Category: New house

in her entry the other day, I went and looked up information about them and saw that they’ll grow in the shade, or some of them will anyway, and her hostas are pretty, and Nance knows that when she mentions something, I MUST immediately have one of whatever it is, too, because I am a lemming. I don’t know that there’s going to be any kind of latticework or painting done to the stairs, because I’m fairly lazy and I don’t know that the prettiness of the stairs concerns me enough to go buy paint and paint them. Also, I’d need Fred to do the handrail or the latticework (or at least help with it) and every time I mention something that needs to be done, he sighs in a long-suffering manner and act all put-upon and bitches about how I have such a long list for him. My list: laundry line, fence around the back yard. Possible future (no big rush) list: covered porch in front of the back door, deck over the concrete pad. Really. Is that such a long list? Because I don’t think it is, personally. And if he didn’t want to be doing shit around the house, he shouldn’t have FORCED me to buy this house, is all I have to say. (Ha!)

* * * We like to walk around the back forty, usually every evening before we put the chicks in the coop and shut them in for the night. Sunday night, I think, my leg kept itching about halfway between my ankle and knee, and finally I flipped my pants leg up to see what the hell was going on. And I had a tick crawling around on me. ::shudder:: Ever since, every time I think about seeing that fucking thing, I get all itchy and have to scratch myself from head to toe until the itchiness goes away. At least it was just crawling around, and hadn’t gotten to the point where it was burrowed in. Thank god for small favors. * * * Yesterday I had to cool my heels for part of the day waiting for the plumber to show up. We’re having a water line run over behind the wood shed so that we won’t need to have hoses laying across the lawn for Fred to water the garden and give the chickens fresh water, he can just run a hose from the shed. (Also, this reduces the likelihood that I’ll run over the hose with the riding lawnmower the next time I cut the lawn.) Around noon, Fred called to let me know that the plumber had been called out on an emergency, which didn’t bother me too much, because I didn’t have any big plans for the day, anyway. He told me that the company had said they’d send him out first thing this morning, he could do the job, and then we could both go over to the Madison house, where he was scheduled to come today, anyway, and fix the problem with the thing in the laundry room. (I don’t know what the issue is with the thing in the laundry room, only that water was squirting everywhere and they had to turn the water to the house off and a plumber needs to do something to something.) It’s almost 9:00, and I don’t see any plumber anywhere doing anything, so I don’t know what their definition of “first thing in the morning” is, but it clearly differs from mine. * * * Dear Catie: Your boyfriend has no couth: That’s MY GARDEN he’s using as his litterbox. Even Maxi was appalled. I am SO not stepping foot in that garden unless I’m wearing a biohazard suit in the future, swear to god. He didn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed, the little bastard. * * * * * * Previously 2006: I like my life to be conflict-free, thank you. 2005: …and then she smacks the shit out of him, and he closes his eyes and smacks blindly at her, never ever ever landing a single smack on the portly Poo. 2004: No entry. 2003: It appears that the mother of Crunchy, Chewy, and Cheesy had a hard-core craving for the Crunchy Gordita during her pregnancies, and thus (possibly when she wasn’t smoking crack with one hand and downing the hard liquor with the other, one assumes) named her children after it. 2002: We sure are some dish-using motherfuckers around here. 2001: As if the little bastard had said “Oh, can’t poo on Mom’s newspaper, don’t want to get it all nasty!” 2000: (Every entry won’t be a laundry list of my day, I promise. This not-working thing is still new to me!)]]>

New month, new logo! This one was created by the wonderful t0rie. Isn’t it adorable? Thanks, t0rie!!!

* * * Just to reiterate, for those of you who read yesterday’s entry before I went back and edited it: Those are NOT my Nicholas Sparks books. They’re laying on a shelf in the spud’s bedroom, awaiting a return to my mother, from whom the spud borrowed them. I myself am not a Nicholas Sparks fan – I did read A Walk to Remember, and I think that will suffice me, Nicholas Sparks-wise, for a lifetime. Not that there’s anything wrong for those of you who like Nicholas Sparks, but I myself do not. Repeat: NOT MY BOOKS. * * * I know I mentioned last week that I’d ordered a couple of different kinds of high-protein cat foods online and was waiting for them to get here, and in the meantime I’ve been feeding the cats Blue Buffalo Spa Select food. Well, the first bag of food – TimberWolf Organics Serengeti Herbal Feline Formula Cat Food – got here late last week, and I emptied one of the bowls of Spa Select, so they’d have a bowl of each. They LOVE the TimberWolf. LOVE IT. They’ve stopped eating the Spa Select altogether, and if the bowl of TimberWolf is low and I fill it up, they all come running to belly up to the bowl. Also, except for one memorable pile of barf that had a hairball on top of it the day I introduced the TimberWolf to the cats, there hasn’t been any barfing. They all seem happy (they express their happiness by sleeping 23 3/4 hours of the day and racing around like hellcats the other 15 minutes) and healthy, and I have to say, the TimberWolf seems to be a hit. Yesterday I received the bag of Orijen Cat I ordered last week – just in time, since the little pigs finished off the bag of TimberWolf – and so far, it’s not a hit. They’re eating it, but they’re not loving it. Score Board: TimberWolf: YUM. Orijen: Eh. Spa Select: Yum. Ish. If there’s no TimberWolf, they’ll eat it. (I do intend to give the Wellness so many of you recommended a try, too. We like to offer the cats two different kinds of food to keep them happy.) * * *

