medical crap – Page 3

5/30/08

Last night, I spent the entire night IN MY BED, and I got some decent sleep. You’d think I’d be feeling particularly fabulous this morning, but even after sleeping from 9:30 last night to 7:30 this morning (with some awake times, of course), I still feel like I need a nap. I guess the fact … Continue reading “5/30/08”

I had a lot of pain yesterday during the day, but it went away in the evening and there were actually a couple of times when we were watching TV that I forgot I’d had surgery. I mean, once I had to get up out of the chair I remembered quickly enough, but it was nice to have a little time where there was no pain and wooziness and just general discomfort.

The kittens are now 6 weeks old. I weighed them this morning, and except for River (who weighed in at 2 pounds, 2 ounces), they’re all under two pounds still. Between the fact that they’re not all two pounds yet, not quite weaned, and Zoe hasn’t completely gotten the hang of the litter box (she peed on a cat bed right in front of me yesterday!), I feel secure in saying that I’ve got at least two more weeks before I have to take them in to be spayed and neutered.

I always forget what bitey little brats they are at this age. They’re so MEAN. But at the same time they’re so freakin’ cute that I’d probably let them gnaw through my carotid artery without a fight as long as they occasionally stop and put their soft little paws on my face and sniff my nose.

Such a little lunatic.

Lots of kitten pics over at Flickr.

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Previously
2007: “I’m so happy,” he said. “That if this were a movie, in the next scene you’d be raped or killed.”
2006: No entry.
2005: Every time I type in “u” instead of “you”, I die a little inside.
2004: No entry.
2003: What happens if you put a box on the floor?
2002: “Where was it, Bessie?” he asked, trying to draw me into the trap with him, so he could perhaps trip me and then run away, leaving me there for her to latch onto.
2001: What do you s’pose a realtor’s house looks like? I always assumed it’d be a real showplace, with everything just so, all appliances gleaming and so on.
2000: Every time I blow-dry my hair, it sounds like the phone is ringing.

5/28/08

I didn’t sleep worth a shit last night. I was an idiot and decided to take a hydrocodone at bedtime because I’d done that Monday night and slept pretty well (and also had some cool vivid dreams). It didn’t help at all, and finally around 3 am I laid back on the couch with a bunch of pillows under my knees and though I didn’t sleep, I was comfortable enough to stay there for about an hour, and then when I got up, I was finally able to get semi-comfortable in the recliner and doze for a few hours.

I had my first post-op appointment today; poor Fred had to drive half an hour from work to come get me and then another 45 minutes to the plastic surgeon’s office; this living out in the country isn’t always the fun and games it appears to be.

During surgery, the plastic surgeon (or rather, I guess it was the anesthesiologist who actually did it) put a post-op pain control pump in. It was this one, and it was automatic and continual, and was expected to run about three days – basically, it pumped marcaine (from the same family as novocaine, I’m assuming) into my abdomen.

For the super-curious out there, Fred took a picture of me the day after surgery when the nurse was changing my dressing. I don’t think it’s terribly graphic, and after all, it’s a camera phone picture, but you can see what my front side looked like, here.

I didn’t have to do anything but find a place to put the pump, and since I was wearing a size 2X men’s button-up shirt, the pain pump (which looked like nothing so much as a baby bottle to me) ended up in the shirt pocket, and the drains (Jackson-Pratt Drains, two of them, one coming from each hip) ended up one pinned to either side of the front of my shirt.

The pain pump emptied about mid-day Monday and after that, it was nothing but a nuisance, always getting in the way, always popping out of the pocket, just a general pain in the ass, and I couldn’t wait to get rid of it. (I expected that as soon as the marcaine ran out, I’d be in excruciating pain, and while there was the occasional twinge, it wasn’t bad at all. In retrospect, though, Monday was my most uncomfortable day thus far in terms of feeling swollen and bloated, and I wonder if any of that had to do with the marcaine running out. It seems kind of obvious, doesn’t it?)

The drains weren’t annoying to me at all – when we got to the plastic surgeon’s office, the nurse said “Would you say that the worst part has been the drains?” and I said “The drains aren’t bad at all. It’s this damn PAIN PUMP and the horrible inability to sleep that’s killing me!”

I have been dreading, since the moment I woke up after surgery, having those drains removed. Fred, four years after his tummy tuck, will wax poetic on how horribly annoying and painful those drains were, and how much it hurt to have them removed and so on. And because I like to spend lots of time worrying and dreading, I’d been doing that, and you know what? It didn’t hurt at ALL to have the pain pump removed. It didn’t hurt at ALL to have the drain removed. I didn’t feel the removal of the pain pump at all, and just barely felt the drain being pulled out.

The nurse cleaned my incision, put antibiotic ointment on it, and showed Fred how to dress the incision line without using quite so much tape. Then they put my binder back on, and Fred and I were on our way.

I go back next Wednesday, presumably to get the other drain out. I still can’t drive, so I’m housebound for at least another week. I’m sure by this weekend I’ll be begging Fred to take me places to get out of the house. Wonder if I can convince him to go see Sex and the City? (HA.)

Bad thing: I can’t take a full shower ’til the other drain is out, so I’m still sponge-bathing and washing my hair in the sink. Bleh.

Today’s good things:

1. Now that the pain pump is gone and one drain is gone, I can pin the other drain to my binder and instead of wearing a men’s size XXL button-up shirt, which is what I’ve been wearing ever since I got home on Friday, I can wear a nightgown. The shirt was comfortable enough, but I felt like I was walking around with my ass hanging out, even though Fred assured me I wasn’t. Nightgown is much comfier.

2. Now that I have only the one drain, which will be tucked under my clothes, I don’t have to worry about the kittens puncturing anything and blood spurting all over the place.

3. Did I mention that I did not go one single day without seeing those kittens? Friday I went up to see them and had to stay in a chair because I couldn’t get on the floor. By Sunday I was getting down on the floor (very slowly and carefully). Now I’m back to seeing them as often as I want. Fred’s still taking care of the litter boxes (and btw, the kittens celebrated my surgery by starting to poo in the litter boxes because THEY ARE GENIUSES), but I’m taking care of everything else. I might have gone a wee bit overboard yesterday morning by crawling around on the floor with a hand vacuum in the foster kitten room. (DON’T LECTURE ME.)

4. I’m off hydrocodone completely and on a pain scale of 1 – 10, I’m at 1. If 1 is “no pain”. Is 1 “no pain”? Because it seems like zero would be “no pain.” I get the occasional twinge, but nothing worth bitching about – and given that I’ll bitch about anything, no matter how small, that’s saying something.

Someone asked if I was going to do a detailed entry about the surgery and recovery. I plan to do at least a brief overview of the surgery and recovery (let us all take a moment to guffaw at the idea that I could EVER be brief), and I think I’ll probably be up for getting that written over the weekend and you might expect that Monday.

Until Monday, I will likely keep posting occasional quick blog-type posts from my cell phone like I’ve been doing. Hopefully after Monday, the regular weekday posting schedule will resume.

Always on the verge of snapping. Never quite goes over the edge.

Giggling Zoe.

Tigger makes him guffaw.

