Category: Fostering

deer shoes. Hmph.

* * * Let the comment-answering begin! are maxi and newt on the cats/cast page yet? Of course not. They’re not our cats! (Heh) To be honest, the only reason they’re not on the cat page is because I haven’t gotten around to it, like the thousands of other things I haven’t gotten around to because I suck. I’m sure they’ll end up there one of these days. By the way, the link to the cat page is over there in the left sidebar, the picture of Tubby that says “Our Cats” on it. * * * who would play you in the made for tv movie though??? and do you and fred *ever* sleep together? hate to get in your shiznick (not) but if you have separate bedrooms…is it an ode to the roaring ’40’s? except instead of separate beds… Angelina Jolie, of COURSE (hey, it’s MY fantasy world!). I don’t know – who do y’all see as the movie version of me? (BE NICE.) Fred and I will take the occasional nap together in the afternoons – that happens maybe once a month – and we’ve slept in the same bed on a couple of trips to Gatlinburg, but other than that, it’s him in his room and me in mine. It actually used to bother me, sleeping in separate rooms, but I’ve not only gotten accustomed to it, I actually prefer it. We both like our space (though I don’t guess I really use much space, since I can easily sleep with cats taking up half the bed) and sleep better apart than together. We still get plenty of laying-in-bed-talking time (which we do every evening before he toddles off to his room), and we like it. It doesn’t work for everyone, but I’ve had a LOT of people tell me they wish they could sleep in a separate room from their spouse or partner but the other wouldn’t go for it. Actually, someone sent me a link to an article about how more and more couples are sleeping in separate rooms – maybe Fred and I are trendsetters! * * * So do Spot and Spanky sleep with Fred? Does MaryAnn sleep by herself in the foster room or does she snuggle up with someone at night too? Spot and Spanky usually sleep… well, I don’t know where Spot sleeps, actually. Out in the front room somewhere, I think. Spanky will occasionally sleep on the cat bed that lays on the trunk next to my bed, and sometimes out in the hallway. They like their own space at night, I guess! Fred sleeps with his door shut so no kitties get to snuggle with him (he’s a light sleeper and has a hard time getting back to sleep when awakened). Until last night we were putting Maryanne up in the foster room at night, just because we didn’t want any of the racing around in the middle of the night. We decided to give it a try for one night and see how it went, and it went smashingly – no racing around, no fighting or growling or hissing, just sweet, quiet sleep. * * * have you heard of the new craze in the canning community? once your pickles are pickled, pour off the juice and replace it with an equivalent amount of liquid sweetened kool-aid, like cherry or whatever flavor then let them sit in the fridge for a week. the thought kinda makes my stomach turn, but you might want to surprise fred with a batch of purple, grape-flavored sweet-n-sour pickles. I have to admit, I’m a little grossed out by the thought of Kool-aid flavored pickles, but I might try it with a jar just to see if there’s anything to the fuss. I’d probably be the one eating them, though – Fred doesn’t care for sweet pickles because he’s WEIRD. * * * I once heard that daddy long legs [the spider in the picture] are actually quite deadly to humans but their fangs aren’t long enough to puncture our skin. I can’t verify whether this is true, and naturally I’m way too lazy to actually Google it [instead I’m typing it here, hah] but I will always believe that it’s true regardless of whether or not it is, and I will always be completely frightened of them because of it. Anyone know if it’s true? I had heard that very same thing, but apparently it’s a myth. This page will tell you more in detail, but rest assured that it’s a hugely widespread myth, but a myth just the same. * * * So, you’re telling me: if I can separate the two feral kitten rescues for now, they will warm up to me more quickly? Hrrmmm. I might have to try this method. It does seem CRUEL and UNUSUAL since they love each other so much, but if it’ll help them get tame more quickly, I might have to go buy me another kitty crate! This is how I look at it – you separate them for a couple of days to see what happens, and if they continue to be miserable and scared and skittish, you can always put them back together, right? (By the way, that comment came from Styro, who rescues feral cats – check her out!) Also, while I’m thinking of it, the wonderful Miss Pink Ponsonby sent me an email (which, ahem, I have not responded to because I SUCK), and she said: I’ve been meaning for quite a while to write you and give you this never-fail cat taming trick. My mom and I have used it all our lives for taming feral kittens. (she had 18 cats at one time, Ugh! A logistical nightmare since they all had to have their own spot and they didn’t all get along and they had to sometimes cross someone’s territory to get to their spot…you know the rest.) Anyway, when you were talking about the latest batch of kittens being so shy and skittish and hissy, this is what you do when you get some wild-ass kittens: Take a terry cloth washcloth, the thin ones, and get it wet with warm water and then wrap part of it around your finger like when you clean your ears in the shower, and then when you are with the kittens, just PIN one with one hand and start ‘scrubbing’ their face with the cloth-wrapped finger. Gently of course. Believe it or not, this mirrors what their mom would do to wash them and calm them, so instead of making them feel trapped and freaked, they just totally put up with being scrubbed. You don’t pin them down hard, it’s just that you don’t do it by picking them up and holding them, just pin them where they are. They will shake their head and walk away and finish washing their faces and from then on out, they will start to think you are the Mom-Lady who gives them a tongue-bath and not a bad sort of demon, after all. I do this with any cat I get when they are a kitten, and it makes it so you can handle their faces and lips and clean out their ears all their lives because they think it is a mom-love action. You know, think about how the Momma Kitties hold down their kittens with a paw and just start licking. It’s the same principle. Believe it or not, it works! I have not yet given this a try – though I keep intending to – because did I mention I SUCK? And I’m a procrastinator? But I think someone out there should give it a try and shame me into getting off my ass and giving it a try with miss Maryanne. * * * As we were preparing to leave for the weekend & lining up critter care, I wondered, “How will Robyn & Fred EVER be able to leave the farm at the same time with all those critters needing daily tending?” I have wondered that verysame thing myself, but Fred is somewhat certain that if he asks at the corner store, someone will know someone who has a responsible kid who would be willing to stop by and feed the cats, scoop out the litter box, and let the chickens in and out every day for hopefully not too much money. Not that I’ll be able to drag Fred off the farm anytime soon, anyway, so it’s probably a moot point! * * * I was wondering, how many people read your site on a regular basis? And how often do you get new people signing up for notification? According to my Sitemeter, I get about 1500 hits a day Monday through Friday, and about 500 on Saturday and Sunday. I assume the majority of that 1500 hits are people who are regular readers, checking in. I don’t know how often new people join the notify lists – I have it set up so that people can join without being approved by me, and I don’t go look at the lists unless someone asks for help with an email change. I prefer not knowing when people are joining or leaving the list, since I’ve heard that people like to register their displeasure with what you’ve written by leaving the notify list. And if I’m not notified when people join or leave, their displeasure goes right over my head. On a side note, at least three times people have gotten pissed off at something Fred has said on his own site and emailed me, asking me to take them off my notify list. Well, okay… as long as you’re going to be an adult about it, I guess. * * * With all the veggies you grow are you having any problems with woodchucks? Just when I think I have the problem solved he moves back in. They love tomatoes and zukes! I haven’t seen any woodchucks, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there! * * * My solution to non-vet cat attacking vet-cat: Mark is sickly and goes to the vet more often, and Steve is boss of earth, so when I bring Mark back from the vet Steve beats up on Mark more than usual. Sooo, when I get back from the vet with Mark, I put Steve in Mark’s carrier and take him out for a drive. Balance is restored. This is BRILLIANT. Next time I take someone to the vet, I’m going to come home, immediately toss Mister Boogers in the carrier, and take him for a ride. That should fix his little red wagon. * * * Regarding Maryanne . . . I was wondering, what are the chances since Fred is her favorite, that he relents and wants to keep her??? I’d say the chances are nil that Maryanne will be staying. She’s cute and playful (though still skittish) and we like having her around, but six cats (permanently living in the house) are our limit. She enjoys snack time, too. (What this picture doesn’t show is that Mister Boogers just did the classic growl-while-eating because Maryanne was too close to him. He’s such an ass.) * * * With all the canning (and prep work involved in canning), have you had any back problems standing for such long periods of time? If so, have you found anything that helps? I find I can’t wash a load of dishes at the sink without having to take a muscle relaxant and lie down after. I haven’t actually had any back problems, even on the days that I spend hours standing in the kitchen. I do have an issue with achy legs on those days, but a good night’s sleep generally takes care of that problem. It helps, probably, that I take a ten minute or so break every hour to sit down, drink something, and check my email or read something. Also – if you’re standing on a hard floor while you’re working, I highly recommend a little area rug to stand on. It helps more than you’d expect! * * * Here’s a question for you, but I bet it is one that you have answered many times over the years (hell, I may have asked it myself–excuse my senility if that is the case) : Why is it that your permanent feline residents are so calm about the cats that come and go? Are they just used to it? Do they ever start spraying or peeing in corners to express their angst? I don’t know that I’d ever refer to our cats as reacting calmly to interlopers. They’re always hissy and bitchy and growly at first, sometimes for weeks (they’re also a bit hissy and bitchy and growly with each other, so that’s nothing new, I guess), then they kind of give up. They don’t embrace the newcomers, but they seem to realize (a little more quickly with each new bunch of fosters, I think) that there’s no point in the hissing and the growling. At this point with Maryanne, as long as she’s not in their way or all up in their shit, they don’t care what she does. I even found Mister Boogers – gasp! – PLAYING with her yesterday. We haven’t had an issue with the cats spraying or peeing in corners as a reaction to the fosters BUT I will say that my parents’ visit with their dog seems to have triggered some issue with Spot. Since their visit – every couple of weeks, usually – we find something that he’s peed on. He’s fond of going in Fred’s closet, knocking something (a t-shirt, pillowcases) onto the floor and peeing on it. There doesn’t seem to be anything specific that causes it, and it annoys me, but I’m just grateful that the bastard isn’t peeing on furniture or directly on the floor. It’s always something that can be tossed into the washer, THANK GOD. * * * Question for tomorrow – is there any particular cat food you recommend to keep cats from randomly throwing up? I seem to remember you mentioning this issue from time to time, but can’t for the life of me recall any brand names that you said worked. With our cats, it’s pretty much a given that if it’s the cheap stuff – Meow Mix, or something along those lines – someone’s going to barf it up. I don’t know if it’s because the cheap stuff has more fillers in it, or what, but I’ve learned my damn lesson. For a while I was feeding them TimberWolf Organics Serengeti Herbal Feline Formula Cat Food (especially after the whole cat food scare) and Blue Spa Select as their second choice (we wouldn’t want them to get BORED), but since Sugarbutt started up with the farkin’ skin issues, we went back to what we were feeding them before: Natural Balance for Adults, and Nutro Natural Choice Senior. * * * Another blogger I read refers to her husband as her husband, and her five-year-old son as her “boyfriend”. Every time I read it, it feels….icky. Do you think this is strange at all (calling one’s son her boyfriend, I mean)? I value your opinion! I don’t know who the blogger is, and let me hasten to say that I’m sure she means it in a completely innocuously funny way, but yeah, if she’s using it often and not every once in a while in a joking “my little boyfriend” way – that’s a little bit icky. Maybe more than a little bit. Way to encourage that Oedipus complex! * * * Lord knows I NEVER interfere, but, the eggs should be stored with the blunt side up I’ve been informed that by Fred, and immediately went and flipped the eggs over! * * * Ok, I’m so NOT a skimmer but I don’t remember you saying anything about the litter robot thing. I need something new since my Littermaid died (lasted over 3 years, not bad) and I was wondering what ya thought. $300 is a bit steep but your thumbs up would go a long way. I did actually mention the Litter Robot back in June (Bonnie, you damn SKIMMER), but I’ll cut and paste and then add a little at the end. I said: Someone recently asked about the Litter Robot and how it’s working for us. It’s working out okay, I guess. I did what the literature (and some of y’all) suggested and let the regular litterbox get all kinds of nasty so the cats would be kind of forced to use the Litter Robot. The reaction there is that someone – I suspect either Spanky or Spot – registered their displeasure by peeing on the rug in the dining room. Since I don’t want the house to smell like cat pee, I started cleaning out the regular litter box again, because I learn quickly. At this point, the three youngest cats – Sugarbutt, Tommy, Mister Boogers – will use the Litter Robot, but the three older aren’t interested. I clean out the regular litter box every morning, and empty out the Litter Robot “drawer” at the same time, and since I’m only having to do it once a day rather than twice, I’m happy. In a perfect world they’d all use the Litter Robot, but they won’t, and I’m just happy that we have enough room in the laundry room for the Litter Robot and the regular litter box. Since I wrote that, I’ve actually gone to cleaning out the litter box and Litter Robot every other day (especially since the cats can go outside now and use the backyard as their giant litter box. Between the cat pee and the chicken shit, the back yard is SWEET, believe me), and then one day last week I actually found Spot using the Litter Robot. Now I don’t know who’s using the litter box and who’s using the Litter Robot, but it appears to be right around 50/50. I don’t dare to go to Litter Robot-only at this point (I’d have to buy a second one anyway, because one litter box really isn’t enough for 6 cats), but I can foresee that possibly happening in the future. That said, I would say that if you’re willing to give it a try, you ought to – Litter Robot’s got a 60-day money back guarantee, and if it doesn’t work out, you can send that sucker back! * * * Do you have a hard time avoiding stepping in chicken poop? I would imagine you would with all those chickens. It’s actually not that bad – I wear boots when I’m tromping around the back yard (I am SUCH the fashion statement), and generally watch where I’m going to avoid the chicken poop. Sometimes I’m sure I walk through it, but the boots come off at the door in the laundry room (I’m hoping that in the future, we’ll have a covered back porch to leave our shoes and boots on), so none of it gets in the house. * * * Fred’s mother gave us this big cast iron pot a few months ago. We had it sitting on a stump by the driveway, but the Fed Ex guy told us that those pots are expensive, and we might get it stolen if we left it there in plain view. So Fred carried it around and put it on the stump in the back yard. We filled it with soil and planted Irises we got from his father and stepmother. And then the chickens started getting up in the pot. Chickens like to take dust baths – Fred tells me it’s how they keep clean and keep things like mites off of them – and it’s funny to watch. They dig down in the dirt, roll around (just like cats), and then they get up, walk away, and shake their feathers, and a HUGE amount of dirt comes flying out of their feathers. Apparently they really like big pots of dirt. They’ve dug up all the irises except two, and they take turns taking dust baths in the big pot (Fred says “It’s like their bath tub!”) Damn chickens. * * * Speaking of chickens, they really REALLY like seeds. When I made tomato sauce last weekend, I saved all the seeds for them. “If you’re feeling eggy, son, just go ahead and LAY!” “HawhawBUGAWK! Did you hear that? I said “If you’re feeling eggy, son, just go ahead and LAY!” “HawhawBUGAWK! You are a funny motherplucker, Buffy!” * * * Tommy, camouflaged. * * * Previously 2006: And you know when I’m saying it’s hot, it must be like burning in the flames of Hell. 2005: I’m going to kill my husband. 2004: “THIS IS NOT THE FRONT OF THE SCHOOL,” I said. “THIS IS THE SIDE.” 2003: No entry. 2002: Stop making those gagging noises. 2001: Is it just me, or does Mother Nature not like it when the spud or I fly? 2000: No entry.]]>