Your Political Profile:

Overall: 35% Conservative, 65% Liberal Social Issues: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal Personal Responsibility: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal Fiscal Issues: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal Ethics: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal Defense and Crime: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal

No wonder Fred calls me a “damn liberal”. * * * Okay, time for advice, from you to me. Fred, the best handyman ever (and mine, all MINE!) finished the stairs from the computer room to outside over the weekend. I love how they look and how solid they are, but I think we need some kind of foliage planted on the sides of the stairs. I want something that will grow big enough to kind of hide the sides of the stoop, something bushy, I guess. I’m thinking of begonias along the lower part – near the stairs – but have no idea what would do well and grow big enough to plant beside the stoop. Here’s what it looks like: The amount of sun in that picture is about the most sun that area ever gets. Got suggestions? I want to hear ’em! Leave me a comment or email me. * * * I know that I’ve said in the past that A Girl Named Zippy is one of my favorite books. Seriously, that is one excellent book; I love it, I’ve read it several times, I’ve listened to it on cd, and it’s one of the few books I’ve read that I’ve actually kept. I highly recommend it. So I was excited to read another book by Haven Kimmel, this one a novel – The Solace of Leaving Early – and with great anticipation I started it the night before last. And sadly, I just didn’t care for it. At all. It bored me. DAMNIT. So I don’t recommend that one – but if you haven’t read A Girl Named Zippy, you oughta. And speaking of book recommendations, the Meg Gardiner novels featuring Evan Delaney are really, really good. I stayed up ’til almost 1 in the morning the other night (morning?) finishing Mission Canyon. It’s a rare author who can actually make my heart pound, but so far in the three Meg Gardiner books I’ve read, I’ve invariably found myself wide awake, heart pounding, reading as fast as I can. * * * During one of Mister Boogers’ escape attempts, he ran over to sniff at Maxi. Maxi, as you can see, was quite displeased. (I love the way Mister Boogers’ back foot is kicked up.) Orange kitties are just the happiest kitties on the face of the earth. Tommy and Sugarbutt hiding under The Daddy’s bed ’til the movers leave. Tommy tries to find a way into the boxspring. That chick just loves to hang out on to of the shade. The better to get snatched up by a hawk, my dear! * * * Previously 2006: “Hey little Tom, is yer Daddy home, did he go and leave you all alone, uhn-huhn, I got a bad desaaaaaaaahr, whoa-oh-oh, ahm on fire,” I sang, Elvis-ly. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: Every time Madonna opens her self-important mouth these days, she just annoys the shit out of me. 2002: Thank god I vacuumed yesterday, so he won’t be eye-to-eye with a thousand rambling dust bunnies composed of cat fur. 2001: Who’s the dumbass now, huh? That’s right, me. 2000: I stood there and watched the bag go by, thinking to myself “How did he get it to keep going like that?” ]]>

* * * Maybe we should call it “Lucky Acres” instead of “Crooked Acres”. (Nance, when I saw these four-leaf clovers, I felt very joyful indeed. Heh!)