Tons of (captionless) kitten pictures over at Flickr.

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Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: Today I’m still burning with curiosity, and I wish I’d asked anyway.
2002: So yes, the vacation rocked.
2001: If vacation pictures aren’t your thing, I’ll see ya tomorrow.
2000: I’m so so SO glad to be home.

5/21/08

We just finished disc 4 of Heroes, season one, and tell me this: Is Niki’s horseshit “power” going to manifest itself as something more interesting EVER, or will she just continue to be a freakishly strong multiple personality? Because I like Ali Larter, but Niki’s “power” is BO. RING. (The other night when she broke a billy club in half, Fred said “I’d say that qualifies her as strong.” Indeed.) If Niki and Jessica manifested themselves in separate bodies so that other people could see both of them, that might be kind of impressive.

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Holy mother of god, this is the SLOWEST DAY EVER. If this next 24 hours would just up and pass, I’d be eversograteful.

After poking around Flickr, I found that you can actually send a cameraphone picture to Flickr, which will in turn post it to your blog. Therefore, before I leave for the hospital tomorrow, I’ll set this page up so that several entries can be shown on the same page, and I will surely post a couple of times from the hospital while I’m waiting to go in for surgery. I’d show Fred how to do it so he could post from the waiting room, but he’s not into that sort of thing.

We have to be at the hospital at 6:30 tomorrow, which means we’ll need to leave, I’m guessing, around 5:45ish. Which means I’ll probably get up at 4:30 so I can scoop the litterboxes and take my shower and snuggle with the kittens before we go.

Odd thing, I’ve had this itchy patch of eczema on my arm that’s been driving me crazy for a week or so and it just wouldn’t go away. I used Dial Antibacterial for the past couple of days (instructions from the doctor, use antibacterial soap on the areas that will be operated on for three days before the day of surgery. Ordinarily, I use Dove in the shower.) and the patch hasn’t bothered me since. Hmmm.

Shirley asked in my comments yesterday if I’d still be able to play with the kittens after surgery. I don’t see that there’s any way I could stay away from those babies much past Friday. If I can’t get down on the floor, I’ll make Fred drag one of the recliners in there, and they can climb up into the recliner and snuggle with me. I can’t imagine being in the same house and not spending time with them, it would drive me crazy. As far as I’m concerned, my incisions will be covered with a binder/ corset sort of thing, so they can bite and scratch at me all they want, and if it gets to be too much, I’ll put them in timeout, the little brats.

Oh, and LeighC asked how long I’ll be in the hospital. It’ll be overnight, so I’ll be released Friday morning, probably first thing. It’s technically an “outpatient” procedure, which means I’ll be in the hospital 23 hours. Less hospital costs if it’s not “inpatient”, I guess.

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Yummy things I have recently cooked:

Quick Shrimp Po’ Boys. I found this recipe in Real Simple magazine last summer and thought it looked good enough to try, so I ripped it out, stuck it in my pile of recipes-to-try, and forgot about it until recently. We had them for dinner Friday night, and they were really good. I haven’t had a lot of Po’ Boys in my time (which is kind of surprising to me, since I LOVE shrimp), so I don’t know what “real” Po’ Boys entail, but these were certainly good and worth having again. My only gripe is the amount of bread. I loathe a sandwich that doesn’t easily fit in your mouth (insert (HA HA) disgusting sexual innuendo here), and I think next time I’ll buy a baguette, remove a lot of the bread from the middle and see how that goes.

Monday night I decided to make pulled pork (also known as “Barbecue”, here in the south) because I’d recently seen this recipe. So I put the pork butt in the crock pot as soon as I got up Monday morning, ignored it until a little after 3:00, then pulled it out of the crock pot to shred it. I was dreading this part because I figured it was going to be a pain in the ass, but not SO, my friends. That stuff shredded very, very easily. It took me just a few minutes to shred it, I drained the fat from the crock pot*, mixed the shredded pork with Big Bob Gibson’s BBQ sauce, put it back into the crock pot, and Fred was so hungry an hour later that instead of having it with corn on the cob and yellow squash as I’d intended, we just made sandwiches with the stuff, and it was DIVINE.

We had it again last night, and I said to Fred, “Next year, we can have shredded pork made with OUR OWN PIGS, and we can serve it with coleslaw made from OUR OWN CABBAGE and maybe with a side of bread made in OUR OWN BREADMAKER!” We’re having it again tonight, and I don’t doubt that Fred will have it again for dinner tomorrow night. It makes a LOT, is what I’m saying.

I think this stuff is best saved for Fridays for us, though. I hadn’t realized just how fatty pork butt is (the obvious escapes me sometimes) and I did scrape off all the fat I could see when I was shredding the pork, and I did drain the fat out of the crock pot, but it was so damn good that there must have been 63,000 grams of fat per bite of the stuff. SO GOOD.

And while I’m talking about food, a few weeks ago I made a batch of Not Yo’ Momma’s Banana Pudding, and instead of slicing the bananas, I cut them up in small pieces (like small cubes), and it was really good that way. Next time, I’m going to break the graham crackers up into smaller pieces, too.

*The liquefied fat from the crock pot went into a bowl, and when Fred got home, he dumped it over some leftover moldy bread and fed it to the pigs and they LOVED it. These pigs, I’ve gotta say, are coming in handy as garbage disposals on legs.

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That goddamn mother chicken, I swear to god. She is the dumbest, least caring mother on the face of this goddamn earth, or at least on Crooked Acres, and since I have the BEST MOTHER EVER upstairs in the kitten room who will fuck you UP if you mess with her babies, I know whereof I speak.

The chicks are itty bitty and as such, can easily hop through the fence to the other side. This is generally not an issue, because Momma Chicken clucks as she moves along, and the babies hear her and stay with her and if any protecting needs to be done, she does it.

So yesterday morning I was outside filling up the bird feeders, and as always, when the flock o’ chickens saw me, they ran over to the fence and looked hopefully at me, because after I fill up the bird feeders, I give the chickens a scoop of bird seed and they pick out what they like and leave the rest for whatever birds come along.

(pic)

As I filled up the bird feeders, I glanced over and saw that the baby chickens had gone through the fence between the chicken yard and the back yard. Momma Chicken, rather than GIVING A SHIT about her babies was acting like what she is – ie, a stomach on legs – and was standing looking at me and hoping that bird seed would be forthcoming and she was nowhere near her babies.

I looked over in the clump of dead daffodils, which is where Joe Bob likes to hang out, and noted that he wasn’t looking at the baby chickens, was instead looking at the entire other side of the back yard.

I finished filling up one bird feeder and walked toward another, and glanced into the back yard again and realized to my horror that Joe Bob had seen the baby chickens and was low, crawling toward them, and moving fast.

“Joseph!” I said in a stern voice. “No!”

He acted like he couldn’t hear me, a favorite trick all the cats have perfected, and he kept on going. Momma Chicken didn’t even glance toward her babies.

“Joe, NO!” I yelled, and started running toward him. He kept going. “JOE! NO!” I bellowed, and I threw the bird seed scoop at him. It landed near him, he ran off, and the baby chickens stood there and looked confused. FINALLY, Momma Chicken remembered she had babies, and she clucked at them and they ran back into the chicken yard.