* * * There are many reasons I love my husband – his intelligence, his sense of humor, his hard work, his love of animals, his nice butt (it’s so cute and round and squeezable) – but the thing that makes me look at him with Eyes of Love is his brilliance with computers. That laptop I bought last month and which made me tear my hair out and threaten to sell it on eBay? After hours of hard work on his part, he’s made it work the way it should, so now the wireless network stuff works, I can watch movies on it, and it runs like the wind (a slow middle-of-summer hot and sticky wind, maybe, but it’s much, much improved). If it weren’t for him, I can promise you this – I’d still be surfing the internet on the $50 286 I bought from Liz’s husband, using a BBS to get online, and never having a clue what web pages look like. I don’t say it often enough, but I think it every day – thank god (and the internet) that man came into my life.

* * * It appears as though the house next door has sold. Fred came in from the garden yesterday and said “Someone’s been looking at the house for quite a while.” I went and looked out the kitchen window to see what I could see, and the man who owns the house next door was standing on the porch next to his wife, and they were talking to a man and woman. “Are they old?” I asked Fred, since I couldn’t see their faces. We’ve been hoping that an older couple would move in next door. A QUIET older couple. “I don’t think so,” he said. I peered through the kitchen window some more, then went up to the front room – where there’s a recliner next to the window – and sat down and watched them talk. I’m such a Gladys Kravitz, I swear to god. The man appeared to be in his late 40s or early 50s, and the woman appeared to be around our age if not a little younger. “Is she pregnant?” I asked Fred. “I don’t know. Yeah, she kind of looks it, doesn’t she?” I watched some more. “Pregnant or fat, I can’t tell.” (I’m allowed to say that, since it wasn’t so terribly long ago that I was mistaken as pregnant.) I watched some more, and they kept standing there and talking. TalkingTalkingTalking. Finally, the woman walked across the front yard. “She’s walking across the front yard toward the sign!” I said. And then she pulled up the “for sale” sign and put it behind the house. The two men shook hands, and soon after, they left. Looks like we’re going to have new neighbors. I hope they’re nice neighbors. I hope they’re quiet neighbors. I hope they’re neighbors who respect property lines. I hope they like cats, since Newt and Maxi like to hang out under their deck. I hope they’re friendly and nice, but not so friendly they get all up in our shit. (The Gladys Kravitz in me hopes they give me something interesting to watch when I’m standing in the kitchen doing dishes.) When they’ve moved in, I’ll make cookies and take them over and welcome them to the neighborhood. I’ll make Fred go with me, because he’ll fill any awkward silences with babble, and he’s good with strangers. Y’all keep your fingers crossed for good neighbors, ‘k? * * * Good lord, the sound that cicadas make feels like a drill through my brain. We have discarded cicada shells on just about every fence post, I see a fresh new green cicada every once in a while (they’re creepy, but cool looking), and now I think it’s just time for them to get laid, move ON and stop making that goddamn noise. Speaking of bugs, I discovered a huge-ass spider living behind the coffee maker. Considering how often I clean behind the coffee maker (um… never? I think the last time that coffee maker was pulled out and cleaned behind was in May, when my parents were visiting), that spider’s probably the third generation of spiders who’ve lived back there. She doesn’t live back there anymore – there was a small web back there with bug debris in it, and as I believe I’ve mentioned many a time, if the spider doesn’t keep her web clean, she’s not welcome. So I squished her. Damn bugs. We had our first bird in the house (first bird brought in by the cats, I mean) yesterday afternoon. I was making dinner and turned around to find Mister Boogers and Sugarbutt circling a very quiet small bird, laying on the carpet with its beak open. I gasped (which always makes Fred mad because it scares him, but I cannot HELP it, it’s an automatic reaction!), and then Fred scooped it up and took it outside. He tried to get it to latch onto a branch in the bush next the porch, but it wouldn’t, so eventually he left it on the ground next to the bush. Later, it was gone. I don’t know if it flew away or was gotten by a cat or what, but it was gone and its dead body was nowhere around, so I’m happy. Speaking of birds in the house, I fully expect that one of these days one of those damn chickens is going to come through the cat door. They like to hang out on the back steps (there’s a bowl of water there), and every once in a while when I open the door to go out, Frick is sitting on the top step. I tell you what, a goddamn chicken comes in the house, she’s going to get booted back outside, tout de suite. I’m stupidly soft when it comes to spoiling animals, but chickens in the house? NOT GONNA HAPPEN. My floors aren’t always sparkling clean, but they don’t have any damn chicken shit on them, and I’d like to keep it that way. Bad enough that we’ve got Spot, who reacts to a vacuuming of the entire house by walking onto freshly vacuumed carpet and dropping three pounds of cat fur. I should make Spot go live in the chicken coop, now that I think about it. * * * Yes, miss Maryanne has made herself at home here, but no – we’re not keeping her (I know y’all don’t believe me – but we’re not!). She’s doing her best to fit in, though. Miz Poo lets her inner hellion glow through her eyes – miss Maryanne does the same. Mister Boogers hets. Maryanne hets. Maryanne’s favorite Anderson cat continues to be Tommy. She LURVES her some Tommy. * * * Previously 2006: Hey, as long as she’s going to be an adult about it, right? 2005: “WAIT FOR THE BUS,” I said, then hung up. 2004: I do love the stumpy little bastard, but I wish he hadn’t killed that poor damn bird. 2003: No entry. 2002: Finally, I said “Would you CALM DOWN? I’m not going to divorce Fred and marry the cute waiter. Jesus!” 2001: (Dr. Phil likes to go for the sound bites and has drama queen tendencies, but I love him) 2000: Pictures from Maine.]]>

* * * GodDAMN the flies are about to drive me fucking mad. It’s not that the house is swarming with flies, but I’ve usually got one dive-bombing me when I sit at my desk and there’s invariably another one buzzing around in the kitchen. I’ve got fly swatters in both rooms, but I’m not terribly coordinated and I rarely get the goddamn things on the first try. (Miz Poo, upon seeing me pick up a fly swatter and walk toward her, whines and runs away. Like I beat her spoiled ass on a regular basis! I don’t, but I oughta. She deserves it.) Flies, to me, are the nastiest fucking things on earth. I can handle most any kind of bug (which is not to say that I deliberately get close to them or pick them up with my BARE HANDS or anything, but I they don’t usually make me want to take a boiling-hot shower), but the thought of flies flying about my house makes me want to barf. Possibly it’s because when I was a kid, I was ADDICTED to tuna sandwiches, and one day I was making my lunch and I took the container of tuna out of the fridge, and there was a dead fly floating in a pool of mayonnaise, and I do believe I haven’t eaten a tuna sandwich since. The thought makes me nauseous. I can’t even stand the smell of tuna anymore. BLEGH. The flies are worst in and around the chicken coop, not surprisingly. And not surprisingly, I don’t go out to the chicken coop unless I have to. (Did you read that we’ve started getting eggs?) What’s worse is that the fucking flies buzz around slowly and lazily in the heat outside, then they come inside and they’re rejuvenated by the air conditioning, and they turn into speedy little motherfuckers, buzzing around and easily dodging my klutzy attempts to get them with the fly swatter. God, I hate flies. ::shudder::