* * * It occurs to me that I didn’t mention that the pond – the one in the back yard we’re paying someone to fill in – isn’t a naturally-occurring pond. It was a man-made pond, and the only thing filling it up is rainwater (there’s no spring), which is why it gets so low all the time. I don’t know if the previous owners did any kind of research as to where the best place on the land would be to dig a pond, or if they were like “Oh, it’s always kind of wet here. This is a good spot!” (that’s probably what we would have done!) or what, but like I mentioned, it’s taking up prime real estate and doesn’t stay full enough to keep fish, so we’re fillin’ it in. * * * Monday I packed up the pantry, since Fred and the spud aren’t using anything in there anyway (I left oatmeal for Fred and cans of ravioli for the spud so they wouldn’t starve to death). I came across a bottle of Kraft Light Done Right Bleu Cheese dressing, and paused. “This dressing looks odd,” I said to myself. “I wonder if it’s out of date?” The best-by date? September 2005. GAH. (Needless to say, that bottle didn’t make it to Crooked Acres.) * * * When the phone/ internet guy was setting up the (surprisingly enough) phone and internet at Crooked Acres, I asked him if he would switch out the phone jack plates throughout the house. Fred and I bought the replacement plates at Lowe’s Monday night, so all the guy needed to do is switch out the old ones for the new. Fred was able to figure out (and teach me) how to switch out outlets and switches, but the phone jack plates were a tad too complicated for us. When I said “Could you switch out the existing phone jack plates for these,” the guy – who’d been making noises like he was done and ready to go – looked at me and then looked at the new jack plates. Then he had to call his office. “Yeah, the customer on (our road) wants to switch out her phone jack plates,” he said. “Switch them out?” “Yeah, for new ones,” the guy said. “What kind of plates?” “The phone jack wall plates. Is there a charge for that?” “She wants new wall plates?” “No, she has them, she just needs the old ones switched out for the new ones.” “I’ll have to call you back on that.” Seriously, no one’s ever asked the guy to switch out ugly yellow phone jack wall plates for pretty bright white ones? I had no idea it was going to be such an issue! (In the end, there was no charge, and it only took him about fifteen minutes to do, since there are only six phone jacks in the entire house.) * * * Yesterday morning, I’d just gotten to the Madison house and was about to walk out the door to head for Target, when the phone rang. It was the woman who runs the cat shelter I volunteer for, asking if I could possibly cover for the regular Wednesday morning person who cleans & scoops at the pet store. I was glad to do it, and even more glad that I’d been just about to head that way, anyway. I got to spend some time with the kitties, and barely even had to go out of my way to do so. I love it when things work out like that. * * * Keeping an eye on the squirrel… …who’s clearly not worried about the Sugs at ALL. * * * Last Friday when I was mowing the back lawn, I was very concerned about the extension cord running across the lawn between the shed and the chicken coop. Fred told me he thought it was low enough that it wouldn’t be a problem, so I went over it, and found that he was right. I kept mowing the lawn, and had stopped worrying about the extension cord when I went over it, heard a loud clunk, and saw pieces of the extension cord fly across the lawn. I waved my arms at Fred, who was inside sitting at my computer (he’s turning into a Snood addict, too), then went over and picked up the end of the extension cord to show him what I’d done. “DON’T TOUCH THAT!” he bellowed, and I dropped it and backed away. “Why?” I asked. He got a you’re-a-dumbass look on his face, then thought for a moment and looked sheepish. “Oh. It’s not plugged in, is it?” “No.” “What is this, the third or fourth extension cord you’ve killed?” “Shut UP.” (The extension cord was there because until last weekend it was still getting pretty cold at night, and the chicks needed a light to keep them warm. We’d plug it in at night, then unplug it in the morning. So I was never in danger of getting electrocuted.) * * * Since I’ve been living in Crooked Acres, I’ve slept with my cell phone beside me at night (though I don’t need to do that anymore, since we’ve got real phones hooked up now!). Sometimes late at night the spud will text message me with a question or to tell me something, and I can just roll over, read her message, and text her back. Saturday night, my cell phone beeped to let me know I had a text message. I rolled over, looked at who the message was from, and didn’t recognize the number. The text message: Hey. I responded: ? They said: Your pictures will look good no matter what. Honestly, I thought maybe a reader had found my cell phone number and knew that flattery is the key to my heart. I said: Who is this? They said: Spencer I sent you the wrong thing. I figured they realized they’d been texting a wrong number, and rolled over and went back to sleep. Ten minutes later, my cell phone beeped again. They said: Hey. I responded: ? They said: Talk to me. I said: Dude, you’re texting a wrong number. They said: Who are you I said: Robyn Anderson (What I wanted to say: YOUR MOTHER. Now go to bed!) And I didn’t hear back from them again. I should totally send them a bill for the 10 cents per text message I’m going to be charged on the next cell phone bill. Though I guess I should have told them first thing they had the wrong number. * * * “Daddy’s home! DADDY’S HOME!” (Mister Boogers does not hate the Daddy.) * * * Previously 2006: So, in essence, the fucking DVR TATTLED on me. 2005: E’gar goes into the shop. 2004: I must be mumbling or something today. Everyone I’ve spoken to has looked at me like I’m speaking French and they can’t understand what the hell I’m saying. 2003: No entry. 2002: Blah blah blah. 2001: No entry. 2000: “Um… you mean, she lies on your butt to muffle your farts?” he ventured.]]>