I recovered the bird seed scoop and tossed a scoop of bird seed into the chicken yard, all the time swearing up a storm and telling Momma Chicken what a useless dumbass she was.

She didn’t seem to much care about my opinion of her, though. Grrrr.

Fucking chickens.

(pic)

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Yesterday morning I went into the kitten room to hang out with them before I cleaned out their litter boxes (since the plain clay litter just falls apart when it’s peed upon, I find it easiest to just dump out the litter every morning and replace it with fresh), and as I sat there in my nightgown, River took it upon himself to climb up the sleeve of my nightgown.

I imagine that in the operating room, the surgeon’s going to say “Why is she covered in small cuts [I originally typo’d “small cats“. HA!] from head to toe?”

(pic) Is it just me, or is there an element of “IN YO FACE!” in this picture?

Today’s uploaded kitten pics can be seen hither.

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On the table, the dining room table, the Suggie sleeps toniiiiiiiiiight!

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Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: We’re off to Memphis.
2003: Possum #2.
2002: Mean mommy.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

4-14-08

In case you missed it, I put an entry up on Saturday which included approximately 10,000 pictures of the Crooked Acres Gang. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I AM SO THIRSTY. But I can’t drink or eat anything until after my 10:30 ultrasound (don’t get excited, they’re ultrasounding my liver to see if that cysty thing that showed … Continue reading “4-14-08”

In case you missed it, I put an entry up on Saturday which included approximately 10,000 pictures of the Crooked Acres Gang.

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I AM SO THIRSTY. But I can’t drink or eat anything until after my 10:30 ultrasound (don’t get excited, they’re ultrasounding my liver to see if that cysty thing that showed up last time I had it done has grown at all. My suggestion to slice two holes through my abdomen and squeeze that cyst ’til it POPS LIKE A ZIT was met with resounding silence. Hmph.) and I am so thirsty.

So thirsty.

Did I mention so thirsty?

I should have taken the appointment that was later in the week, but earlier in the day, I think.

So yeah, I saw DrLiver on Friday for a followup visit. DrLiver is five days older than I am, so he noticed that I’d turned 40 too, so we did the requisite “OHMYGOD we’re SO OLD” and “Have your eyes started to go yet?”, then he told me I needed to go for an ultrasound, felt up my stomach flab (I assume he was feeling to make sure my liver wasn’t enlarged, but one day when he does that, I’m going to smack his hand away and yell “Don’t you know you don’t go feeling a lady’s flab like that without warning?!”) and ordered some bloodwork.

It’s always a quick, pleasant experience, seeing DrLiver. Well, except for the part where I have to have blood drawn, but the people at the lab do nothing but draw blood all day, so they know exactly what they’re doing, and they’ve never missed a vein yet.

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About ten days ago, to express the fact that he’s a giant asshole, Mister Boogers peed on a blanket I left on the new (to us) couch. Naturally, the pee soaked through the blanket onto the couch below, so I soaked the affected couch cushions with Nature’s Miracle. Nature’s Miracle dried, but I could still smell cat pee. I soaked it with Nature’s Miracle again. Dried. Cat pee smell remained.

Out of Nature’s Miracle, I stopped at the pet store on Thursday to buy more, but they didn’t have the regular, plain ol’ Nature’s Miracle, just the Oxi-Orange (or whatever it’s called) stuff, and I dislike intensely the smell of fake orange. I looked around to see what else there was, spotted a bottle of Stink Free, saw the money-back guarantee, and decided to give it a try.

Friday night I soaked the hell out of the couch where we could still clearly smell the smell of cat urine. Saturday morning, Fred danced into my room as I was making my bed and said “It’s a miracle!” There was no cat pee smell at all. AT ALL. Just the vaguest scent of the Stink Free, which is a pleasant laundry detergenty smell.

I highly, highly recommend it – though keep in mind that it’s early days yet, and I can’t guarantee that the urine smell won’t come back at some point. For now, we are very, very happy with the Stink Free.

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As I mentioned in Saturday’s entry, I bought a spray bottle of Feliway at the pet store on Thursday. I used it Thursday evening to spray down the couches, and then I couldn’t find the goddamn thing.

I still can’t find it.

Places where the Feliway bottle is NOT:

Bathrooms, bathroom cabinets, shower organizer
Kitchen cabinets, kitchen bookcase, under the kitchen sink
Refrigerator, other refrigerator, freezer, other freezer
Litter boxes or litter box areas
Washer, dishwasher, dryer (though it’s a possibility it slipped through the dryer portal and is nestled in a nest of lost socks in another dimension)
Medicine cabinet (any of them), drawer in the kitchen where we used to keep the cat medicine, dresser in the foster kitty room where we keep foster kitty supplies
Any of my desk drawers, under my desk, behind my desk
On the couch, on the other couch, stuck down in either of the couches, under the couches
In any of the cat toy baskets
In my purse
Held hostage by Contrary, the big LIAR (and to think, I almost traumatized George by tying a ribbon around her neck!)

And McLovin reports that he can definitively state it is NOT, as previously suspected, up his butt

I even tried ordering a bottle of Feliway off eBay, certain that as soon as I paid for it, the lost bottle would show up. NO LUCK.

I think it’s clear that my Feliway has R-U-N-N-O-F-T.

If you see it, grab it firmly around its neck and march it back to me, post-haste.

Thankyew.

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Yesterday was pretty much doing all the fun stuff that you have to do to get ready for the week ahead. If I had a job, I’m sure I’d have been all pissy by the end of the day because I spent all day doing shit I didn’t particularly want to do, but I don’t have a job, so I wasn’t pissy.

In case you wondered.

I got up fairly early yesterday because we left HG out of the foster room overnight (we put him up as usual at bedtime Saturday night, but he started meowing sadly (and very loudly) and when I peeked into the hallway, he had one paw stretched out under the door, and it was such a sad little sight that I let him out of the foster room) and Mister Boogers took exception to the addition (however temporary) of another cat to the household by being a great big jerk and picking on Joe Bob. I think Mister Boogers enjoys picking on Joe Bob because Joe Bob responds with an ear-piercing scream. HG, on the other hand, behaved himself quite nicely, spent most of the night on the end of the bed (which means I had five cats on the bed with me, but still managed to sleep pretty well) and didn’t make any trouble.

I spent a good part of the afternoon talking to Splash, who hid in her kitty condo and glared at me and wasn’t charmed by me at all.

COME ON, SPLASH.

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So HG, as mentioned, has been spending all his time out in the house with the other cats. I’ve never seen a kitten who gets along so well with other cats. He LOVES the other cats, and if they respond to him by hissing and smacking, he just shrugs and moves on. He and Tommy are fast becoming friends – I caught them snuggling and Tommy licking the top of HG’s head yesterday, and last night I woke up with the entire bed vibrating from the sound of HG’s purring, and I looked over to find Tommy and HG curled up together – and HG doesn’t run from us when we approach him (which he was doing when we first let him out into the house). He’s about ready to go to the pet store and be adopted, I do believe. I think that separating him from Smudgie was a very good idea.