* * * BUG PICTURE ALERT. Also not fond of these. But they tend to keep their distance and not dive-bomb me, so we live in harmony. Unless there’s one in the bathtub, whereupon I direct Fred to either pick it up and take it outside, or kill it. I’m not going near the goddamn thing – you see how LONG their fucking legs are? I don’t want them TOUCHING ME with those things. ::shudder:: * * * We had black-eyed peas, cornbread, and sliced tomatoes for dinner on Sunday. I sliced the tomatoes, but Fred made the rest. It was SO FUCKING GOOD. This is the first time in 11 years that I actually tried a piece of cornbread and liked it. Hey, know what’s funny? When I cook, I do the dishes. When Fred cooks? Guess who does the dishes? (Hint: It’s not Fred.) * * * Cat news: 1. Sugarbutt’s biopsy results came back. The vet (who called at 8:00 Friday night – dedicated woman!) said that results showed the sore on his neck and lip are allergy reactions. She said that it was almost surely a food allergy, and asked what he eats. We discussed changing his food, she told me I needed to come back late this week to have his stitches out, and if he needed another steroid shot, she could do it then. I hung up, whined to Fred about doing the changing-the-food dance for weeks and months until we figured out what he was allergic to, and then the lightbulb went on over my head. The sore on his neck showed up pretty soon after I started giving the kittens yogurt for their morning and evening snacks – and every time I got a plate of yogurt for the kittens, Sugarbutt would come sniffing around, so I’d give him a dollop of it, too. We decided to stop giving him yogurt – couldn’t hurt, right? – and so far, he seems to be MUCH less itchy. I haven’t seen him scratching even once since mid-Saturday. If this problem is solved this easily, I will pat myself on the back so hard I’ll probably pull something. 2. Mister Boogers is OBSESSED with being in the chicken yard. We usually let the cats out for most of the morning, then when it gets hot, we shut the back door until late afternoon – they tend to not want to be out there when it gets really hot, and leaving the back door open just makes it hotter in the laundry room and kitchen. Yesterday after we’d closed the back door, Mister Boogers sat on the dryer and looked mournfully into the back yard. I had to go out to hang up laundry on the clothesline, and the bastard took the opportunity to go flying out the back door. I hung up laundry, figuring I’d catch him and bring him inside when I was done, and even though I yelled at him, he climbed over the gate to the chicken yard, sniffed around, and ended up under the chicken coop, WITH THE CHICKENS. The chickens don’t care at all, and he’s not that interested in the chickens, just in being under the coop, where it’s nice and cool. He hung out for ten minutes, then climbed back over the gate and went inside with me when I was done hanging laundry. 3. I took Gilligan and Spanky to the pet store on Friday. They were FREAKED OUT and immediately climbed into the litter box to hide. Break my heart, why don’tcha? I don’t know if they’ve been adopted yet – I’m heading out to the pet store in a little while; I’ll report back on them tomorrow. The last of the pictures I took of them before we left for the pet store are here. 4. The only reason I never separated the kittens – like someone suggested a while back – is because we couldn’t stand the thought of a kitten sitting in the guest bedroom, separated from his or her sibling, all sad and lonely with no one to play with. We are idiots. When I got back from taking Spanky and Gilligan to the pet store, I went up to see Maryanne. I brought the carrier in with me, because I like to leave a carrier in the room with the fosters so they’ll get used to its presence, so that when the time comes I can snatch them up and toss them in there and they won’t know what hit ’em. Anyway, I put the carrier down and opened the door. She hopped down off the cat tree, went into the carrier, sniffed the towel where her brothers had so recently been, made a sound of confusion, and licked the towel. I felt like the most heartless, evil bitch in the world. And THEN. What did she do? She came over to me to be petted. She came OVER to ME to BE PETTED. On PURPOSE. And she was a little skittish, but she let me pet her. And then she flopped over and made me pet her some more. And then she rubbed against me and purred and meowed. Then, when Tommy tapped at the door to be let in, instead of hissing and running from him like she’d done every single time we let him into the foster room in the past, she ran over to him and rubbed up against him. It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle in August, is what it is. We’ve pretty much let her have the run of the house the last few days and she’s been playing and running and meowing (girlfriend has some LUNGS, and plenty to say) and just generally making herself at home. She’s still a bit skittish – she doesn’t like you walking toward her or standing over here – but if you get on her level, she’ll come for some loving. She lets Fred pick her up and hold her, and she and Fred (and Miz Poo!) took a nap together yesterday. I will never doubt the advice to split up skittish kittens again, I swear it. “I am a pretty, pretty princess.” “And I am the Queen, bitch.” She’s not a lap-sitter, but it’s early days yet. I think she’ll get there! * * * Someone left a perfectly good cat’s head on the side stoop! (I know y’all KNOW that the rest of Newt is laying (attached to his head) on the second step, but for the idiot (yeah, I know you’re there, Skimmy McDumbass) who thinks that, seriously, there’s a goddamn cat head laying on my stoop and I’m taking a PICTURE of it*, hi. His body is resting (attached to his head) on the second step. It’s a funny picture, see? Ha! Ha! Ha?) *Oh, ALRIGHT. I think we all know that if someone HAD left a cat head on my side stoop, probably I would have taken a picture of it. I wouldn’t have shared it in my journal, though, ’cause I’m not THAT much of an ass. Bugs? Yes. Cat heads? Not so much. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: The morning I wake up and find a cricket in bed with me is the day I start closing the cat door at night, believe you me. 2003: I HAVE THINGS TO DO THAT CANNOT BE ACCOMPLISHED WITH A PORTLY POO IN THE WAY. 2002: No entry. 2001: Yeah, like YOU don’t have a voice in your head that reads things to you… 2000: No entry.]]>

* * * How creative are you? Reader Liz says: We are knitting, crocheting, sewing, quilting, and any other crafty things one can do for an Albany, NY Homeless shelter and a separate Women’s domestic shelter. We welcome anything so long as it’s (drum roll please) made by hand. So far we have scarves, blankets, an amazing quilt, hats, gloves, shawls, scrunchies, and wood toys. The site is desperately out of date and I will be working to make a few updates soon, but I would really like to pull in over 200 pieces and I know with your help that could possibly be done. Check it out here (there’s an email address in the sidebar on that site). I KNOW that a bunch of you out there are the crafty types, what will all the knitting and crocheting and other crafty things. They’re taking donations ’til Halloween (October 31st), so get to knitting! And sewing! And crocheting! And crafting!

* * * So yes, I have a new redesign. I really like it – I’ve been wanting to do something with two sidebars for quite some time now, but couldn’t find anything I liked in the colors I wanted, so I ended up taking the design Fred uses and making the changes I want. Of course, I started working on it months and months ago, in fact I think we were still living in the old house when I started working on it. Sitting my ass down and working on a redesign is something that doesn’t come easily to me, because I hate all the damn fiddling around – changing something, saving it, going to see how it looks, a thousand million times to get the look I want. It’s worth it, though. I think the new look is very “me.” I think my favorite thing about the whole redesign is that “Flickr” box over there to the left. Every time you refresh the page, you get a different random picture, and I like seeing what pictures pop up. Surprisingly, it appears that I take a lot of cat pictures. I know that some of you don’t like/ are having issues with the redesign. Some of you aren’t seeing the logo the way it should be seen, but if I set it to a fixed size, it intrudes into the right sidebar for a bunch of you, so I went back to a percentage-based sizing thingy (I’m sorry to be so technical), and I’ll always link directly to the logo on the first post of each month, so you can always see how it’s supposed to look. Not everyone liked the previous design, either – it didn’t work for them – but I’ve checked the design in my Firefox and Internet Explorer and it looks okay to me, so how it is now is how it’ll be for at least a while. I’d hate to lose any readers over this, of course, but you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do. * * * Is it just me, or in this picture: doesn’t Joss Stone look strikingly like Juliette Lewis? * * * Sugarbutt had to go to the vet Tuesday to have that spot on his neck biopsied. Since he’s one of the cats I can actually get into the carrier (Spot and Spanky are the two I absolutely cannot wrestle into the carrier) I was sure I’d have no problem getting him in the carrier, but just to be safe I put it in the middle of the computer room floor the night before so the cats would be used to its presence and not get all freaked out. When it was time to leave for the vet, I took the bandage off of Sugarbutt’s neck (we’ve been calling it his “ascot” because we’re dorks and it amuses us), then started rubbing his neck where it seems to be itchiest and bothers him the most. He purred and purred and purred and threw his head back in ecstasy, and before he knew what was going on I was lowering him into the carrier. He made one desperate attempt to save himself, doing his starfish imitation, but it was too late, and I closed the lid to the carrier, and we were on our way. I made him listen to Keith and the Girl with me, my favorite episode, #517, Justice. He gave me dirty looks, but when they were talking about the girl who’d pulled off the ball (just one of them) of a man who’d rejected her and the astonished-sounding Patrice said “That’s some gorilla strength she’s got!”, I’m pretty sure I heard Sugarbutt chortle, though when I looked at him he just gave me that wounded why you hate me, Momma? look. I dropped him off with no problems (except for the big German Shepherd who stuck his face right up against the carrier, sniffed mightily and then barked, to which Sugarbutt responded by hissing very loudly. Which scared the German Shepherd into peeing on the floor. It was a fucking river of urine stretching across the floor; I gave thanks that I didn’t have to clean it up.) and they told me I could pick him up between 5 and 6. When I picked him up that evening, he was a bit out of it (they had to knock him out to do the biopsy), and on the ride home he lay in the carrier with his back to me and dozed. Then when we got home, he did what he ALWAYS does after a trip to the vet. He turned into a total love slut. He followed me from room to room, rubbing against my legs if I stopped moving for a moment. When I went into the kitchen, he jumped up on the counter and rubbed against any part of me he could reach (which made slicing okra a whole lot of fun). When he was on the floor and I bent to scratch behind his ears, he flopped over on his back and purred loudly. It continued into Wednesday, but today he’s a little calmer. I don’t know for sure why a trip to the vet is followed by two days of desperate love-seeking, but my theory is that Sugarbutt – having a tiny little cat brain – doesn’t remember that I took him TO the vet, but does remember that I rescued him FROM the vet, so he’s desperate to thank me so that I’ll continue to rescue him in the future. Speaking of Sugarbutt and lurve, I have to take a moment to let y’all know – because I know you were JUST saying to yourself, “Self, I wonder if this still goes on?” – that since we moved into this house, Sugarbutt does not approach me in the dark, dark night to knead upon whatever part of my person he can reach while simultaneously licking my neck. Literally, the night before the cats and I moved into this house, he kneaded (kned?) and licked for all he was worth, and since we’ve lived here, he’s half-heartedly attempted it only once. It was annoying sometimes, but I kind of miss it a little. * * * Really, here at Crooked Acres, it’s sometimes best to just look the other way, and not ask aaaaaaany questions. * * * Word came down from upon high yesterday that there’s room for Spanky and Gilligan at the pet store. They don’t do adoptions on Wednesday or Thursday, so I’m waiting until mid-morning on Friday to take them down. No need to have them there, in a cage, when I can sneak in one more day of petting and sweet-talking them, right? I’m very interested to see if there are any changes in the personality of the pretty, pretty Maryanne without her two brothers around to run interference between her and the humans who only want to pet and snuggle with her. “Hellew.” He’s so cute, I just want to squeeze him. ::thlurrrp:: I put the carrier in the kitten room so they’d get used to it, and they thought it was the COOLEST THING EVER. * * * ::gag:: “That’s not liquid candy, it’s DISH SOAP!” * * * Previously 2006: No entry. Sorry! 2005: I wanted to lay in bed and sniff my hair all day long. 2004: me: “Brian, I sure do love you, but I’m glad we’ll never have to sit this close to each other ever again.” Brian: “I feel the same.” 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: $1200 for one single washer. What the fuck’s up with that? 2000: can you say “Bring a book”?]]>