Consumer Reports recommended and wrote down their top picks, so ended up with the AT&Ts (these, I think). I can’t say how well they work just yet, because they needed to charge before I could use them, and then I was up and out of the house fairly early this morning so I didn’t get a chance to give them a try. Hopefully they’ll work out better for me than they did for some of you, though I’m saving the box and the receipt until I know for sure whether they work worth a shit. I’m back to being internetless in Smallville again; when Fred left Smallville last night, he took the router with him because he’s a bastard. He left Smallville earlyish with the intention of doing some packing, but that’s okay – I spent the evening watching 30 Rock and Weeds on the laptop. I like 30 Rock, but I don’t love it. It’s definitely worth watching, but I get bored just sitting and watching it so tend to flip through a magazine while watching it. Once we’ve got our TV and DVR in Smallville (TV moves to Smallville Friday; DirectTV comes on Saturday, woot!), I might record 30 Rock, but I don’t think I’ll download anymore episodes via iTunes. Worth watching, but not for $1.99 a pop. (And excuse me, it is patently UNFAIR that a one-hour show and a half-hour show both cost the same on iTunes.) The show I’ve discovered that I absolutely love is Weeds. That Mary Louise Parker is just the shit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in anything and not loved her. She’s got such an expressive face* and she’s unbearably adorable. I know nothin’ ‘bout no pot or drugs or anything, but I find Weeds very entertaining – and I don’t feel the urge to flip through a magazine while I’m watching it. (Love Elizabeth Perkins, too.) *Jesus Christ, it just took me five minutes to come up with the word “expressive.” All I could think was “expressionless”, and I knew that wasn’t it. Alternately, I came up with “expressional”. I fear the full-blown Alzheimer’s is right around the bend. I hear the Alzheimer’s comin’, it’s rollin’ ‘round the bend, and I haven’t seen my brain cells since I don’t know when.

* * * Yesterday after Fred got home (to Smallville) after work, he went out and visited with his bitchez, snuggled with Frick for a while, and then a guy showed up to give him an estimate on filling in the pond. The price was far more reasonable than we’d expected, so I guess in a few weeks, we’ll be pondless. I feel bad for filling in the pond, because I know there are frogs and shit in that water, but the fucking thing is always way too low for fish (I think I mentioned), and it’s taking up prime real estate, so buh-bye pond. We ate dinner after the pond-filling guy left, and then started work on the garage. Fred wanted to get it set up so that he could start parking his car in the garage** and also so he could work out regularly. It took us a couple of hours of moving shit around and putting stuff upstairs in the garage (once the windows in the upstairs are replaced, I’ll be organizing all the shit we’re storing up there), but now it looks pretty decent. There are things still to be put away, but it’s functional enough for now. **Once the tractor shed is built (it’s a little further down on the list than the side steps and the clothesline and the fence around the back yard, to name a few) and the tractor implements are out of the other side of the garage, I’ll be parking in there as well. I love that the garage is big enough to park both our cars in it AND have all our gym equipment out there, too. * * * The chickens have apparently decided that if someone approaches their yard, it means there’s food on the way. They came to this conclusion because every time Fred goes near their yard, he has a handful of worms or a cut-up tomato or some lettuce or bread for them. Yesterday, I had to walk by their area to get to the burn pile, and when I walked by, one of the black chickens with speckles saw me go by, and she started running alongside me, clucking excitedly. By the time I’d dumped the wood on the burn pile and began walking back toward the garage, at least half of the chickens were running along the fence, clucking at me. I didn’t give them any food (only because I didn’t have any with me), and eventually they went back to scratching at the ground and eating bugs and running around flapping their wings. I think when I die, I’d like to come back as one of our pets. They definitely live the life o’ Reilly, the spoiled bastards. Chicks on a rainy day. * * * Judging by some recent searches, people are wondering what Snood level I’m playing on these days. I’m still playing on medium, because my percentage won at that level hovers right around 36%. Should it suddenly rocket to 45 or 50% I might think about going up a level, but for now I’m happy on medium. Last night I got my highest score ever, 11,829. I took a picture of the screen with my phone and sent it to Fred with the message “in ur face!”, because he’s a bastard who has been playing Snood for way less time than I have, and already his high score is in the 13,000 area. Before last night, my high score was under 9,000. 323 total games? Feels like more – WAY more. * * * “STOP TOUCHING ME WITH YOUR TAIL, SUGGIE!” Tommy, keeping an eye on the squirrels. * * * Previously 2006: A belly rub is a religious experience for Our Tommy. 2005: Friday sucked ass for the following reasons 2004: No entry. 2003: I am apparently married to a 100 year-old man. 2002: “Your air gap floopy.” 2001: And thought about putting my motherfucking fist through my motherfucking monitor because my motherfucking internet access has been going down every 9.8 seconds. 2000: “There’s no Easter bunny, there’s no tooth fairy, and Bruce Willis is DEAD, he’s DEAD, DEAD!” ]]>

Itchmo’s forums and Pet Connection and Howl911, all links I got from Michelle‘s page. We’ve talked about going to a raw food diet for the cats but – and I know I’m going to hell for this – I just don’t want to fucking deal with grinding up raw chickens for the cats or ordering expensive raw food for them. I’ve ordered sample bags of a couple of high-protein dry foods, and we’ll see how that goes. I’d just like to be able to feed my cats without worrying that I’m killing them, is that too much to ask for? It seems so. (I’m keeping a close eye on all the cats, and they’re acting perfectly fine, for the record.)