Splash on the other hand, I don’t know. I don’t know what else to try with her. I go into the room and talk to her, I offer her snacks (sometimes she eats them, sometimes she doesn’t). I don’t make prolonged direct eye contact with her, I try to entice her to play, I try to touch her gently (I’ve gotten smart enough to wear a glove, at least) and every time I try to touch her – or even just hold out my hand for her to sniff – she hisses and smacks with her lightning-fast paw of doom.

I don’t know. I’m not giving up, but she’s the most feral cat I’ve ever had as a foster. Maybe when her sister gets here (the lady who has her hasn’t been able to get her hands on her) she’ll come out of her shell. I don’t know. We’ll see.

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The other day I was standing at the kitchen sink doing dishes when something in the big bush outside the window caught my eye.

I was pretty sure it was Newt, but there’s at least one other cat around here who looks like Newt, so I wasn’t positive until I knocked on the window and he turned to see what was going on.

Definitely Newt. He hung out in the bush for a couple of hours before he appeared at the side door wanting to come inside.

Last night after dinner, Fred was doing dishes, and when I walked into the kitchen, he said “What is that?”

Apparently Newt really likes hanging out in that bush. I hope the birds that usually hop and in out of that bush realize he’s there!

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Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: God save me from the permed ‘fro.
2005: Why do I bother to make New Year’s resolutions, I ask you?
2004: Bastard.
2003: “That’s right, you LITTLE SHIT, get the hell out of here!” I yelled, stomping at him.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Not much of an entry.

3/31/08

Regarding the bathroom reading: I think what y’all are misunderstanding, you non-bathroom readers, is that I don’t sit in there for HOURS and read. I’m generally in there for less than two minutes (estimated; I don’t time myself, FREAKS) and read a page or two while in there. If whatever I’m reading is compelling enough (ie, NOT The Washingtonienne) I might read to the end of the chapter. Which is why it took so long to finish The Washingtonienne, despite being a relatively quick reader. I’d read a page or two of the book and have no desire to keep on reading.

And now I’m going to shut up about my bathroom habits, because you already know more than you ever wanted to know about that particular subject. YOU’RE WELCOME.

PS: According to Friday’s poll, 69% of Bitchypoo readers (who took the poll) read in the bathroom.

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While in the bathroom yesterday, BRUSHING MY TEETH, I glanced down at the bottle of lotion sitting next to the sink. On the front was a proud proclamation that the lotion contains Shea and Cocoa Butters.

Shea Butters would be an excellent stripper name.

For that matter, Cocoa Butters would work pretty well, too.

“Annnnnnnd NOW welcome to the back stage, twin sisters Shea and Cocoa Butters!”

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Stuff White People Like got a book deal. That is for SURE one of the blogger-books I’ll be buying, because that site just cracks me UP.

(Note to myself: Update links page.)

(Reply note from myself to myself: Yeah, I’ll get right on that.)

* * * * * * * * * *

So I had my consultation with the plastic surgeon on Friday. I mentioned, perhaps, once or twice or six thousand times, that I was NOT looking forward to this appointment, didn’t I? Not because I thought the surgeon would be an ass or anything (this surgeon comes highly recommended by other local women who’ve had weight loss surgery – he’s considered the best at what he does AND has a good bedside manner, is what they say) but the idea of standing fatly naked in front of a strange man is never an appealing one.

It went fine, though. Once the surgeon came in and introduced himself, the fact that I was sitting there covered in thin paper garments (and a classy string bikini provided by the nurse!) didn’t really bother me. I figured, this guy’s seen a lot of naked women who want to have their saggy skin removed, I don’t have anything he hasn’t seen before, what the fuck, let it all hang out. Despite the fact that I was standing there mostly naked in front of the surgeon, the nurse, and Fred (who has possibly seen me naked once or twice), I wasn’t self-conscious in the slightest.

The surgeon had the good sense to be good looking, but not so good looking that I was super-aware of it, making me self-conscious. He definitely has a good bedside manner, and spent plenty of time making sure that I understood how each surgery was done and what the possible complications would be.

Almost more important than a doctor’s manner is his support staff, and I have to say that this guy’s got a really good staff. No one seemed rushed or brusque, and the nurse was careful to make sure that I was comfortable and covered at all times despite the fact that I was okay with being mostly uncovered.

I wish like hell I could remember how the surgeon termed it when he was looking at my backside, because both Fred and I translated it in our heads into “You have a nice ass.” Something about how I had good volume or it wasn’t saggy or something. He also said that I have good skin tone on my face, and I didn’t have the signs of aging he’d expect to see in someone my age, like the brackets around my mouth or… something else. Fuck if I remember. In any case, he made it clear enough that I looked youngish for my age that I wanted to ask just how old he thought I was, because I think I totally look mid-40s. Maybe he was just buttering me up.

During the entire exam, I was very, very careful not to look at Fred because I knew that if I did, it would be ALL over, because we’d start snickering like frat boys. He said he started laughing once or twice, but managed to get it under control.

So where we stand now is that I’m waiting to hear back from the surgeon’s office with a quote for the lower body lift (belt lipectomy – some lower body lifts include thigh lifts, but mine won’t; I might be interested in that at a later date, but not at this point) and unless the price is far more than we expect, they’ll submit to the insurance company for partial coverage. It’ll take 4 – 6 weeks to hear back from them, and depending on the surgeon’s operating schedule, I don’t see anything happening until the end of May, beginning of June at least.

There’s a more detailed write-up of the visit to the plastic surgeon over at OneFatBitchypoo, if you’re interested.

* * * * * * * * * *

Boy, this weekend went by fast. I didn’t do a lot on Saturday, just cleaned and straightened the house, put away the 60 pounds of bird seed I ordered online (I like to use no-waste bird seed and I can get it cheaper online, but the box is heavy as hell, so it takes me a few days to summon the energy to lug the bags over to the garage), checked on the chicks, spent time with the foster kittens, and took a short nap.

I talked to my sister Saturday night for an hour or so, and we confessed our ADD tendencies to each other. Neither of us, it appears, can just sit and do one thing at a time while sitting in front of the computer; we both have like 16 windows open, do one thing for a few minutes, switch to something else, switch to yet another thing, and so on. This would probably explain why it takes so long to write an entry, because I can’t just sit and write it, I’ve got to write some, flit off to another window and then another, and then think “What was I doing… oh, right!” and write a little more before the ugly cycle begins anew.

(Right now, I have six windows open. That would make a good ending to each entry, a confession of how many windows I have open, and a link to each page.)

After I got off the phone, Fred and I watched the first hour of The Assassination of Jesse James (a movie I enjoyed more than Fred did – and I reiterate that Casey Affleck has got the flattest, deadest eyes I’ve ever seen), spent time with the foster kittens, and then went to bed. (We finished watching the movie last night. I thought it was interesting; Fred thought it was less so, but he at least watched the whole thing with me, bless his heart.)

We live the high life, we do.

