Someone wanted to see this plate. I got two of these plates from my parents a couple of weeks ago, and I use one every morning to eat breakfast. It’s the perfect size! (I don’t know if you can tell from the picture, but the sides are kind of curved up a little, rather than being perfectly flat.)

Tomatoes have FINALLY started to ripen. I picked some of them even though they weren’t quite completely ripe, and they’re sitting in the pantry ripening. I used the ripest one of the bunch to have a tomato sandwich for lunch yesterday. SO good.

The garden. Behind the garden, on the right side, is our neighbor’s shed. In the middle is her house. (Beyond her house is the road.)

Good lord. Could I have gotten any farther from the garden? Can you SEE anything?? In any case, that huge, bushy row on the left is spaghetti squash. Next to that, the row of tomatoes. Next, the okra (which has just started coming in), then two rows of yellow squash, pattypan squash, and zucchini. Behind the squash are the pepper plants.

Yellow squash/ pattypan/ zucchini on the left. In the middle, three sad little eggplant plants. Behind that, the bare row where the beans were growing (Fred pulled them up and planted more beans), and then to the right, the corn. I didn’t get a shot of the last row – we’re growing a few cucumber plants, and a long row of rutabagas. I’ve never had rutabagas, but I like most root vegetables, so I’m assuming I’ll like those. Fingers crossed!

Baby pattypan squash. I think they’re adorable – they look like little spaceships, ready to take off.

Wee cucumber.

Spaghetti squash.

Little yellow squash.

Squash flowers, and one hard-working bee.

My raised beds, behind the back yard. The two tall beds each have three tomato plants in them. The short bed on the left (front) is my herb garden (thyme, basil, rosemary, and cilantro), and the other short bed (right) is my catnip bed. Supposedly. I planted catnip there, and nothing’s come up yet. SIGH.

Remember, Thursdays are “Sights from Around Crooked Acres” day for at least the rest of the summer. If there’s something you’re dying to see and I haven’t put up a picture of it, feel free to make a request. And those of you who’ve made requests, fear not. I’m keeping your requests in mind, I just haven’t gotten around to snapping the pictures.

Sarah asked for a diagram of the property, and I did post one a few years ago, but it’s oddly drawn and out of date (there was no big coop in the back forty!), so I’m going to draw another one. It might be a little while before I get a chance to post it, but I promise it’s coming!

And those of you who asked for an updated house & property tour, I’ll start that in mid-July once things settle down ’round these parts.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

We’re edging ever closer to tomorrow morning, when the Rescuees will be going off to the adoption center. They don’t seem terribly concerned, though.

I could have fit a few more cats on that desk, don’t you think?

“What?”

Such a serious little face.

Bolitar, at home wherever he happens to land.

Pretty Lieu, in the sun. (And yes, Elayne, we pronounce it “loo” – he’s named after Lieutenant Kenny Shea in Rescue Me, who the guys call “Lieu.” I had no idea that the Queen’s-English version is pronounced “leff”!)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Previously
2009: Mister Boogers.
2008: I find that I’m filled with hatred a lot these days.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: That Tom Cruise. What a fuckin’ loon, huh?
2004: Jesus christ. After almost five years of marriage, wouldn’t you think he’d KNOW that there are only two ways to answer that question?
2003: And then she vaulted her portly ass across me to say good morning to him, cracking three of my ribs in the process.
2002: We went to see Minority Report on Saturday, and though I really liked it, I did NOT enjoy sitting next to Billy Bob ShutTheFuckUp, who was compelled, when not clearing his throat loudly and phlegmily, to remark upon each and every plot point.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

Sights from around Crooked Acres.

Quintessential Crooked Acres.

Jeez. How long have these pictures been sitting on my hard drive? The pigs are way bigger than that now!

You guys have any idea what this is? It smells fantastic.

Happy pups.

Nothin’ angrier than a broody hen.

The eggs under one of the hens hatched, so we moved her to the maternity coop. I carried the chicks in a basket.

“Is this our new home?”
“I guess so, sonny.”

“I suppose this is okay. Plenty of room for me and all the kids…”

“Huh. Ceiling’s a little low. But it’s cozy. It’ll do. My neighbor’s kind of a bitch, though.”

“YOU BETTER KEEP THOSE KIDS QUIET OVER THERE. I KEEP MY KIDS QUIET, YOU DO THE SAME WITH YOURS, YOU HEAR ME?!”

Momma and babies, strolling around the yard.

We have mice around the big coop. Or I guess I should say, we HAD mice. Fred put out humane traps to catch them. Then when the mice were caught, he relocated them to the other side of the back forty. They don’t seem to be making their way back to the coop, oddly enough.