* * * Chris Rock had a bit in one of his HBO standup specials where he talked about OJ killing Nicole Brown Simpson, and Chris Rock said something like “Now I’m not sayin’ he should have killed her…. BUT I UNDERSTAND!” In like manner, I don’t think Alec Baldwin should have EVER left such a nasty message on his daughter’s voicemail… but I completely understand the impulse. (Yeah, yeah, right, except for you. Your daughter is an angel and you’ve never felt one moment of anger toward her, you have an idyllic relationship. Tell it to the jury, Miz Crawford.) * * * Things I should have done this weekend but did not: use the gas-powered trimmer to trim around the house, in the ditch, and around the various outbuildings. Mop the floors in the downstairs. Move the guest bed to the guest bedroom. Scrub the upstairs shower. Weed the front flower bed, put down black plastic (to thwart further weeds), put down red mulch, figure out what I want to use as edging around the front flower beds. Been any kind of help while Fred sprayed weed killer in the ditch and poison ivy killer around the poison ivy (weed killer and poison ivy killer might have been the same stuff, I’m not sure). Things I did do this weekend: Used the push mower to mow the areas of the lawn that cannot be mowed with the riding mower. Used the riding mower to mow the rest of the lawn. Deliberately drove the riding lawnmover around the edge of the chicken yard so I could guffaw at the flock o’ chickens running to get away from me (yes, cruel. But funny!). Made chocolate chip zucchini bread (which I found lacking. Got a good recipe? Gimme.) Vacuumed the entire house, twice (once Saturday, once Sunday). Straightened the kitchen and put a bunch of dishes away. Brushed Spot, twice (that is one shedding, hairy dude). Took recyclables to the recycling place.* Took several walks around the back forty with Fred. Did a lot of Snood playing. Checked on Fred’s stoop-building progress (progressing nicely, for the record). Planted two hanging planters full of Million Bells Petunias and two big planters full of the same, then spent the weekend trying to decide what else I want to plant to put on the porch (suggestions welcome – something easy to take care of, will thrive in part shade and is purty). Swept the porch. Pruned one of the winter honeysuckle bushes. Considered pruning the spirea bush, but gave up because it’ll be a big undertaking – that spirea bush is seriously overgrown. I consider it a weekend well spent. *We don’t have curbside recycling here, but there’s a recycling place in the next town, and you can recycle a lot more stuff there than we were ever able to in Madison (ie, glass and junk mail). Very cool. * * * When we walk around the back forty, Maxi or Newt (and sometimes both) like to accompany us. Yesterday, we were at the very back part of the property, when we heard Newt meowing, some rustling noises, and then he came bounding out of the undergrowth at the edge of the property. He proceeded to follow us, meowing his whiny little meow the entire time, so I made a little movie of him. YouTube link His whiny little meow cracks me up. I sure do love that cat. * * * “Ah hets them country kitties. They’s jest too durn salty.” Miss Maxi makes herself at home in the garden. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: Fred and I came up with the perfect name for a rapper: Skid Markee. 2003: Damn that Rob Rummel-Hudson. Damn him straight to hell. He gave me The Pink Eye! 2002: Note to self: Get life. 2001: how the hell did I ever get everything done when I was working full-time? (I still wonder this) 2000: I had hoped to see Tom Cruise’s penis, so I could pause the movie and look closely at it.]]>