Sunday morning I was up fairly early. I’ve instituted a new rule for myself – I have to scoop the litter boxes, clean up the kitchen, and take a shower before I sit down in front of the computer, because it turns into such a time suck sometimes that I don’t get my ass into the shower until late morning, and I always feel like I’ve wasted half the day away. So I got all my morning stuff done (though I did cheat and check my email, but I did it from a standing position SO IT DOESN’T COUNT), put laundry in, and then made my grocery list and headed off to get groceries.

I was gone about an hour to get groceries (I drive the 15 minutes to Yuppiesville to visit the good grocery store; we’ll be getting our own good grocery store hopefully in the next few months), then I got home, put them away, ate breakfast, did laundry. I puttered around on the computer for a little while longer, then changed into my “work” clothes and headed upstairs with my supplies.

We have two white bookcases that Fred’s father made for him as a birthday gift years ago. I don’t know exactly how old they are, but Fred owned them before I moved down here, so it’s been 12 years or so. They’re painted white and over time the paint has yellowed and there are marks on the bookcases that won’t come off. One of the bookcases is in the garage, so the fact that it’s a little marked up isn’t an issue. The other one is in the guest bedroom, and I decided that it was time to repaint it.

It took me about an hour and a half to repaint it, but it certainly looks much better (sorry, I didn’t think to take pictures).

Once that was done, I went off to run errands – recycling center, returning a couple of movies, the dollar store – then by the time I got home, it was time for lunch.

Lunch, snuggling with foster kittens, checking to see what Fred was doing, looking at the chicks, and the next thing I knew, it was time to make dinner.

Dinner (steak and salad), more foster kitten quality time, a little more time in front of the computer, and then it was time to watch TV.

Next thing I know it’s bed time, and the weekend is over.

Why can’t all weekends be three days long, maybe four? I mean, yeah – every day’s a weekend day for ME, but I sure do like having Fred around. He’s always got something interesting going on and if I get bored I can track him down and let him entertain me.

* * * * * * * * * *

The foster kitties are improving, bit by bit. Smudgie has gotten to the point where she’ll come out and be petted and ask for love every second or third time I go in the room. HG will come over and sniff and lick my hand, but he’s still not up for a good vigorous petting session – in fact, he’s got a one-pet-only policy that I honor because I don’t want to scare him off.

He spends a lot of time watching Smudgie to see her reaction or what she’s going to do. If he doesn’t come around in the next few days, I’m probably going to separate them – put him in the guest bedroom by himself – to see if splitting them up changes their level of friendliness. Obviously if they’re miserable apart or they don’t get friendlier, we’ll reunite them.

I let Tommy in to visit with them Saturday afternoon, and they were very interested in him, followed him around and sniffed at him. They’ve been well socialized with other cats, obviously, because there was no hissing or spitting or fluffing on their part (maybe a couple of small hisses, but that’s it). I’ve never seen foster kittens react so well to new cats.

They’re such sweet little things; I hope they warm up soon.

Note that he’s carefully watching her to see what she’s going to do next!

HG poses prettily.

“Tryin’ to eat here, lady.”

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

Sugarbutt and his dry, scabby nose. (It has since improved and is back to pink perfection!)

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

Windows currently open: 6. Gmail, Google Reader, LL Bean, MSN Lifestyle, and a blog I won’t link, because it’s kind of boring (not one of my regular reads, and don’t worry – it’s not one of you!).

* * * * * * * * * *

Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: It was so friggin’ cute I made Fred listen to it, too.
2005: I have my finger on the pulse of pop culture, apparently.
2004: A day in the life.
2003: What makes me crazy.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Okay, enough of the wallowing.

12/18/06

* * * This weekend I painted and painted and painted. And then? I painted some more. Not only did I have doors to paint, I had the trim between the computer room and bathroom to paint (which I did) and then on Sunday while Fred fiddle-farted around outside, I painted the trim in the downstairs hallway, all by myself. Twice. It was actually not all that bad because (for Sunday at least) Fred was off doing his own thing and I was alone in the house with my iPod and my bucket of paint, and I listened to Keith and the Girl and painted, and it was not quite relaxing and not quite enjoyable, but certainly not the hell that painting has been in the past. Plus, I think I might be getting a little faster with the painting. When we were done with the hallway, I looked at it, and I could see every little flaw, every drippy bit of paint that I didn’t realize was dripping ’til it had dried, and I thought “Well, when we’re living here, maybe I’ll sand down the trim and repaint it!”, but I think that we all know that it’s more likely that Sugarbutt will whisk Miz Poo into a perky waltz about the living room before I actually get off my dead ass and sand down the trim so that I don’t have to look at the drippy bits. If there’s anything I know, it’s that I can quite easily turn a blind eye to the drippy bits. Check out Fred’s journal for pictures of what we’ve finished recently. Saturday afternoon I spent zipping about the side and back lawn with the riding lawnmower. Those are the only parts of the quote-unquote lawn that I haven’t mowed yet, and while the grass wasn’t particularly long, I was struck with the urge to be outside, and there was a thick pile of leaves all over the lawn, and so it took me a couple of hours to pick up all the leaves with the riding lawnmower and dump them into a pile on the back lawn with the intent of burning them on Sunday, which I never did do. Either I’ll burn the leaves next weekend, or I’ll get tired of seeing the pile there, and demand that Fred push them into some out-of-the-way location so I don’t have to look at them. Two things I have recently concluded: 1. The perfectly-manicured lawn of the ‘burbs just isn’t meant to be when one lives in the country where there are trees tossing down leaves all the live-long day and trees are blocking sunlight on one side of the house so that grass won’t grow. Don’t get me wrong – we’ll keep our grass cut short and all, but I’m not going to freakin’ EDGE around the driveway or any of that shit. Life is TOO SHORT. 2. One cannot possibly be expected to pick up every branch off the lawn so that one will not run them over with the riding lawnmower, especially when there are so many big-ass trees that shed big branches constantly. If I were to pick up every branch and big twig I saw, I’d do nothing BUT pick up twigs and branches all day long, and life? Did I mention? TOO SHORT. One other thing: Newt, who was the biggest, scarediest scaredy-cat back when we first met him, is now a big lovebug. He loves to stretch out on the front porch for a belly rub, he loves to follow us around when we walk around the perimeter of our property, and yesterday I was in the computer room switching out switches and plugs, and I heard a strange sound, so I turned off my iPod and went into the hallway, and he was coming down the stairs, gave me a big squeaky greeting, and rubbed against my legs. Then he followed me into the bathroom to watch me pee. Apparently Fred had left the back door open, and the screen door hangs open just enough that a cat can sneak in, so he did. Boy, it’s a GOOD THING he’s not OUR cat, huh? Two things about our country cats I have learned: 1. They will eat ANYTHING, and they’ll be GRATEFUL for it. Seriously, they’ve eaten just about every single thing we’ve put down in front of them, and then they’ve given us looks o’ love afterwards. Our city cats will delicately pick at whatever yummy food you give them, and they will take FOREVER to eat it, and sometimes they’ll even turn up their noses, look at us like “You expect me to eat THAT?” and walk away, but in the country, you put a plate of snackin’ snack down in front of them, and it’s gone in about ten seconds. 2. Um. I don’t remember what the second thing was. I guess I’ve only learned one thing about country cats. She’ll sit on Fred’s lap forEVER. She loves loves LOVES him. Which is funny, considering how timid she was around him at first. *************************************** The Christmas kitties are still here! The cages at the pet store are full, so maybe they’ll be going to the pet store later this week (depending on adoptions), and maybe not. I don’t guess I need to tell y’all that I did a little happy dance when I saw the full cages and realized I would be keeping the kittens for a little while longer, do I? We haven’t let them out of the kitten room to run around the house yet, but in the last few days they’ve started trying to escape when we open the door, so tonight we’re going to let them out to terrorize our cats. I’m sure there’ll be pictures of THAT little dramafest in tomorrow’s entry. “Look, lady. Here’s the thing. I’m cute. I know it, you know, they all know it. You do NOT need to keep picking me up and kissing me and then telling me I’m cute. I KNOW I AM. Just stop it, because I might be cute, but I have an inner bad girl I will not HESITATE to unleash on you.” “No house could possibly have enough orange kitties. You KNOW IT’S TRUE, lady!” “Santa? Izzat YOU?” All of today’s uploaded pictures are here.

* * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: He yawned his ears right off his head. 2003: “Well,” he said, all smug and certain of his facts. “If you didn’t have DIARRHEA, then it was NOT the flu! It’s just a cold!” 2002: But is Christmas shopping ever really done? 2001: The usual excitement 2000: Grandma’s other concerns were whether the fire was going out (it wasn’t) and how much Fred and Becky were eating. 1999: When did Toronto become part of the United States, again?]]>

12/14/06

Aurora Greenway and screaming “MY BABY IS IN PAIN, MAKE IT STOP!” at the nurses, when it went away for a little while, and the spud was able to doze. The doctor finally came in, did a physical exam and seemed to be leaning toward the idea that it was a stomach virus, which they’ve been seeing a lot of lately. She ordered IV fluids, blood tests, and a urine test, and went along her way. As they were taking blood and starting the IV, her friend and boyfriend showed up to see her. I went into the waiting room for a while so they could both hang out with her (they limit how many people are in the room at one time), called Fred, and read. Her friend left after half an hour or so, and so I went back into her room. They gave her Phenergan for the nausea and started a second IV bag of fluids, and it was just a matter of cooling our heels while the test results came back. The phenergan knocked the spud out and Tyler was watching the Sci Fi channel so I took my book out and read. The doctor came in around 6:45 and said that the test results had come back and it looked like the spud had herself a stomach virus. Since she’d finished her second bag of IV fluids and was feeling much better, the doctor thought she’d be okay to go home. The doctor said the nurse would be in momentarily to disconnect the IV and give us the discharge papers, a doctor’s note for school, and a prescription for Phenergan. 45 minutes later I finished my book, realized how long we’d been waiting, and said “Think they forgot her?” to Tyler. He had just said “It looks like it!” when the nurse came in and apologized for taking so long. It was about 8:30 by the time we dropped Tyler off at home, dropped off the prescriptions at the drug store, and got home. The spud ate a piece of toast and drank some Gatorade, then went upstairs and crashed. This morning she’s feeling much MUCH better. She didn’t need any more Phenergan overnight, and she had a bowl of soup for breakfast. I suspect she’ll be okay to go back to school tomorrow, but we’ll see about that. I also suspect that I’ll be next to suffer from this stomach virus and I can’t WAIT. Woohoo! Fun! *Yes, I know what you’re thinking. She’s not.

* * * The kittens continue to get friendlier and friendlier. This morning I ended up in the kitten room for about 45 minutes doing nothing but petting kittens. They’ve come to the group conclusion that petting is a good thing and so they mill about me, demanding to be petted and if I’m not fast enough, they squeak demandingly at me. It’s tough to pet 5 milling kittens when you only have two hands, believe you me.

Faith, playing with a toy they yanked off the end of one of those “fishing pole” cat toys.

“I am here and I needs to be petted, WHY ARE YOU NOT PETTING ME?”

“I say, I NEEDS PETTING.”

What cracks me up is the look on Kringle’s face.

“Pwease pwease PWEASE may I have some catnip? Pwease?” All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2005: I’m impressed with myself, if you couldn’t tell. 2004: It is in the 20s here today, IS IT OKAY FOR ME TO BE COLD NOW? 2003: (”Thanks, me! I’m so thoughtful!”) 2002: No entry. 2001: Trust me, it was far more horrifying-looking in person. 2000: Babbling. 1999: No entry.]]>

12/11/06

* * * I had my appointment with the ear nose and throat specialist – we’ll call him Dr. NeckDoctor – on Friday. Basically he reviewed my thyroid uptake scan (which he told me was kind of useless, because nodules don’t show up on those), felt up my neck, looked down my throat to check my vocal chords (I had to keep going “EEEEEE!” and I became amused at how I sounded, so instead of going “EEEEE!” again when he commanded it, I went more like “HEEHEE!”, but he didn’t seem to notice), and basically told me he didn’t think it was cancer (Hey, that was my diagnosis, too!), but he wanted to send me for an ultrasound, get a biopsy of the nodule (He kindly paused while I screamed and ran around in circles. Not because I’m afraid of the pain (a bunch of you have laid my fears to rest on that, thank you very much, you awesome readers), but the idea of a needle? Going into my neck? EEK!) and if it comes back normal (which I fully expect it to), they’ll go ahead and remove my ENTIRE NECK. Kidding! No, if it comes back normal, it’ll be a matter of just keeping an eye on it to make sure nothing goes Terribly Wrong. He was very reassuring that in his opinion the chances of it being cancer were very low, but that if you were going to get some kind of cancer, thyroid cancer would be the kind to get since it’s so incredibly curable and there aren’t even any side effects from the chemotherapy. “So, I don’t want you to worry,” he said. “Oh, I’m not worried,” I said. And I’m not. The good thing about me is that while I might talk about being worried about cancer and neck removals here in my journal, that’s not the sort of thing I worry about in my day to day life. It’s pointless to worry about it ’cause either it’s cancer or it’s not and I’ve got better things to fret about. (Such as the fact that I still have a few more things to buy for Christmas!) I have an appointment for an ultrasound tomorrow afternoon, then once the ENT gets the results back from that, they’ll schedule me a biopsy with a guy who’s so good at what he does – according to Dr. NeckDoctor – that he’s worth waiting for. In other words, I don’t guess the biopsy is going to be right away. Thaaat’s just fine with me. I’m okay with waiting!