I took a picture of myself to check my hair this morning when I was hanging out with the kittens (idea stolen directly from Nance), and when I looked at the picture, I was horrified at how BIG my hair was. And then I looked closer and realized that a lot of it was shadow rather than hair. Whew! Big southern hair averted! Edited to add: Yeah, it’s TOTALLY Gumby, ain’t it? I can see that, though Kathy had to point it out before I realized it!

* * * Pet store kitty pics from this week (and last) are up. Lots of pictures of Jack Frost! * * * Comments, answered! This isn’t really a question but I think it would be so funny and cute to see a video of you saying “who ready for the yum-yums” and the cats’ reactions. Please keep in mind that this is not anything NEAR my normal speaking voice. I don’t usually sound like such a dork, I swear it! * * * I don’t want to know what make/model Fred’s SUV was, but I’m dying to know why on earth he didn’t ever want divulge what it was. I remember reading a couple entries from his site from years past where he alluded to the fact that he wasn’t going to divulge the make/model of his SUV, but I never found an original entry that explained why. So, my question is “Why didn’t Fred ever want to, and still doesn’t want to, divulge what his SUV was?” Fred HATES unsolicited advice and at first he didn’t want to say what kind of SUV he got because he didn’t want to hear any of the “Oh, my uncle got one of those and they SUCK!” comments. But to be honest, after a while he kind of started having fun with it and kept refusing to tell anyone what it was because he likes to be an ass sometimes. Which is why he still won’t let me tell y’all what it was! I was pretty surprised to find out that he was willing to let it be known that he got a Hyundai Accent, actually! * * * How did you guys and Nance/Rick meet face to face? being that a lot of internet users are hesitant to actually meet? First of all, Nance and I have known each other, online, for years now. I don’t know exactly how long it’s been, but a quick search of my site brings up a mention of her in April of 2002, but I bet it was really even before that, that we started emailing and occasionally chatting (back when I used to chat, which I never did very much, and don’t do at all anymore these days). We’d never talked on the phone due to my phone phobia, but we’d been trading birthday and Christmas presents for several years, too (we’ve recently stopped trading Christmas presents in the interest of destressing the holiday a little!). The first time, Rick had to come to Alabama for work, so Fred and I spent an evening with him eating barbecue and talking. That was in September of last year, and then Rick had to come BACK to Alabama (poor man), and this time Nance came with him. (Not only did Nance come with him, when they left they took Maddy with them. Suckerzzzzz!) Then they came back to visit in March of this year, and we had such a damn good time hanging out and talking and playing CatchPhrase that we can’t wait for them to come back. (I’m trying to convince Nance that the rule is, every time they come to visit, they have to take a cat home with them. She’s not buying it, though.) The list of people I’ve met in real life that I’ve emailed with on the internet is a very small list. There was a reader who did the 3-Day in Atlanta (before I sprained my ankle and had to leave); there were Kinzie and her husband (from Atlanta), who bought our old weight-lifting machine; I’ve met the adorable Whitters who also volunteers for the no-kill cat shelter I volunteer for; and I’ve met Sarah and Pat, who are neighbors of my sister (well, Sarah no longer is, but she used to be!) and also readers of thishere journal. Meeting people in person that you’ve only ever emailed with is very odd. When I meet someone who reads my journal I go into panic mode, thinking “Oh my god! They’re going to find out that I’m a blithering idiot and they’re going to tell the entire internet!”, and then I freak out (quietly, though. No one would ever know that internally I’m freaking OUT, man.) They’re invariably very nice and though they do find out that I’m a blithering idiot, they don’t tell the internet the truth, so my secret is safe with them! (Unless there’s a secret “Robyn is a blithering idiot” message board somewhere, which is possible but – given that the world apparently does NOT revolve around me (even though it should), my blithering idiotness probably doesn’t occupy the minds of others the way it occupies mine.) * * * Your cat Sugarbutt looks just like my Madison. Madison is about a year and a half now and she still looks so little to me, compared to other full grown cats I see. When do cat start filling out? How much should she weigh at her age? Maybe female cats are just naturally smaller? Maybe I have nothing to worry about? Thx. Probably by the age of one and a half, cats are about as big as they’re going to get. I think that Madison is probably about done with growing, and if she’s active and acts happy, I wouldn’t be too concerned about it. Some cats truly are smaller than others – Maxi and Newt are literally about half the size of our indoor cats, and I’m going to guess that that’s because they’re so much more active, able to run around and hunt at night while the indoor cats are locked inside. If Madison’s an outdoor cat, I think it’s especially normal for her to be smaller. If you’re really concerned, you could take her to the vet, but like I said – if she’s active and seems happy, I wouldn’t be too worried about it. * * * When will you update the ‘cast’ page? You have lost a significant amount of weight since that picture was taken at the quarry (I think). How about the classic Farmer/Daughter pose in front of the ol’ homestead? Pitchfork included! Holy cow – that cast page is seriously out of date, isn’t it? Not only have I lost a lot of weight since then, I have the spud listed as 16, and E’gar still listed as my car. I suppose I’ll get around to it, but I don’t know when – I still need to get my site redesign done (I’m aiming for August 1st for that, but I might just be dreaming); maybe in the process, I’ll get my cast page updated as well. * * * several years back, while you were visiting your parents in Maine, you mentioned your parents’ neighbors in a way that made it seem like there was some kind of story. You even said ‘more on them later’ but never followed through. So what about your parents’ neighbors? I’ve been thinking so hard it hurts, but I cannot for the life of me remember any good gossip about my parents’ neighbors. If you could point me in the general direction (ie, the year if not the exact entry), I can re-read the entry and see if it anything comes to mind. * * * That little bed looks like it’s falling off the big bed? It’s tipping a little to the side, but it’s pretty solidly on there. I tried moving it to the middle of the big bed, but the cats got all pissy about it, so I had to move it back. They like a little bit of danger, it appears. * * * I command you do at least one video entry. I command that you keep dreaming, woman. * * * Isn’t okra in gumbo, not called gumbo? Isn’t gumbo a Cajun dish? According to this page, 0kra (Hibiscus esculentus) is also called “gumbo” in this country, although the latter term is more often applied to soups or other dishes which contain okra. Both of these names are of African origin. “Gumbo” is believed to be a corruption of a Portuguese corruption, quingombo, of the word quillobo, native name for the plant in the Congo and Angola area of Africa. I’d never heard that gumbo was another name for okra, either, which was why I was surprised enough to tell Fred about it. I don’t believe I’ve ever actually heard anyone refer to okra as gumbo, though. On a side note, we had gumbo for dinner the other night, and it was pretty good (would have been better if the shrimp wasn’t old and freezer burned, though.) * * * The next time you have a Question Answer day could you tell me if you are still using your treadmill. If so what kind do you recommend. Thanks in advance! We actually haven’t had a treadmill in years and years. You might be thinking of our elliptical trainer. I haven’t used it in months, but Fred still uses it frequently and I think we’d still recommend it. It’s a Life Fitness X9i, and though it’s expensive, I think it was very much worth the price – it’s good and solid and easy to use. * * * I didn’t know there was an Ethel Kennedy either! I’m 37 and keep up somewhat with the news. How did I miss her name? Ethel Kennedy probably hasn’t been in the news since Bobby was killed most likely has something to do with the fact that so many of you have never heard of her. I swear I’m not obsessed with the Kennedys – I just have a lot of Kennedy trivia floating around in my brain. I spent a good part of my childhood in New England, and the Kennedys are big in that area of the country, as you can imagine. (Side note: JFK Jr, Carolyn, and Lauren Bessette were on their way to Ethel’s daughter Rory’s wedding when their plane went down in July of ’99.) * * * Hey, have you ever had Wickles? I think they sell Wickles down there in Alabama. They are spicy pickles. I never had them, but I wanna get me some! I’ve never had Wickles – in fact, I’d never heard of them before – which surprises me, since the company is actually based in Alabama. After checking out their web page, though, I definitely want to give them a try, so I’ll be on the lookout for them. * * * But speaking of spoilers, and Army Wives… did you know that series is based on a non-fiction book called Under the Sabers, by Tanya Biank? It’s a pretty good book, but I caution you to not read the book, because there might be some spoilers. BIG spoilers. I did know that the series is based on a book – I think it says so in the credits – and I had considered buying the book to read it, but I don’t think I’m going to – I’d hate to read anything that would spoil the series for me. I really like that show! * * * I bet you’re developing sweet knife skillz from all this canning prep work! Or maybe you’re just getting even more dangerous as all your bad habits become even more ingrained? I’m as much a klutz with knives as I ever was – I manage to cut myself about once a week and it drives me CRAZY. I always think I’m being careful, and yet somehow my pinky just kind of slides in there and gets cut. I’m surprised I haven’t managed to completely cut a finger off, or really do any serious damage. I’m sure it’s just a matter of TIME, and y’all will have to start calling me Stumpypoo. * * * one thing that has always bugged me and i’ve been afraid to ask (because i don’t skim, but i don’t know how i missed it… or maybe i forgot?) — why do you call it the back forty??? i’ve actually driven home at night to my condo and wondered “the back forty? do they have forty acres?” I actually don’t think I’ve ever answered the question in my journal, so you didn’t skim past the answer! To answer, I’ll quote an email I sent a few months ago: I’m not sure why we call it the back forty (and no, it’s not 40 acres – we should be so lucky! The land altogether is 4 1/2 acres, so the “back forty” is probably around 3 acres), it’s just something I picked up. I had to go looking for a definition and found this one: remote, usually uncultivated acreage on a large piece of land, as on a farm or ranch. That’s kind of how I mean it, so obviously it’s tongue-in-cheek! * * * I have a question. I know it is after your colossal question answer day last week but, do you and Fred still have your exercise routines or are y’all getting all you need from maintaining the property? Fred still gets up most mornings and exercises, and then works out in the garden when he gets home from work, but my exercise routine has become pretty much extinct since we bought this house. I honestly can’t remember the last time I exercised for real, and though I keep saying I’m going to get back to it, it hasn’t happened yet. I have the first disc of season 3 of The OC that I’ve had since April, waiting for me to take it out to the garage, pop it in the DVD player and get my ass on the elliptical, but so far I’ve successfully ignored the damn thing. I really do need to get my ass in gear, though. ::sigh:: * * * My trick to low-slime okra is to get it hot fast. Heat the pan med-high and get a little browning on the okra (which tastes so good anyway) and then get it out pretty quickly. I made okra and tomatoes