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* * * Comments: Why can’t it be just plain old Middle Class or Upper-Middle Class American Guilt? BECAUSE WHITEY IS REPRESSING THE WORLD, of course, silly. * * * Don’t feel guilt, Robyn. Your ancestors had the balls to make their way to this country from wherever so they and you could have a better life. Of course, I did not see Blood Diamond so maybe I’m missing the point but I refuse to feel guilty for the things I have. I work my ass off for them. I’d probably feel less guilty if I had to work my ass off to get where I am, but I really haven’t – it’s just chance that I happened to end up with a man who’s intelligent and talented enough to provide a service that not a lot of people can, and has figured out how to cash in on that. (Don’t ask for specifics on what Fred does – just know that he’s a geek and if I had to explain what he does, I’d fall asleep in the middle of the explana….) * * * Don’t hug the chicken. She’ll peck your eyes out. And you need your eyes so you can write and keep us all entertained. I haven’t hugged any of them yet, but I certainly feel the urge to! Last night we were rounding up the chickens to put them in the coop, and Oscar got under the thing Fred built to provide shade, and she decided she was lost and alone, and she had the SADDEST little cheep, and it was so severely adorable she’s just lucky I didn’t pick her up and squeeze the life out of her. * * * By your description of plotlines that hang on miscommunication – I have to ask – are you reading the latest in the series of “The Shopaholic” books? I just finished it and that *totally* fits!! That’s exactly what I was talking about! Heh. I love me some Shopaholic books. * * * Your e-mail asshat comments made me laugh like a hyena, but I REALLY hope you don’t get much e-mail like that! I’m appalled to think people could be that stupid, but I shouldn’t be so naive, I guess. Ugh. and robyn, you made me laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh with all your asshat references and misspellings!!! do people really write stuff in your comments about you and your wls? and People who write to warn you about every little piece of food you eat are retards. Were you poisoned at Applebee’s? I think every person I’ve ever known who has eaten there has been sickened in some way. I hate Crapplebee’s. and Do people really ever do that?? I mean about saying that you are going to get fat because you eat a bit of ribs or fries? That has me flabbergasted. I actually haven’t gotten many comments about it recently, but I’ve gotten a few in the past, and invariably they’re filled with misspellings and misunderstandings (for instance, the people who are dead certain the liver issues were caused by weight loss surgery, despite the fact that there were liver issues long before I ever considered weight loss surgery) and I love to read them aloud to Fred so that we can mock them. My particular favorite thing is when someone goes to a message board and talks about me, then links to me so I’ll see the link in my referrals and go to see what’s going on, thus reading what they’ve said about me. I don’t find that passive-aggressive assholery at ALL (and hi, I know who you are, stupidass, so can the faux-friendly emails, ‘k?). * * * I just got the Joe Hill book from my parents as a belated Easter Basket gift. Anybody read it yet? Your thoughts? I read it and really liked it, despite the fact that I was all “Oh, he’s only getting attention because he’s Stephen King’s kid!” at first. But I was completely wrong – his writing stands on it’s own. It’s just a great old-fashioned suspenseful horror novel and I liked it a lot. I’ll definitely check out his next book, whenever that might happen. * * * Robyn, where did you download Workout? I’ve looked on iTunes and Bit Torrent and can’t find it. I found it on iTunes, actually – maybe you’re searching on “Workout” instead of “Work Out”, so it’s not showing up? Or maybe it’s ‘cause you’re in the UK? I don’t know, all I know is that I’m definitely finding it on iTunes! * * * You know, I was a Snooddict many years ago. And I had made a full recovery. And now, thanks to you, I have made a full RELAPSE. I’m considering litigation. You can kick it again. YOU CAN! (But why would you want to?) Please, regarding litigation, you need to be aware that my lawyer, Thomas J. Cullen, has informed me that any litigation will be met with deadly and stinky force. Once the judge catches sight of Tommy’s pretty pink nail caps and catches a whiff of the TomStank, it’ll be all over. Don’t mess with me. * * * I think the lady wanted to know if Sugs was pronounced like “Sugar” from his name Sugarbutt, or Sugs, like Soogs, with no “sh” sound. It’s like Sugar, correct? Yeah, I must have gotten confused, there – it’s like Sugar. In fact, it’s pronounced like “Sugarbutt”, without the “arbutt.” Though, to muddy the water a tad, I also sometimes call him Toogs. Don’t ask me to explain why, because I have NO IDEA. * * * I was wondering if you’ve started packing your books to move to the new house. We are moving in one month -I’ve already packed 10 boxes of books and still not done yet! Arrrghh! Oh, HELLZ YES have I started packing my books. In fact, the books were the first thing I packed and the first thing I unpacked – they’re here with me in Smallville, safely shelved on the bookcase in my bedroom. I need access to lots of books at any given time, or I get nervous. * * * Robyn, where do you buy your soft paws? And how much do they cost? I really need to get some, my cat is destroying my house! Thanks! I buy mine on eBay (search on “Soft claws”; they’re the same thing, though I don’t know remember off the top of my head how much they cost – maybe $15 for a set? I usually buy more than one set, in varying colors. I lurve eBay. * * * I like that Sugs also supports Gay Pride! Does he get picked on for his rainbow toes? Sugs never ever gets picked on (except for sometimes by his big brother Mister Boogers, who hates everyone, whether they support Gay Pride or not; he’s an equal opportunity hater) because anyone who approaches him with the intention of picking on him is rapidly overcome by The Cute, and before you know it, they’re rolling on their back in deference to Sugs, who may or may not offer them a lick to the top of the head, depending on his mood. * * * Miss Maxi looks very beefy and badass. Miss Maxi has totally porked up. She was skin and bones when we first saw her last September (probably because she’d recently given birth), but after a few months of regular feeding and a nice warm place to sleep, she’s put on plenty of weight. Which means that when she wants to put the smack down on Newt, she’s got plenty of weight behind the swing of her paw. * * * I still expect to see a picture soon of either Maxi or Newt with a chicken hanging from her/his mouth. I’m just not too sure about those outdoor cats that aren’t yours. They like to eat raw meat like squirrel, and I hear squirrel tastes just