* * *

Tufted titmouse (hee!). I really need to clean the outside of the dining room window if I’m going to be taking pictures through it. * * * This morning at the pet store, I am unhappy to announce, Catie, Flopsy, and Mopsy were all still there. Adoptions have dropped off a lot this past week, I guess. I was sure to give them some extra love, and Catie was perfectly happy to go back into her cage, but Flopsy and Mopsy gave me the betrayed looks and I was this close to just stuffing them in my purse and bringing them home for a few days. I hope they get adopted by next Monday, is all I’ll say. The Christmas kitties (what I’m calling our current fosters) are doing okay. They’re still very skittish, but they’ve calmed down a little. They flinch away from us when we reach out to pet them, but not as much as they are. We’re spending as much time with them as we can, and Jack Frost and Faith have started squeaking at us when we walk into the room. I don’t know if they’re squeaking at us in greeting or if they’re telling us to go away, but they’re squeaking whereas before they were completely silent. The best thing of all is that last night Fred got Faith to purr. And once she was purring, Kringle started purring, too. The other kittens milled around with little question marks hanging over their heads, as if they didn’t know what this sound was or where it was coming from. Fred suggested that the sound of the purring reminded them of their mother and they found it comforting. Who knows? All I know is that this was the first time we got any of them to purr (I got Kringle to purr again this morning), and it’s a step in the right direction.

Noelle with troll hair. She’s the most skittish of the bunch, which is too bad, ’cause I want to pick her up and kiss her and squeeze her.

“Lady, why you flashing that thing at me?”

“Bob! Hey, BOB! I hear you’re the man to talk to!”

All of today’s uploaded pictures can be seen here. * * *

* * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: And if I ever get the urge to go shopping at the mall on a Saturday two weeks before Christmas, I’ll lay down until it goes away. 2003: Thank god I’m not famous. I could handle being followed around by the papparazzi, but live interviews on the TV and radio? Fuck THAT. 2002: My favorite Christmas entry, ever. Chock-full of the Bitchypoo Christmas Spirit. 2001: Of course my world revolves around me and the people I care about. And yours revolves around you. Except when it revolves around me. 2000: I think they should hire me to play his girlfriend – the stripper with a heart of gold – because I just love that man right to pieces 1999: No entry.]]>

12/5/06

Nance at some point in the past. 50 ODD Things about you! 1. Height? 5’4 1/2″ 2. Have you ever smoked heroin? Nope. I’m extremely inexperienced when it comes to drugs, and I’m fine with that. 3. Do you own a gun? Well, there are guns present in the house, but I don’t own them, per se. They really belong to Fred. Except for the cute little one I keep by my bed, that is. 5. Do you get nervous before “meeting the parents”? HELL yes. I get nervous before meeting almost anyone. 6. What do you think of hot dogs? I think this question is making me crave them. 7. What’s your favorite Christmas song? This year it’s tied between I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas and Sarah McLachlan’s version of River, but my perennial favorite is Little Drummer Boy ’cause it always makes me tear up. 8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Water, usually. If I’m cold and looking for something with some flavor, I’ll drink a mug of low-carb cocoa. 9. Can you do push ups? I can do the girly pushups, but not very many, and not very well. 10. Is your bathroom clean? It is nasty filthy. I’m planning to clean it Thursday, since that’s the only day this week I don’t have a midmorning appointment. 11. What’s your favorite piece of jewelry? Aside from my wedding band and engagement ring, I love love LOVE the ring that used to belong to my grandmother, that my mother gave me over the summer. 12. Do you like painkillers? Not at all. I’d rather be in a little pain than feel all dopey from the pain meds. 14. Do you have A.D.D.? Sometimes I think I might, but I don’t think I do, honestly. 16. Middle Name? Leslie. 17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment? 1. I need to get serious about changing my middle name. 2. I need to vacuum upstairs. 3. Those bran muffins smell good. 18. Name the last 3 things you have bought: Two iTunes gift cards, boxes for putting them in, and something I can’t say, ’cause it’s for someone who reads me. 19. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink: Water, low-carb cocoa, and the occasional iced tea. Okay, Nance. What the hell? Why are there so many questions missing? 22. Current worry? Too many and too vague to list them here. 23. Current hate? Those radio stations that play nothing but Christmas music. 24. Favorite place to be? In the Smallville house. I can be in a bad mood, but being in that house always relaxes me. I hope that continues to hold true when we live there! 25. Least favorite place to be? In the laundry room, ’cause the litter box ALWAYS needs to be cleaned, even if I just cleaned it. 26. Where would you like to go? Scotland. Australia. New Zealand. England. The Bahamas. Hawaii. 27. Do you own slippers? I own a pair of slippers for downstairs and a pair for upstairs. 28. What shirt are you wearing? A medium-blue fleece shirt I got from the men’s section at Parisian. It’s a size XL, and I could go down a size or two – but I’m going to keep wearing this shirt through the cold weather, ’cause I refuse to go out and buy it in a smaller size. REFUSE. 29. Do you burn or tan? I get so many freckles that it looks like I’m tanning unless you look closely. 30. Favorite color(s)? Bright yellow and smoky blue. 33. What songs do you sing in the shower? It depends on what song is bouncing around in my brain. Right now it’s Super Freak. 34. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a child? Bugs. I was super scared of all kinds of creepy crawlies. Which makes the fact that I’m willing to live with spiders in my house that much more amazing. 35. What’s in your pockets right now? I have no pockets in these pants. 36. Last thing that made you laugh? Fred discussing a scene from Scrubs that involved The Todd. The Todd cracks us up. 38. Worst injury you’ve ever had? When Fred splashed boiling oil on my right foot nine years ago. 40. How many TVs do you have in your house? Three. We used to have four, but we got rid of the one in the computer room. Oh wait, make that four – we have one in the garage/ gym. 41. Who is your loudest friend? Liz. 42. Who is your most silent friend? Er… I don’t know that I have any silent friends. 43. Does someone have a crush on you? I don’t know for sure, but I’m betting it’s “no.” Anyone want to fess up and whisk me away to warmer environs? 44. Do you wish on shooting stars? I can’t think of a single time I’ve even noticed a shooting star. I do wish on the first star of the evening, though. 45. What is your favorite book? The Stand is a perennial favorite, but I’m not sure I have a single hard and fast favorite. 46. What is your favorite candy? M&Ms are always a hit. 47. What song do/did you want played at your wedding? We didn’t have a song played at our wedding, and if we renewed our vows or something, I’m not sure what we’d have played. Maybe If, by Bread, since someone online informed us that that was “our” song, whether we liked it or not. 48. What song do you want played at your funeral? I think the scene in To Die For, when Nicole Kidman’s character played All By Myself at her husband’s graveside was hilarious, so I choose that. 49. What were you doing 12 AM last night? Sleeping, and probably being mauled by Sugarbutt the kneading-and-licking wonder. 50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up this morning? “I don’t WANT to get up.”