last night by browning the okra about 3 minutes, then chucking in the tomatoes and then some sliced garlic as soon as the tomatoes started letting off some juice, and let that go another 3ish minutes. My grandmother swore by steaming okra by laying it on top of low-simmer black eyed peas. It was always remarkably non-slimy, you’d think steam would bring out the worst in them, but I have not ever tried it at home so I don’t know if it was grandmother-magic or if it’ll work for everyone. Given that we have plenty of okra AND the black-eyed peas are starting to come in, I think I’m going to try to remember to give this one a try, and if I remember, I’ll report back on how it went! * * * Since you have been talking a lot about canning and freezing and dehydrating, i thought i would tell you about something my sis-in-law gave me for my birthday. It is a jar of green tomato relish. I tried it at a catfish restaurant in Tennessee one time years ago and liked it and she remembered. It is durn good! I don’t mean to sound like an idiot – I so rarely INTEND to, of course – but what do you do with green tomato relish? Is it like a side dish, or do you eat it atop something, or what? * * * Have you ever tried pickled okra? Heaven! We like ours very spicy, but the milder forms are tasty, too! I haven’t, but thanks for the reminder – I ran across a recipe at one point and thought that I’d like to try making pickled okra, but had forgotten. I’ve printed out a couple of recipes, and I think this weekend, when I’m making pickled jalapenos and tomato sauce and cucumber pickles, I’ll do up a batch of pickled okra as well. * * * Did you like Damages? I haven’t watched it yet, but I’m looking forward to it! * * * Just a little tip on the okra…my mum pops in a squeeze of lemon or tamarind (used in Asian cooking) when stir-frying and it totally helps with the slime. I’ll have to give that a try, too! (Though like I’ve said, I don’t actually mind the slime.) * * * Have you tried dilly beans? Oh, so good. Here’s a recipe that looks pretty close to the one I’ve used in the past – you can leave the cayenne out if you don’t like the heat… That’s another one I’d forgotten I wanted to try! Given that our second planting of beans has started flowering, I have a feeling we’re going to end up with more beans than any two people could ever eat in a lifetime, so I’m definitely giving the dilly beans a try! * * * Well, here is my question for you. A number of times (OK maybe once or twice) you have said that you would like to visit Australia. Do you still want to do that? Absolutely! I’ve been trying to convince Fred that we should go to Australia for our 10th anniversary – this would be awesome, I think – but he’s not seeming too terribly interested, at least not yet. However, someday I WILL visit Australia. And New Zealand. And Scotland. Among others! * * * I was reading an article yesterday in which NASCAR driver Greg Biffle spoke out rather strongly against that football player and dog fighting in general. He has a foundation which raises money for numerous animal charities. It seems like a very worthy organization. I’m glad when people use their fame to better the world we live in. I’m not a fan of NASCAR, but I liked what he had to say on his web site, so I thought I’d pass it along. Definitely worth checking out! * * * Which places would never interest you as a vacation destination? Other states, other countries, other continents — which ones would you never care to see, and why not? This is going to make me sound like a complete snob, I fear, but I have little desire to visit third-world countries. If Angelina (Jolie) visits it regularly, I don’t particularly want to visit it. I’ve never wanted to visit the Middle East – nothing about that part of the world has ever appealed to me with the exception of maybe Israel. I have a huge fear of visiting non English speaking countries, some crisis happening, and being unable to communicate with the people around me. I don’t think I want to visit South America, though it’s a beautiful part of the world. As far as states – to be honest, I’d love to visit every state in the union, particularly Alaska. I think it’s terrible that I’ve seen so little of my country, and if I had my way we’d visit a couple of new ones every year. * * * Do you have a set workout routine you try to stick with? Do you ever get cravings? As mentioned above, I haven’t worked out in ages, something I intend to remedy all the time, but haven’t yet. Do I get cravings? HELLZ YES I get cravings. Lately (due to PMS, I think), I am craving the hell out of fried rice. Not enough to go get some (and besides, I don’t care for the gas most rice gives me), but craving it nonetheless. I’m a sugar hound, so I’m always craving sweet stuff. And this is going to sound like complete and utter “Are you craving potato chips? Eat a rice cake!” bullshit, but the Sungold cherry tomatoes we’re growing this year are so sweet that they will totally take care of a sweet craving. I’ve eaten a TON of them lately – with mozzarella and without; they’re best just plain, popped into your mouth. Um. I had to go into the kitchen for a handful of Sungold tomatoes. What was I saying? Oh, right. Cravings. Yep, I get them as much as I ever did! * * * I have multiple cats like you and one has decided that he likes the corner of my bedroom more then his litter box. Have you had issues like this and if you do, what do you do to stop it and get the stink out! The only cat we’ve really had that issue with was Tubby, when he developed diabetes. We were never able to stop him from peeing inappropriately – he did it just a few days before he died, in fact. Spot has lately taken to peeing inappropriately upon occasion, and it’s always preceded by a visit from a strange animal. He did it several times when my parents were here with their dog, and he did it a few times after we let Maxi into the house. We’re lucky in that he never pees directly on the floor, but pees on something on the floor – that is, the bath mat in the spud’s bedroom (which I washed the first few times, then replaced completely), the blanket on the couch (which had slipped to the floor), and this morning I discovered that at some point he peed on the towel in the cat carrier. As long as we keep strange animals out of the house, we don’t seem to have a problem with him; at least we’ve identified what his issue is! If you know which cat is peeing in the corner of your bedroom, your first stop should be the vet to make sure there are no physical issues going on with him. If there aren’t, then it’s a behavioral thing and you need to try to figure out what causes it. It might have been a one-time thing and now that the smell of cat pee (the most offensive odor in the universe, if you ask me) is in the corner of your room, it could be that the cat is smelling the cat pee, which makes him or her believe it’s okay to pee there. We’ve always used Axi-Dent Pet Odor Neutralizer on cat pee – it’s the only stuff we’ve ever used that immediately wipes out the smell of cat pee. If there’s carpet there, you should probably ask a carpet expert to come and look at the carpet. We had to have the carpet and pad taken up from the corner of the bedroom where Tubby was peeing, and replaced, but an expert will be able to tell you whether the carpet can be saved. * * * My question: Lindsay Lohan? Is it wrong that I feel sorry for her? She is completely messed up, that girl, and I’m not sure that there exists enough help to save her. I don’t know what the answer is, except to perhaps build a time machine and go back in time and stop her parents from allowing her to enter the entertainment industry. For every kid who acts and/ or sings and attains fame at a young age and comes out of it relatively okay (Christina Aguilera is the only one who comes to mind, but she’s still young), there are ten who spend years screwing up and never really seem to get to any level of normalcy (hi, Danny Bonaduce and the Coreys!). I think that the level of fame Lindsey saw at such a young age can be both addictive and scarring. If, when you’re a teenager, there are millions of people who hang on your every word, how can you NOT want to keep feeling that adoration, and how can that NOT fuck you up? I hope someone figures out how to help her, and I hope she figures out how to help herself. * * * I was wondering when all of your other cats have ‘real/official’ names that begin with “S” – why did you choose Tom Cullen? Are you moving up the alphabet or are the others just coincidence? It was more Fred’s decision all along to keep the cats’ “legal” names starting with “S”, which I think is silly – I literally have to stop and think for a few seconds every time to remember that Mister Boogers is really “Stanley” and Miz Poo is actually “Scrappy.” Personally, I wanted to name Miz Poo Molly, but since Fred had “let” me get her, he got to make the call, and he insisted that her name start with “s”, since we had Spot, Spanky, Snoopy (Tubby), and Stimpy (Mr. Fancypants). When we had Tommy – after his siblings had gone to the pet store and he was still with us (he was limping the day I took his siblings to the pet store, so we kept him for a couple of days, and he wormed his way into our hearts), we were talking about names (before we’d decided to keep him), and got on a Stephen King theme. Fred said that “Tom Cullen” would be a great name, which made me laugh immediately. Later, when I was suggesting that we keep him, Fred said he’d agree as long as we could name him Tom Cullen. So we did! It’s just a coincidence that Sugarbutt’s name starts with an “S”, but all the other “S” cats were on purpose, and in keeping with the theme. * * * What kind of laptop did you decide on? I know you wrote it somewhere, but can’t find it. It’s a ZT Affinity – this one – and at this point I do not recommend it at ALL. Not only are the USB ports upside down (very weird), it was slow as shit until Fred installed an extra 1 GB of memory, the internal wireless internet doesn’t work at all (we had to get a wireless thingy that you plug into a USB port), it’s got Windows Vista, which appears to be a bloated piece of crap, and I am completely unable to watch movies or videos on it. Fred’s still working on it and will be installing Windows XP at some point this weekend, so we’ll see how that goes. But again – I don’t recommend it. I said to Fred the other day, “For the price, I could have gotten a damn Dell”, but then again – I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who has had anything good to say about a Dell (if you have a Dell and love it, feel free to leave a comment!). * * * Tommy absolutely cannot come to visit the foster kittens without Spanky running over and getting all up in his shit. He thinks Tommy is COOL (it’s like a little kid wanting to hang with the cool big kid) and is always following him around, sniffing at him, and trying to start a fight. All Tommy wants to do is check out the toys, the view out the window, and the food. He has no time for the little kid. Zombie kitty wants brains. Braaaaaains. (Tons more kitten pics here. I wanted to clear off my memory stick today.) * * * Yesterday I took Sugarbutt’s bandage off to look at his neck, and when I went to put it back on, the self-stick stuff wouldn’t stick. So I got another roll and put some on him, and it wouldn’t stick, either. So I pulled off a long piece and wrapped it around his neck twice, and it stayed. Until last night when the end came unstuck. Fred says he looks like Fred from Scooby Doo. Hee! Note on Sugarbutt: I took him to the vet today; he’s got to go back next week to have the spot biopsied, since it didn’t react to the steroid at all, so we can see exactly what it is. Poor Suggie. * * * Previously 2006: I look like a fucking Simpson! 2005: “I dropped my purse!” I lied. 2004: I’m a slug in a family of energizer bunnies. 2003: No entry. 2002: My primitive mind can’t grasp these concepts. 2001: No entry. 2000: I’m just not feeling very chatty today.]]>

* * * Several people have emailed me, letting me know that they’re blogging for Blogathon this year. I’m sorry, but I don’t take part in Blogathon at all, in a blogging or (especially) donating capacity. I think y’all know that I happily contribute to charities and have donated to a lot of your causes and will continue to do so, but I don’t support Blogathon, haven’t for a couple of years, and don’t intend to in the future. kthxbye.