I know they’re awful disease-carrying vermin, but they certainly are cute.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

What, if anything, do you guys want to see pictures of? Other than kittens, of course. I’m likely going to make Thursdays “Sights from around Crooked Acres” day here at Bitchypoo, at least for the summer, so tell me what you want to see. I’m not guaranteeing I’ll take a picture of what you want to see, but I’ll certainly consider just about anything within reason.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Sheila drives me crazy and makes me laugh because she is SUCH a little wild thing. I eat at my desk, and she’s always all up in my face, “Whatcha got, huh, can I have some, well, I’ll just TAKE some, you don’t mind do you, I knew you wouldn’t NOM NOM NOM.” I spray the compressed air at her, and she goes flat and her ears go out to either side, but the instant I put the air down she’s all back up in my face again. Yesterday she peered around the can of compressed air at my plate of food, and I almost choked on my lunch because she was so cute. Such a little character, she is.

“Uhmmmm. Hanging off the carrier. Why? What are YOU doing?”

I can’t get over what a gorgeous little guy Lieu is.

Lieu, getting an eyeful of Sheila.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Bolitar (who we are calling “Buster” and sometimes “Buster Brown” constantly these days)

Corbett (AKA “Bad Boy”, even though he really isn’t)

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Newt on the left, Coltrane on the right.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Previously
2009: I don’t mind telling you that I’m ready to burn the goddamn house down.
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: For the record, that’s the sort of thing that gives me a fucking stroke.
2004: Oh, Rayford Steele, you manly stud.
2003: Now, do I look like the kind of gal who enjoys hiking?
2002: Some people have wild sex dreams. I dream that I’m chatting with my husband and kissing him goodbye for the day. Somebody stop me!
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

Vote for Suzanne!!!

Good Mood Gig from SAM-e

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

FOAM pics of the day.
Food: Teeny, tiny egg. Looks like we’ve got a new lay-er.
Outside: The cat bird house on the front porch. Well, it’s made to be a bird house, but I just use it as decoration.
Abstract: The sun through a sheet on the line.
Myself: Couldn’t get a picture I liked, so I used them ALL.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Turkeys, I think you will be shocked to find out, are amazingly stupid. If the Cookies’ heads are filled with marshmallow Fluff, then chickens’ heads are filled with lint, and turkeys’ heads are filled with nothing but pure air.

Chickens are stupid, but compared to the turkeys, they are the EINSTEINS of the poultry world.

Every morning – EVERY SINGLE FUCKING MORNING – the turkeys fly over the fence at the front of the back forty. And then?

Then they get lost. They wander around the side yard, making sad weeting sounds, like “We are lost. Where is home? Is this food? Let me try to eat it. Why is that cat looking at me. Are we home? Where’s home?”

See, the problem is that they are big and strong enough to fly OVER the fence, but they are too incredibly stupid to know how to fly BACK over the fence.

So every morning, when I judge that they’re getting too close to the driveway (I know it’s just a damn matter of time before the fucking idiots go wandering up the driveway and into the road, where they’ll become roadkill AND THEY WILL DESERVE IT), I go out and herd them back to the back forty.

They are always SUPER relieved to get back into their yard, and they practically kiss the ground and go around the coop to make sure nothing has changed in their absence, and they eat like they haven’t eaten in days.

And two hours later, having FORGOTTEN that they are easily lost when they fly over the fence, back over the fence they fly.

My day consists of scooping litter boxes, wiping kitten asses, and leading GODDAMN STUPID FUCKING TURKEYS back to their yard.

I know you envy me.

“Are THIS my home?”

“Are THIS my home?”

“Are THIS my home?”

“Are THIS my home?”

“Are THIS my home?”

“This are not my home! This are a Poltergeist tree!”

Here. Watch a five minute-long movie of me herding the goddamn turkeys back into their yard. I think I tell them 300 times how fucking stupid they are. Try to contain your excitement.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

I had my appointment for my annual gynecological exam on Tuesday morning. Why is it that when they tell me to get undressed and put on the cheap paper cape and lap cover, I always get undressed SUPER FAST and run over to the exam table (which starts out as a chair, then reclines when the gynecologist is going to do the exam), because I am EVER SO CERTAIN that she’s going to come in any second now?

And then I sit there on the table and I wait. And I wait. Then I wait some more. And I can always SEE my book across the room, sticking out of my purse, which is sitting on top of my pile of clothes (underwear neatly tucked under my jeans because OH MY GOD WHAT IF THE GYNECOLOGIST SEES MY PANTIES!). My book mocks me, and I consider running over to get it and then running back to the table, only I never do, because I am the ultimate optimist, and I am EVER SO CERTAIN that she’s JUUUUUUST about to walk in and OH MY GOD WHAT IF THE GYNECOLOGIST SEES MY BARE ASS!