like chicken. Before Maxi or Newt could eat a chicken, they’d have to be able to get to them, and they totally can’t. The chicken coop and yard is like Fort Knox and Maxi and Newt might watch the chickens, but they’ll never (though of course I should never say never, right?) get a paw on them, as long as we’re careful about closing the gate when we go into the chicken yard. * * * I know you posted this before and I searched for it – but what kind of cat litter do you use? My cat has taken to not covering (boo!) and I figure if you have 6 times as many cats as I do 🙂 whatever you’re using must be awesome! I use Fresh Step, and it says something on the box about odor-destroying carbon in the litter. It does a pretty good job of reducing the stank, and I very much recommend it. I’ve also, in the past, used Arm & Hammer for Multiple Cats, and it works pretty well, too. The Arm & Hammer clumps harder and faster, and the Fresh Step does a better job of taking care of the stank (though I’ll be honest – no litter on earth is going to completely do away with the smell from an uncovered pile o’ cat poo). I also like that you can collect “points” with the Fresh Step and earn toys and beds and stuff, because our cats do not have NEARLY enough beds. Two beds for every cat? NOT ENOUGH. What if they have to walk more than three feet to find a place to sleep? UNACCEPTABLE. * * * Robyn – I don’t know if you ever watch the NBC news, but if so, maybe you’ve noticed that the reporter David Gregory looks EXACTLY like one of the Snood characters. Seriously. Every time I see him, I think of Snood … take a look and you’ll know which Snood it is. And, yes, I probably have too much time on my hands. I had never noticed that until I went and Googled up a picture of David Gregory. I thought for a minute that you might think that David Gregory looks like Mildred Snood (did you know that the Snoods have names?), but Fred pointed out that he really looks more like Jake Snood. * * * If you’ve never read Tess Gerritsen I highly recommend her books. I’ve only read Vanish and Body Double so far, but really enjoyed them. Good mystery books. Oh, I love Tess Gerritsen! I’ve read most of her books, and have a few of her older ones sitting on my bookcase waiting to be read. She lives in Maine, y’know. I very much recommend her books. * * * Does The esteemed Boog really have one blue and one green eye or is it just something in that picture? It’s just something in the picture, apparently. He’s got two (very pretty) green eyes. * * * Please tell me you know that song is EBONY and Ivory!!!!! “Baby, I think someone in my comments just called me a complete idiot.” * * * I thought that South Park episode was really funny except for the actual Snuke parts. It was like, Hilary Clinton’s vagina? Really? Just didn’t seem the most creative thing and I was bummed cause I love that show and I LOVED Cartman as Bauer. Yeah, Trey Parker and Matt Stone are totally obsessed with people putting things up their vaginas (see: the faux Kenny climbing up into the bus lady’s uterus in the episode where Cartman goes to fat camp) and asses (pretty much every episode). They’re puerile motherfuckers, but I consider the pubescent obsession with vaginas and asses to be something you have to slog through (so to speak) to get to the funny. * * * I have never heard of these cup things. They must not be available in Canada. Where do you buy them from? I buy my Instead cups at Target, but I’m sure you can find them online. Google is your friend! By the way, other cups y’all recommended highly: the Keeper, the MoonCup UK (by the same people who make the Keeper) and the Lunette. I think I’m going to go ahead and give the Diva cup a try and see how it works for me (so far as I can tell, the Keeper and Diva Cup are shaped the same way). And Lyn said this about the Diva cup: One warning on the Diva cup – I don’t know anyone who’s been thrilled with the larger size, they one they say to use if you’re over 30 or have had children. Start with the smaller one (they’ll take it back if you need to go with the other one) and if you’re having leakage problems long before the cup ought to have filled up, then you can size up. * * * Here’s my TMI contribution–I have a light flow, and even light tampons (when you can even FIND the damn things) would “adhere” when I had a light day, and then pull on the tissues when I’d try to pull it out. The menstrual cups don’t bother me at all. I’m quoting this comment for the sole reason that “adhere” made me want to scream and run around in circles because I absolutely know that feeling and just thinking about it gives me the ookies. Can I get a “hallelujah”, ladies? * * * Love, love, LOVE my Diva cup. I have been using it for years and would not trade it for any other product! Only took a couple of cycles to get used to using it. I do feel that you need to be the type of person who is comfortable with their body to use it. I think you have to be pretty comfortable with your body to even use tampons. I was almost 30 before I was comfortable enough with my body to figure out how to get the damn things inserted right so that they’d be comfortable. I can’t imagine trying to use one of those cups when I was in my 20s – not that the average 20-something isn’t comfortable enough with her body to use them, just that I as a 20-something wasn’t. * * * I can’t imagine shipping 25 boxes. That sounds pricy. Is spud packing, or are you? It’s not too bad – UPS tends to be cheaper than the post office for stuff like that. The spud is going through her boxes of stuff, deciding which ones can go, and then leaving them for me to seal up and send – except for the two boxes of breakable stuff I mailed yesterday. I went after those boxes with the bubble wrap. Hopefully most of the breakable stuff will make it okay. * * * Several of you recommended the Roomba, and while I’m interested in the Roomba, I don’t think it’s going to be something I buy at this point. Our house is made so that each room is very much separate from each other, so I’d have to take it from room to room, wouldn’t I? And then move chairs and stuff so it could get around the room and do what it’s supposed do? With that much effort, I might as well drag out the vacuum and do it myself. (Also, it’s kind of expensive, and considering that I just put out a lot of money for the Litter Robot, I’m not ready to lay out more money right now.) * * * He’s gone country. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: So, to sum up: for almost a year, they’ve spent time staring up their property line, ostentatiously walked up and down it, yet it’s never occurred to them to come knock on the door and say “Hi, blah blah our side of the property line, blah blah, stop? Thanks!” 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: “If we manufactured bon-bons, I would have sent you a package of those. Instead, this package should assuage the pain and horror of not working while you lay on the couch and watch Oprah and the soaps.”]]>