* * * Spoilers for the movie Premonition with Sandra Bullock and the hothothot Julian McMahon in this section; skip to the next if you haven’t seen it. We watched Premonition last week, and I have to say that I liked it a lot, right up until the end. Like Fred said after the movie was over, we watched the whole goddamn movie with the belief that she might have a chance to save him, and yet he still died. We should have seen that coming, I suppose, but still we hoped. There was a bug, though, and I’ll explain it in excruciating detail because I MUST. The movie opens with the girls waking Sandra Bullock up and telling her they’re going to be late; that’s on Thursday. Sandra Bullock takes the girls to school, and we see both girls’ faces several times, and the older one’s face is perfectly fine, no stitches. Later, at home, Sandra Bullock puts stickers on the sliding glass doors. BUT on Tuesday (or maybe Monday; it’s been almost a week since we watched it, so I can’t remember which), the older girl runs through the sliding glass doors, shattering them and cutting her face all up. Her face is still stitched up on Saturday. But Thursday – no messed-up face, no stitches. That’s a pretty big bug, and there was no explanation for it that I can recall. Still, I liked the movie right up until the stupid ending. That Sandra Bullock, cute as a button. * * * Speaking of movies, I watched Sense and Sensibility (another Netflix movie) yesterday. I’ve seen it before, but was struck with the need to see it again. I just love the hell out of Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet, and the part where Hugh Grant informs Emma Thompson that it was his brother who married, not him, and she bursts into tears and Mrs. Dashwood, Maryanne, and Margaret sidle out of the room is possibly one of my favorite scenes in all of moviedom. * * * Sugarbutt’s neck really isn’t getting any better, so I’ve got an appointment to take him to the vet tomorrow morning. Which reminds me – I need to get the cat carrier out this afternoon and leave it out so that when I snatch Sugarbutt up tomorrow morning to stuff him in the carrier, he won’t immediately know what I’m about to do, and fight to get the hell away from me. Every time I get the carrier out of the closet, all the cats scatter – especially Miz Poo and Spot – and hide for a couple of hours. Once they get accustomed to having it sit in the middle of the computer room floor they sniff at it then forget about it. So when I pick Sugarbutt up tomorrow, he’ll just thing I’m going for a snuggle. Then I’ll stuff his ass in the carrier and he’ll feel all horrified and betrayed. Sugarbutt has Stranger Danger issues. * * * When I am in the kitchen, I always and forever have company. This company is in the form of Spot, who believes that my being in the kitchen should always equal his receiving a tasty, tasty treat. I’m always happy to share if I’ve got something he might like – ground round or chicken, usually – but when I’m standing at the counter cutting up okra to dehydrate, I figure that’s not really his sort of thing. He still sits in the middle of the floor and stares at me. If I ignore him and keep cutting okra, he eventually starts squeaking at me, and the sound of Spot squeaking is like having nails drilled directly through my eardrums. I’ve tried circumventing the squeak by showing him what I’m doing – holding out a tray of chopped okra – but he sniffs it and gives me the most disapproving look as if he’s thinking “Yeah, I see what you’re trying to distract me with. I don’t buy it. Give me some of the good stuff, BITCH.” So when I’m standing in the kitchen cutting up something he wouldn’t be interested in, I start to get tense after a few minutes, because I can always see him out of the corner of my eye, and I know it’s only a matter of time before he starts with the goddamn squeaking again. Sometimes I swat at him with a dishtowel to run him out of the room, but he always comes back. The other day I was cutting up cherry tomatoes for dehydrating, and I could see Spot sitting on a corner of the rug, watchingwatchingwatching me. I tensed up because I HATE that goddamn squeak he makes, and I chopped faster, hoping to finish and get the hell out of the kitchen before he could start in on me, but still he sat and stared. Finally, I’d had enough. I grabbed a dishtowel, whirled around, and waved it at him, yelling “Get! Go!” at the top of my lungs. Which is when I realized I was yelling at a bottle of white vinegar, not Spot. Probably the vinegar wasn’t going to start squeaking at me, but in case it was going to, it’s certainly been warned. You can’t trust those bottles of vinegar. * * * Yesterday Fred and I were sitting at our respective computers. I was looking up information on preserving okra – I’ve been slicing, dehydrating, and then freezing it, but Fred complained that he really likes whole okra, and so I was looking to see what I needed to do to prepare okra for freezing whole (answer: blanch, which REALLY brings out the snotty consistency), and I wandered across a page with interesting okra information. “Huh,” I said out loud. “Did you know that okra is also called gumbo?” “Uh, no,” he said. “Interesting, huh?” “I… guess so. Did she have big ears or something?” “Um. WHAT?” We turned from our computers to face each other. “Did she have big ears?” Fred repeated. “Who?” Long silence, while we pondered the conversation and tried to figure out where we’d taken a wrong turn. “Did you say Oprah is also called dumbo?” Fred said. I think we’ve both lost our hearing since we moved to this house. The number one thing we seem to say lately is “Huh? What? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”, which for some reason irritates the fucking shit out of me when Fred yells it to me from another room. I tried to get Fred to use his cell phone for texting, so we could just text each other when I’m, say, in the kitchen and he’s in the front room. He wouldn’t go for it, though. * * * I am very, very mean. I take the foster kittens a snack every morning and every evening (a couple of spoonsful of plain nonfat yogurt), but before I’ll give them their snack, I stand over them and say in a bizarrely cheerful voice, “Who ready for the yum-yums? WHO READY FOR THE YUM-YUMS?!” until Gilligan and Spanky “speak” to let me know that they, in fact, are ready for the yum-yums, so hand it over lady. “Please, might I partake of the yum-yums, lady?” “I’ve got a belly and it’s needin’ the yum-yums. HAND OVER THE YUM-YUMS.” Once the yum-yums are eaten, Gilligan and Spanky go after my feet, if I’m wearing socks. They cannot abide the socks. * * * In what’s going to become the guest room sits the spud’s bed. We’ve been intending to move it out to the garage, but given that we’ve got no guests (NANCE), there’s no big hurry to do so. Atop the spud’s bed sits a small doll bed that my father made for the spud and which she left behind (she’s a wee bit past the playing-with-dolls stage). Atop the doll bed is a little mattress and quilt my mother made for the bed. For these past few weeks, the doll bed has sat atop the spud’s bed, unmolested. No one’s looked at it twice, and then suddenly for no apparent reason, it’s become the place to be. “I am former Senator Stanley J. Boogerton, and I approve this bed.” Spanky, especially, likes the bed. He likes to spend his days on the bed atop the bed, and if you go past the doorway, he calls you in with his goofy little meow to come visit and see him in laying on the bed he believes was created just for him. * * * Previously 2006: I may have Hepatitis. 2005: But not to worry, it was just cramps. Whew! 2004: I want to rip her goddamn fucking ::fliiiip::TAP::TAP::TAP::FLIIIP::TAP::TAP::TAP::FLIP::TAP::TAP::TAP::FLIP::TAP::TAP::TAP:: head off her stupid fucking goddamn neck 2003: No entry. 2002: I caught the eye of one of them, who noticed my intensely guilty terrorist-like face, and waved me over to wand me down. 2001: No entry. 2000: Because, you know, my life is so damn chaotic. Yeah.]]>

America is full of people who love to pretend to be offended. And from O Magazine: “Resentment,” says the writer Malachy McCourt, “is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” Just thought I’d share.

* * * Also, I jotted this down when Fred and I went to the movies a few weeks ago, because it cracked me up: As a child, Jim Carrey would wear his tap shoes to bed in case his parents needed cheering up in the middle of the night. I think that is my favorite factoid, ever. * * * So yes, I read about 40 pages of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows before bed Saturday night, and then spent all day laying in bed reading, with the occasional breaks for food or trips to the bathroom. I finished sometime after 6:00 Sunday evening. I should point out that I didn’t read the entire book in one day because I’m a huge Harry Potter fan (though I do like the books); I read it because I just knew that if I didn’t read it immediately, I’d stumble across a spoiler, and I hate that shit. POSSIBLE SPOILERS BEGIN I think it was a good book. I liked that the epilogue picked up 19 years later, I like that they were all seeing their kids off to Hogwarts, though I think the epilogue was a little too cutesy and I was more interested in what Harry et al were up to as adults rather than the super-obvious names they gave their kids. I like that Neville seemed to really come into their own, and to be honest, I’d have liked more details of what Dumbledore’s Army got up to while Harry and Hermione were off trying to figure out what the hell they were doing. Hedwig’s death didn’t affect me, but Dobby’s – the funeral – had me crying like a baby. In all, a good book. If I hadn’t been afraid of running across spoilers, I might have waited a few weeks or months to read it, though. I think J K Rowling set it up nicely so that if she really wanted to, she could start up a new series about the Potter and Weasley kids, but I don’t feel like that was necessarily her intention. POSSIBLE SPOILERS END So yeah, I was really surprised to find that Harry and Voldemort became lifelong luvahs at the end of the book, living happily on the ocean with their 63 dragons. Who saw THAT coming? (Yeah, yeah, har. I am HILARIOUS.) * * * Knowing that I wanted to spend all day Sunday doing nothing but reading, I busted my ass on Saturday to get stuff done so that I could take Sunday off. I canned four pints of salsa for Fred, which took longer than I’d expected, what with the blanching and peeling of tomatoes, chopping the tomatoes, chopping jalapenos and green peppers and onions and cilantro, then boiling it for a few minutes before canning it. (Fred’s going to give the canned salsa a test run this week to see how it turned out; if he likes it, I’ll make another batch to can, so he’ll be set for the winter.) Then I snapped, cut, and canned green beans, which took forfuckingever (but was okay, because I spent the snapping and cutting portion of that activity in the living room watching TV and got caught up on Army Wives), and then I had to cut up the two watermelons Fred had picked – he yanked up the watermelon patch because the watermelons were overtaken by weeds, which was stunting their growth, but he brought two small watermelon in for me, because he found a watermelon preserve recipe he wanted me to make. He helped me cut up the watermelon rind, which took a long motherfucking time, but once it was cut up, all I had to do was put some sugar on it, and put it in the fridge to sit overnight (two overnights, really, since I didn’t finish up the preserves and can them ’til yesterday). But it was worth it, ’cause I didn’t have to do a damn thing on Sunday. I took a shower, then put my nightgown back on, and stayed in it. Very freeing it was, to walk around in a nightgown all day. Maybe I should take EVERY Sunday off! (Or not) * * * We got our first batch of black-eyed peas on Saturday. Fred shelled them and put them in the pressure cooker with an onion and some water, and they came out really well. I think we’d better get used to the taste of black-eyed peas, because it appears that we’re going to have 63 million pounds of them. Fred picked another pound and a half yesterday, which I blanched and froze. We also got our first batch of cucumbers yesterday. I decided to cut one up to have with dinner (and use the rest for pickling) and cut one open to find that it’d been the victim of a goddamn vine borer bug. I went out to look at the cucumbers, and the plants are covered with those little stinkbug-looking fuckers. There was a robber fly sitting there, and I kept saying to it, “Jesus christ, you fucker! Do your job! There are a thousand vine borers sitting right there! Grab one and suck the life out of it!” The robber fly just looked bored. Either he was full, or uninterested in vine borers. I pickled the other cucumbers with a dill recipe I found online; it didn’t require cooking the cucumbers first (or putting them in salty water for 8 hours), so we’ll see how they come out. If we get another batch of cucumbers before the borers get to them, I want to make some of Amanda’s Freezer Pickles, and I have a couple of other recipes I want to try. Fred’s talking about planting another row of cucumbers (and treating them to prevent vine borers), and I’m kind of waffling on it. On the one hand, I do like me a good pickle. On the other, I really don’t eat them all that often, and pickling is about all you can do with cucumbers. Hmm. I do need to try my hand at sweet pickle relish, though. You can’t have deviled eggs without sweet pickle relish, and (hopefully) we’ll start getting eggs from the girls soon. * * * The kittens are doing well. Spanky’s really started to let me pet him a lot more than he was, and in fact he’s become a lot less skittish about being petted than Gilligan is. I’ve let the shelter manager know that they’re both ready to go when there’s room at the pet store, but with the glut of kittens right now, I’m not sure when that’ll be. Maryanne refuses to let me do more than occasionally brush her as she’s going by, but she’s definitely warmed up to Fred. I’ll be interested to see how she is once her brothers are gone and she has only us to play with – will she loosen up, or be the same standoffish little brat? When you’ve got kittens who love to play with the camera strap, you end up with a lot of closeup pictures. Mister Suspicious. Gilligan takes a page from his suspicious brother’s book. * * * Basket full o’ hate. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: “You mean Todd Beamer wasn’t the only one on that flight?” 2001: That’s it, that’s all the Miz Poo stories I have at the moment. I hope that’ll hold you. 2000: At the end, after having achieved a size 8, Jemima porked ALL the way back up to a 10, the cow. ]]>