* * * I had my appointment with my primary care physician yesterday morning, about my thyroid. She said, basically, that the scan came back just fine, but she wanted me to see an ear, throat and nose specialist just because the one nodule (on the left side of my neck, if you must know) was so prominent and it’s such a specialized area that she’d feel better if a specialist took a look. So Friday I have an appointment with an ENT guy, and I have to go to the Medical Mall to pick up a copy of the thyroid uptake scan beforehand. Dr. MyDoctor said that the ENT guy might say “Yeah, it’s just a nodule, come back in six months”, or he might want to do a biopsy, or he might refer me to a surgeon to do a biopsy, and since the idea of having the nodule biopsied makes me want to scream and run around in circles, I can state with certainty that a biopsy will NO DOUBT need to be performed. The thought certainly fills me with holiday JOY, in case you were wondering. At least the ENT guy is in Madison so I won’t have to travel too far on Friday. Le sigh. * * * We let Catie stay out of the cat room all day yesterday, since we were afraid she’d get lonely, and had no litterbox issues. The funny thing is that while our cats always get freaked out when we let kittens run around (I get exhausted just thinking about how constantly hysterical they were when I brought Maddy home), they freaked out a little at first with Catie, and then promptly began ignoring her. I’m telling y’all, this is the MOST mellow cat I’ve ever seen in my life. She loves to lay around and if you’d like to come over and rub her belly that’s fine, but if not ::catshrug:: whatever. I’d suspect her of being on the kitty dope, but I haven’t noticed her with a case of the munchies, so I guess she’s just naturally mellow. She spent most of yesterday on the second step, just laying there sleeping and keeping an eye on the cats as they went by her. Fred tried to convince me to take Miz Poo to the pet store in Catie’s place, and keep Catie. Evil man.

Mellow kitty, with a soupcon of sass.

“KissKiss, darling. Want to come to my room for a snort of the ‘nip?” I have an appointment on the other side of Huntsville later today, so I’ll be taking her to the pet store, since there’s room for her and adoptions are going on tonight. I don’t doubt for a minute that she’ll be adopted out by next Monday, because she’s such a sweetheart, and she’s so striking looking that there’ll probably be a fist fight between people who want to adopt her. * * *

“The box ate Sugarbutt, and now it’s spitting out his tail!”

All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: no, I didn’t take anything for the pain. Then I couldn’t bitch about the pain. DUH! 2004: Yep, fuck that. 2003: The child is evil. EVIL, I say. 2002: (Close your email clients, you damn Crimson-heads. I know you lurrrve your football team and all, but really. Breaking news?) 2001: Woman of the Year. 2000: What can I say? I’m just the kinda gal who likes profanity in her daily email… 1999: “Let’s kill the Mommy bitch and eat all the canned cat food in the house, then lay around and lick the litter out from between our toes.”]]>

11/28/06

* * * Miz Catie has opened herself a store – go check it out! I actually squealed out loud when I saw she was offering kitty ornaments. Go! Shop! Buy!

* * * So Thanksgiving, I don’t think I mentioned, went quite well. We went over to Fred’s sister’s house, and their father and stepmother met us there, and we ate. This was the first year that the spud was the only kid around (Fred’s sister’s kids were having dinner at their other grandmother’s house) and she got to sit at the “big” table with us. Fred made a coconut cake (like this, only updated a little, so the frosting is made with cream cheese; I’ll update the recipe at some point in the future) and we brought a pumpkin pie. Fred’s sister’s husband made a dish of brussels sprouts and chestnuts, and though I can’t swear I’ve never had chestnuts in the past, this is the first time I know of that I’ve had them, and I thought they were FABULOUS. So we were sitting at the dinner table, and Fred’s sister’s husband started telling a story. Now, I think I’ve mentioned in the past that he’s French, and I think I’ve also mentioned that people with very thick accents make me feel stupid because sometimes I can’t understand them. Sometimes I can and sometimes I can’t and I doubt it’s got anything to do with them; I think it’s me. Anyway, he started telling a story and I thought to myself I do not understand one single word this man is saying. I wonder if anyone else understands him? And I looked around the table and saw a couple of looks on a couple of faces that indicated that perhaps I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t understand him. And then everyone but me burst into laughter. I guess I was the only one who couldn’t understand him. Then later, Fred couldn’t remember the story, so there’s apparently a REALLY FUNNY STORY floating around, and I don’t get to know what it was. DAMNIT. * * * So the story on the thyroid uptake scan is that the nurse at my doctor’s office called and said “We got the results from your thyroid uptake scan, and Dr. MyDoctor wants you to come in for some more labs.” And then she told me that the first available appointment Dr. MyDoctor had was next Monday morning. At my doctor’s office, if they want you to come in to have labwork done, you don’t generally need to see the doctor. But now I have an appointment to see my doctor. Where she will tell me that my thyroid is rotting away from some kind of toxic toxicity and they’ll need to remove my entire neck. Just when I was getting a neck back! I never HAD a neck before, and now they’re going to have to REMOVE it. And with MY luck, they’ll need – for medical reasons, of course – to graft it onto my ass. And you can all call me “Asshead” (LIKE YOU ALREADY DO), and be technically correct. Seriously, though, I’m thinking that if I was going to need my entire neck – MY ENTIRE NECK – removed, they would have squeezed me in before next Monday. I’m thinking the thyroid uptake scan showed nothing, or was inconclusive. WHATEVER. I’m over this medical shit. Stupid thyroid. * * * Oh yeah, and I promised I’d show y’all what I wore to Thanksgiving. This is it:

Fred said “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to seeing you in jeans” multiple times. I adore the holy hell out of that top, not least because it’s a size XL and I could probably fit into a size L. I got it at Cracker Barrel, and don’t none of y’all make fun of the fact that it’s got chickadees on it. It was comfy and warm, it fit, and Fred’s stepmother told me I looked nice.

What I DIDN’T wear to Thanksgiving. * * * Those of you who listen to Keith and the Girl, if they announce me as the winner of one of the KATG Nanos (check out my MySpace!) in the near future, let me know, will you? I’m about two weeks behind in my listening and if I won one of the Nanos (which I seriously doubt will happen) and didn’t know about it, I’d be severely ticked off at myself for getting so behind in my listening. * * * I went to the iTunes store to look for Christmas music the other day (I recently downloaded “River”, sung by Sarah McLachlin, to go with the version done by Robert Downey, Jr, and also downloaded the Michael Ball version while I was there) and I saw that Chris Isaak had a Christmas album out, and I went over to click on the album so I could see what songs he had on it, and GODDAMN if I didn’t accidentally click on “Buy album” instead, and that’s how I ended up with Chris Isaak’s Christmas album, even though I didn’t really want but one or two songs from it, DAMNIT. Now I’m down to a $5.50 credit on iTunes, which means that I’ve made a $50 iTunes gift card last all year long, which I think is really good. Tell me what Christmas songs I should download, and make it something good. I’ve only got $5.50 to spend, and I need to round out my Christmas song collection! * * *

“The stinkin’ little kittens are GONE! Woohoo!!!”

“Praise de lawd!”

Sugarbutt adores curling up in this basket. * * * Previously 2005: “Well, GODDAMN,” I said. “NOT NOW, I won’t! I was GOING to, but now that I know you’d be sitting there all horrified about me reclining my seat in front of your parents, all worried that they’d be thinking ‘Good christ, look at her over there, so fucking LAZY she can’t expend the ENERGY to sit upright!’, I won’t! I wouldn’t DREAM of reclining on my OWN couch in my OWN home, I would HATE to embarrass you!” 2004: What If? 2003: Fred’s sister nodded. “That’s what I figured.” 2002: I forgot that teenagers are, on the whole (though yours may be different, or at least pulling the wool over your eyes) bone idle. 2001: McAfee rocks. 2000: Recent purchases. 1999: I informed him that there was no way he was getting out of taking me to the emergency room for this.]]>