So I sit and I sit and I hear her going into allllll the rooms around me, but never mine. I imagine hell must consist of an eternity of waiting for the gynecologist to come in and stick that GODDAMN BOTTLE BRUSH up where the sun don’t shine and then SCRAPE IT ALL AROUND. The anticipation is always the worst part.

At least I never get cold while I’m sitting there waiting, so there’s that.

Also, I learned (because I could hear her talking in the next exam room over) that cervical cancer is an extremely slow-growing cancer and it’s generally caught with pap smears before it goes from dysplasia to cancer, and never once in her 130 years of practice has my gynecologist had to treat a case of cervical cancer.

Because they always catch the dysplasia with the pap smears and then remove the dysplasia-ed area, I guess.

Or something. I don’t remember every word, but I think that was the gist of it.

Finally, she came in and we discussed that I am on birth control and yet still spotting like a spotting motherfucker and I said to her “Whatever it takes, I’m getting tired of this, it’s gotten to be a HUGE PAIN IN THE MOTHERFUCKING ASS (except it sounded more like “It’s gotten to be a real pain.”) and I know women who dealt with this shit for years and I AM UNWILLING.”

She looked at the ultrasound I had back in June, and said something about the fibroid that would make it difficult to do… some procedures that she might recommend. She did not clarify what those procedures might be, now that I think about it.

And I straightened up in my classy paper cape, and I made meaningful eye contact with her and I said “Oh, I don’t mind getting SUPER AGGRESSIVE, THAT IS PERFECTLY FINE WITH ME, THE AGGRESSIVENESS, AND IF I AM NOT MAKING MYSELF CLEAR LET US DO THE YANKY-YANK ON THAT MOTHERFUCKING UTERUS, SHALL WE?”

She made a note (“patient does not get along with uterus, wants to break up”, I assume) and said that before she could make a suggestion on what the next step would be, she’d want to get an updated ultrasound and I considered saying “Couldn’t you just rip that bitch out?”, but she’s the professional and all, and I have fairly decent insurance, so what the fuck? I suppose I can withstand another transvaginal ultrasound. I have no pride left.

WHATEVS.

So next week I go for an ultrasound, and I do not doubt that she’ll suggest something like an endometrial ablation, but if I’m lucky, she’ll be all “Oh, whatever. I’ve got nothing fun going on next week. LET’S RIP THAT BITCH OUT!”

A girl can dream.

PS: The physical exam showed no problems, which DUH, I knew it wouldn’t. I think we can all agree that my uterus needs to be set free to wander the world and cause spotting elsewhere, don’t you think?

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Bratty teenage attitude commencing in 4… 3… 2…

What you cannot tell from this picture is that Hydrox is a solid little thing. I swear to god, it’s like picking up a brick.

Also, he likes to be kissed.

Did I mention that Pink is now bottle-free? I stopped giving her her bottle three days ago, I think, because at feeding time we were taking her out to the living room to give her her bottle, and she was acting like “Oh, ::sigh::, alRIGHT, I’ll drink the bottle.”, so at the next feeding time we didn’t give her a bottle, and guess what?

She lived.

And she’s gaining weight. I never see her eating, but she’s gotta be eating something – she’s up to a pound and a half as of last night!

Sneaky little brat.

As of today, we’ve had the Cookies for one month. I can’t believe it’s only been a month – it seems like we’ve always had them!

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

I’d say Mike’s got the head tilt down pat.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Please understand that this is Spanky’s box, and if you touch it, he will MESS YOU UP. Sure, he looks like a sweet old guy, but he’s no lightweight.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Previously
2008: Can’t connect to the internet, new entry will have to wait ’til tomorrow.
2007: “IF HE RUINED THIS CAMERA, I AM GOING TO TAKE HIM OUT TO THE BACK FORTY AND SHOOT HIM IN THE BACK OF THE GODDAMN HEAD!” I bellowed at Fred, who made an I’m-listening-really-this-is-fascinating noise and kept clicking around the internet.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: Questions answered.
2003: Pictures.
2002: Just another example of my weirdness.
2001: God in heaven, has the WORLD GONE NUTS?
2000: “Oh, you’re giving us the COT free of charge? Well, let me do a friggin’ happy dance for that!”
1999: “Lookit them buildings, Fray-uhd! They’s so TALL! And look! A homeless person. Give him money, Fred! Give him money!”