* * * Man, I hit the ground running this morning; thank god I need to update so I can sit on my ass for a little while! I got up at 6:30 because Fred’s taken today and tomorrow off from work, and he wanted to run to Lowe’s and the Co-Op to get a bunch of stuff. Since I needed a couple of bird feeders, I wanted to go with him, and because the earlier you go to places like Lowe’s the less people there are, he wanted to get there right after 7:00. On a side note, I needed a couple of bird feeders because the FUCKING SQUIRRELS figured out that they could chew the plastic hook off the top of the bird feeder that’s been hanging outside the computer room door for months now. I have no issues with squirrels eating out of the bird feeders – I know some people hate them, but I think they’re amusing to watch, especially when they hang upside down and cram as much in their faces as they can before they go scampering off. Anyway, they figured out that they could chew the plastic hook off the top of the (plastic) bird feeder and the bird feeder would fall to the ground, scattering seed and nuts everywhere, and they wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of hanging from their back feet to get to the food. I didn’t realize, of course, that they’d chewed the plastic hook off the top; I thought there’d been an issue with too much weight on the feeder and the hook (or rather, the part where the hook goes through, really) had broken. So I went out to K-Mart (did you even know K-Mart still existed? I did not.) and bought another bird feeder of the same kind, and a different bird feeder that I thought was pretty, and that held more bird seed. I hung the pretty feeder outside the computer room window and the plastic lantern-type (the exact same kind that had been hanging outside the computer room window) from the pecan tree out toward the back forty, and thought no more of it. Until the next day when I looked out the window and saw that the goddamn squirrels had figured out how to get the top off the pretty bird feeder, which made it tilt to the side, spilling seed and nuts all over the goddamn ground. Even though there was a lock-type thingy on the top that should have made it impossible, apparently the country squirrels (now with more salt!) are Einsteins and little things like locks on the top of bird feeders don’t even slow the motherfuckers down. And then I looked toward the pecan tree and saw that the lantern bird feeder I’d hung out there was laying on the ground and covered in cardinals, bluejays, and assorted other birds. When I went out to see what the fuck was going on, I found that the hook at the top of the feeder had been chewed off. Goddamn squirrels. So I needed to go to Lowe’s with Fred to get feeders that squirrels couldn’t get the top off of or chew the hook off of. I got a couple of nice feeders, and as of two hours after I hung them up, they’re still in one piece. After I filled and put up the bird feeders, I went around and cleaned out and refilled the bird baths and cat water bowl (when I run the water over by the garage, Newt loves to sit and watch the water trickle down the driveway. It’s apparently quite fascinating.), gathered up trash, emptied, cleaned, and refilled the litter box in the foster kitten room AND the litter box in the laundry room, carted all the dirty litter to the trash can, which I had to roll to the end of the driveway, it being trash day, and then back inside to clean up the kitchen, start some laundry, and then remember I’d locked Tommy in the foster kitten room (when I was coming out, he ran in and wouldn’t be shooed back out of the room so I yelled “Fine, motherfucker, you stay in there!” and shut the door) so had to go up and make sure no one was dead, shooed Tommy out of the room, and was just sitting down to check my email and start an entry when Fred called (he’d left earlier for a doctor appointment) and asked if I wanted to go to Nearville for breakfast. The restaurant we went to apparently doesn’t serve breakfast during the week – it’s a buffet place – so we drove around for a little while until they opened for lunch, and had a yummy breakfast/ lunch at 10:45. By the time we left half an hour later, we were the youngest people in the restaurant by about 150 years. And now we’re home, and I’m sleepy because I had too many carbs, but I must not sleep because that motherfucker I’m married to went out and picked green beans last night. And in three hours of snapping them last night, I only got a little over half of them snapped. So I’ve got to snap the rest, then can the fuckers. The best part of this is knowing that he didn’t think we were going to have “enough” green beans canned, so he planted an entire second row of the goddamn things.

* * * I made salsa for Fred last night – a bunch of tomatoes, three jalapenos, a huge onion, a couple of green peppers, fresh cilantro, all chopped and stirred together, salt, and a drizzle of lime. He pronounced it “very, very good”, but since I don’t like green peppers (or jalapenos, really) I’ll have to take his word for it. I did try some, but it was too hot for me. I said “If it weren’t for the peppers and cilantro, it’d be really good.” and he said “Then it would just be tomatoes and onion!” and I said “Exactly. That sounds heavenly.” * * * So, we’ve let Tommy in to hang out with the kittens a few times, and it seems to go well. It’s hilarious to see him amongst them, because he’s like Godzilla, he’s so much bigger than they are. They’re absolutely fascinated by him – even Maryanne, who hisses and hisses and hisses at him – and follow him around and sniff at him and just sit and stare at him. It’s seriously cute. Maryanne has a hissy fit. Tommy does not care. :sniff::sniff::sniff::SNIFF::SNIFF::SNIFF:: Spanky gets fresh with Tommy. Tommy explains who the boss is. (Hint: it’s Tommy.) Tommy does not care for the taste of fresh kitten in the morning. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: OR I may have thought to myself, well, every author is entitled to a horrid piece of excrement or two. 2001: I’ve been packing in a desultory and lazy fashion this week, and have about half the upstairs done. 2000: I think if any of the kitties lose their mind and go on a human-throat-gnawing spree, it’ll be her. ]]>

look at and test-drive cars. Fuck if I can even figure out what I spent all day doing. I know there was tomato-canning (note to myself: cook the tomatoes before canning, next time, otherwise they shrink too damn much to make it worth it) and watermelon-rind-pickle-canning (we tested out a couple of the rind pickles before I canned them. They are REALLY good. They remind me a lot of apple pie filling; I bet they’d be good cooked in little handheld pies.) and lots of kitchen-cleaning and vacuuming, but other than that? I don’t know. Ah well. I’m sure it was productive, anyway. I canned more green beans on Sunday, giving us right around 45 billion jars of green beans. It’s a good thing Fred did a second planting of green beans! Otherwise, we might run out before we’re 95. The dehydrator has been running close to 24 hours a day. I had just gotten caught up on the yellow squash and zucchini when Fred brought more in. DAMNIT. I cut a ton of cherry tomatoes in half last night and started them dehydrating; those fuckers take FOREVER to dehydrate – it’s been 17 hours, and they’re not done yet. Okra, on the other hand, dry out pretty quickly. Speaking of okra, they have such pretty flowers, it’s a shame they’re hidden by the leaves of the okra plant. I bought a bunch of bananas at the grocery store on Thursday with the intention of dehydrating them because banana chips are GOOD, and better for you if there’s no oil or extra crap added, but the dehydrator’s been so jam-packed with stuff from the garden that I haven’t had a chance to dry the bananas yet. So Fred started talking about test-driving a Hyundai Accent late last week, and Saturday morning he decided it was time to go do it. After he spent the day working, he took a shower and we headed to Decatur. We took it for a drive, he decided he liked it, and we went inside to talk to the saleslady about how much he’d get for his SUV. Now, here’s the thing. There’s little on this earth I hate more than all the baloney involved when you’re buying a car and trading in your old one and trying to get the most you can for your old vehicle and all that. It makes me want to rip my hair out and run screaming down the street. Somehow I had forgotten how much I loathe that, and then when we sat down and the saleslady had some guy come out to talk to us about how much Fred’s old car would be worth, I remembered and my heart sank. And then the guy sat down to talk to us, and I turned into a pouty teenage brat. Because when it comes down to it, this whole thing was – in my opinion – Fred’s business and didn’t involve me and why on earth would I even need to pay attention. I noticed when the salesman sat down that there was some sort of crease across the top of his head – like a scar from an operation – and then I didn’t bother to look at him again while he talked and talked and talked. I looked at my shoes. I checked out my fingernails. I re-read the last text message I’d gotten from Liz. I considered texting her back (and only didn’t because then she’d text me back, and when she calls or texts me, Beavis and Butthead start laughing (that’s the ringtone assigned to her) and I didn’t want to be THAT obvious. I picked lint off my pants. I glanced up at Fred once or twice. “Is that all?” Fred said, in dismay when the guy named what they were willing to pay for Fred’s old car. “Kelley Blue Book is blahblahblah and blah-dy blah blah.” “Well,” the guy said. “Blah blah blah. And then blah. But now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll call Blah at our sister store and I’ll make sure I’m not missing something. I’ve been out of work for a little while. I got into a motorcycle accident and they put a lot of metal in my head, so it’s making me twitch – it’s not you that’s making me twitch! Ha! Ha! – and I want to make sure I’m giving you a good price.” I couldn’t help it. My head shot up and I looked at the guy like: and then I glanced at Fred, who looked like: and we stared at each other like: I can’t speak for Fred, but I know I was thinking “I hope that scar on his head doesn’t pop out and his brain doesn’t come sproinging at me, because then I’d have to bat it like a volleyball and I never was very good at volleyball.” After more salespeak, wherein I sat in my seat, mesmerized by the scar on the guy’s head, Fred asked if we could have a moment alone to speak, and then we talked about whether he really wanted to trade down from an SUV to a small car (yes, because it uses much less gas), and whether he liked the car. We went out to look at the car some more, and then we went back inside, and Fred told the saleslady he was afraid that going from an SUV to a small car would be too much of a shock, and then she suggested that we take the car for an extended test drive through Monday, and that way he could have some time to see what it would really be like, and he’d see whether he liked driving it to work and all that. So we provided our license and insurance information to the lady, she wrote it all down, and we left Fred’s car at the dealership and left in the Accent. I like the car – like it a LOT, actually, I drove it to Lowe’s yesterday and except for the fact that it’s a standard (I can drive a standard just fine, but prefer automatics; I tried to convince Fred that he’d be happier in an automatic, but he says he likes the “control” a standard gives him) I think it’s the bee’s knees. I told him I thought we should trade my Reno in for an Accent, and we could be dorks in matching cars (except that the one he’s been driving is a dark blue and I’d rather have the silvery sky blue), and I guess we’ll see about that.

* * * Good news: Tina Louise got adopted over the weekend! Yay! Next to go: Gilligan, possibly this week, depending on when room at the pet store comes available. * * * It’s a rough life, being a Toms. Even a rougher life, being a Sugs. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: Off to Maine! 2004: No entry. 2003: “That is a child who does not fear her parents nearly enough.” 2002: It’s a Poo! Inna box! A Poo inna box! What more could you possibly hope for? 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry.]]>

Good grief….you guys are sure in for touching the dead animals (mouse, bird), please tell me that you go in the house and wash your hands!!!! and What are you doing picking up worms and dead things with your BARE HANDS?! I picked up the mouse with my bare hand because (a) I was only touching its tail and (b) I was too damn lazy to walk all the way to the garage for a pair of gloves or a piece of paper towel. And I washed my hands.. eventually. After I ate breakfast and made dinner. I KID. Of course I washed my hands immediately! What kind of germ-carrying Typhoid Mary do you take me for?

* * * As you are the only person I know (well sorta) that is canning. Do you have any non-pressure cooker recipes for pickles? The daughter has grown some and now “wants to make pickles”. Actually, pickles don’t need the pressure cooker because the vinegar you add to the jar makes it acidic enough so that a trip through the water bath canner works just fine. However, of the pickles I’ve made so far, they’ve all come out mushy. I hate the HELL out of a mushy pickle, and I don’t know if it’s the recipe or me or the fact that I’ve been using zucchini (since the cukes aren’t ripe just yet) or what, but if anyone has a recipe for a nice crisp pickle, feel free to share! If you want to give it a trial run, here’s a pickle recipe, though not one I’ve tried myself. They’re all pretty similar, though, so that should give you a feel for what they’re like. * * * My recipe for dirty rice – get in the car, go to Trader Joes and get Tony Chachere’s Dirty Rice Mix. It is fabulous and the easiest thing EVER!! Don’t use Zatarain’s – yucky!!! Of course I feel that way about all of their stuff, so there you have it. I use either ground turkey or 94% lean ground meat. And make sure you put green onions(tops only) into it…mmmm, heaven. Look, you – stop teasing me with the Trader Joe’s! There’s no Trader Joe’s within miles and miles of here (there are some in Georgia), and every time y’all mention that place, I get sad and jealous because we don’t have one (yet!). For those of us who might want to give Tony Chachere’s a try, check Froogle for places to buy it online. (I can’t speak for Zatarain’s, though – I don’t believe I’ve had anything they make, at least not yet!) * * * Yay! Rain! Is the drought over? It might be too soon to say that the drought is really over, but we’ve certainly gotten plenty of rain in the past week. I mowed the lawn last Friday, then the skies opened up and over the past week I think we’ve only had a couple of days when it didn’t rain for at least a little while. The plants in the garden are loving it, and so is the lawn – it needs mowing again! On the down side, I had to use the DRYER to get my laundry done Wednesday, and then it was nice and sunny yesterday, so I spent all day doing laundry (sheets and towels) and hanging them out. The last set of sheets weren’t quite dry by dark so I left them out there. And naturally it started raining first thing this morning. After all that time spent wishing for rain, Fred’s now getting antsy because the rain is making the weeds in the garden go wild, and it’s too muddy to weed. It’s a conundrum! * * * Your previous years entry got me to wondering if you are going to go visit Tigers for Tomorrow again? We are, one of these days. We’ve talked about it, but just haven’t found the time to do it yet! * * * Just curious if you have ever eaten frozen squash? I made a casserole a few weeks ago with some and it was bad, the bad part being it tasted nothing like squash at all. I’ve always heard frozen squash will loose almost all it’s taste. As for the ones I had it was very true. I don’t know that I’ve ever had frozen squash, and I’ve heard that it looses its taste when frozen, too. Which is why I bought a dehydrator and am dehydrating squash from here on out. I don’t know that dehydrated squash will taste any better, but like Fred keeps saying to me, this is our learning year. If dehydrated squash tastes bad, we’ll plant fewer plants next year and just eat them when they’re in season! * * * I am so glad that you do what you do with the fosters and volunteering at the pet store. I want to do something like that, but I’m not sure I could take it. Do you ever get weepy over the kitties? Oh do I EVER get weepy over the kitties. I get weepy every single time I have to take a kitten to the pet store and leave it in a cage, because it’s scared and doesn’t understand what’s going on, and I can’t say “Look, I know it’s scary, but it’s for the best! Someone’s going to come along and fall in love with you, and they’ll take you home, and it’ll be AWESOME!” – well, I CAN say that, and I often do, but they don’t understand and I hate how frightened they are. But I do know it’s for the best and I trust the adoption counselors for the shelter (they don’t hesitate to say “no” to people, which is why I could never be an adoption counselor), so as hard as it is, I’ll keep on doing it. The difficulty in saying goodbye is very much offset by the fun part of being able to play with them and watch them grow. * * * Well, I had a dinner-related meltdown at my house last night! I didn’t get home until 8, and had things to do, so I had a plate of the meal my bf cooked, and when he offered me seconds, I refused, although I told him I liked what he had made. He went to bed, and I finished my business, and by that time (close to midnight), he’d woken up from his nap, ready to pout. I asked him what was wrong and he told me he was really angry because the meal he made was difficult. I inadvertently insulted him by not eating more of the food. He thought I’d eaten before I got home even though he’d told me he was going to cook. He said in the future he’d just make something easy, like eggs. Well, ho ho ho! We haven’t known each other long enough for him to know all my buttons, but fucking sulking like a giant-ass baby when I didn’t even do anything is probably my biggest, reddest button and he was jumping up and down on it. I told him that even if I had known how difficult the meal was to make, I still wouldn’t have had a second helping because it was rich and I wasn’t that hungry (and I had things to do so didn’t want to linger at the table). HOWEVER, IN THE FUTURE I GUESS I WILL HAVE THIRDS IF IT WILL KEEP YOU FROM THROWING A TEMPER TANTRUM, THERE THERE, HERE’S A JUICE BOX. I just had to put this comment in here because it cracks me UP. For the record, I’d never get pissed off if someone didn’t have seconds on whatever I made; I’d just figure Fred could take it to work for lunch the next day, or I could eat it myself. I’m going to adopt HERE’S A JUICE BOX and use it next time Fred’s acting like a big baby. Hee. * * * Ummm…pickled watermelon rind? Pickled watermelon rind! (You have to scroll down a bit) I’ve never made this stuff before, so I can’t swear to how good it is. I’ll have to let y’all know. * * * (Regarding the spud leaving) Great. Now I’m all teary-eyed. Thanks a lot! (Are you all teary-eyed? Hope not!) I got a little teary-eyed when I was saying goodbye to her, but I’ve been fine (except for the part where she’s driving a million miles to get to Rhode Island). Like I said, it’ll probably be this Fall before it really hits home that she’s not coming back. * * * For a woman that loves to go out to eat at any opportunity (and I, myself, join those ranks,) you sure do cook a lot. What, may I ask, is your favorite dish to cook and/or eat? I’d say either hamburgers cooked on the grill (because then all I have to do is make the hamburger patties; Fred does the cooking), or meat loaf, because I really like meat loaf and it’s something I can make ahead and just pop into the oven when the time comes. I like both Core meat loaf and Mini meat loaves. Meatloaf with a side of oven fried zucchini and some green beans sounds just about perfect to me. * * * Speaking of green beans, I opened a jar of the green beans I canned last weekend, and I am VERY pleased to report that they weren’t mushy at all. I cannot abide a mushy green bean, and so this weekend I’ll be opening a jar of the pressure canned green beans I made a few weeks ago to test the mushiness of those and compare the two. All things being equal, though, I think the sugar-and-vinegar beans (I rinsed the sugar-and-vinegar brine off the beans and except for a slight tanginess, you couldn’t tell they’d been canned in sugar and vinegar) are easier than the pressure-cooked ones, because I don’t have to deal with the pressure cooker. That pressure cooker always makes me a little bit leery; I don’t want it to explode and decapitate me. Because then I’d probably poop my guts out, and that just wouldn’t be a pretty sight. * * * Some sights from around the back yard area this morning: Just sitting there, all casually, atop the gate leading into the chicken yard. Bastard. I assume this cicada shed his shell and was hanging out for a few minutes ’til he was ready to take off. I don’t know why, but our sunflowers are falling over. Maybe the rain? I hate these goddamn Japanese Beetles. All they do is chew on the plants, then sit around on the weeds and fornicate, making new baby Japanese Beetles. UGH. Baby grasshopper. The girls are really starting to look like chickens, with their red.. head thingies (I don’t know what they’re called) coming up, and their red wattles developing. They should start laying eggs in the next few weeks, I think. * * * Gilligan, Maryanne, and Spanky are adapting well to not having Tina Louise around. In fact, they don’t really seem to notice that she’s missing. Gilligan’s starting to get more affectionate – he’ll sit and let me scratch behind his ears and on his back for a long, long time. He freaks out if I try to pick him up (I just want to kiss him!), but he’ll come over if I wiggle my fingers at him, and let me pet him. Definite progress! In the morning and evening, the kittens get a little snack of a spoonful of plain lowfat yogurt on a plate. They like it a lot, but Gilligan has decided he doesn’t like it anymore. That’s fine with Maryanne and Spanky – more for them! “I just don’t see what all the fuss is about, lady.” “You hear that, Elizabeth? I’m coming to join you, honey!” * * * Previously 2006: I think I need a nap. 2005: Hey. What’s worse than not being able to stop yourself from crying? WHEN A MOTHERFUCKER KEEPS LOOKING AT YOU TO SEE IF YOU’RE CRYING. 2004: She looked simultaneously confused and disgusted. “When do I eat CHICKEN eggs?” She wrinkled her nose. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: Sh’yeah. I’m sure Brad’s reallllly worried. 2000: Could that paragraph have been any more rambly and pointless? ]]>