* * * Over the last two or three times I’ve had my period, I’ve given the Instead Cup a try. I like the way it works – it’s not as irritating to my lady parts as tampons tend to be, if you must know – but I have an issue with it leaking. Those of you who’ve tried the Diva Cup, would you recommend it? I might give it a try if anyone out there highly recommends it. I don’t want to go back to tampons, because the fucking string irritates the delicate membranes of the Down There area IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. (Please stop thinking about my Down There area, please. Pervs.)

* * * The other night, Fred and I were laying down in Smallville talking before he left for Madison for the night. “I’m a little worried that the washer and dryer won’t fit,” he said. The space where they’re supposed to fit, in the laundry room, is definitely smaller than the space where they fit in Madison. “We did measure, though,” he remembered. “We decided they’d fit, but it would be a tight fit.” I looked at him sideways. “But you know what? We didn’t measure the depth, only the width!” He looked at me. “What’s with the smug look?” “I’m not looking smug, I’m looking RUEFUL,” I said. “You need to practice that look in the mirror some more,” said fuckhead jackass Fred. “I can’t help it if after eleven years you can’t interpret the look on my face!” I snapped. Honest to christ. This is me, looking rueful: (Yes, I need to have my eyebrows waxed. You may shut up now.) This is me looking smug: You’d think he’d notice the very obvious difference between the two. MEN. * * * It’s perhaps a sign of how very much I need a life that I spent too much time thinking about the ringtones on my phone. Ever since I got the new Razr phone, I’ve had Green Day’s Basket Case assigned to Fred’s work and cell phone numbers (Do you have the time/ to listen to me whine/ about nothing/ and everything all at once/ I am one of those/ melodramatic fools/ neurotic to the bone/ no doubt about it), and I had gotten a bit bored, but couldn’t decide what to use instead. Then I was struck with inspiration yesterday morning when I woke up with a song in my head, and when I thought about it later in the day, I did a quick Google search, and found that someone had conveniently made a ringtone out of it. So now when Fred calls from his work or cell phone number, Shpadoinkle Day from Cannibal! The Musical plays, and it makes me giggle like mad. Get it yourself, here. On a related note, Cannibal! The Musical is worth checking out, if only for the music. Even as a college student, Trey Parker knew how to write a catchy tune. Say what you will about the man, he’s talented as shit. Annnnnd speaking of Trey Parker, if you haven’t checked out the episode of South Park entitled The Snuke, you totally should. Cartman as Jack Bauer is not to be missed. * * * I was in Target Monday morning, and as I was going down the cat food and litter aisle, I glanced over, saw this bottle of stuff and said to myself “Wait. Did that say “Strange Odor Removal”? Because I NEED me some of that!” I read it wrong, though. Too bad. I think everyone has the occasional Strange Odor issue. * * * Cleanliness is next to Sugliness. A rare picture of five of the six. (Spanky was off somewhere napping) Left to right: Miz Poo, Tommy, Spot, Mister Boogers, Sugarbutt. Miz Poo: “I don’t EVEN know who she thinks she is, all rolling around on the ground taunting us. Doesn’t she know that WE are the favorites? We get a snack every night! We get warm places to sleep! We get love and scritches!” Tom: “You do realize that she gets all that stuff, too, PLUS she gets to run around outside wherever she wants, right?” Mister Boogers: ::HATE:: * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: “Bessie, Jayson Blair is black.” 2003: No entry. 2002: I hate it when there’s a web page touting some wonderful product, but you CANNOT place an online order. 2001: SIR! RECRUIT BITCHYPOO IS DONE WITH HER ENTRY AND READY TO POST IT, SIR! 2000: we watched the ultra-crappy End of Days last night ]]>

* * * Today, I’m going to be packing up dishes from the kitchen to take to Smallville. Since I do most of the dinner-cooking in Smallville and Fred and the spud do very little eating in Madison, I’m going to leave them a few plates, cups, and some silverware, and take everything else to Smallville. For that matter, I can probably mostly clear out the pantry in Madison, a lot of the stuff from the freezer, and whatever’s left in Madison of the pots and pans while I’m at it. I can’t wait ‘til we’re all living in Smallville, have I mentioned? Next week the internet, phone, and (hopefully) DirectTV will be installed. I don’t know that I’ll know how to act when I’ve got internet whenever I want it, it’s been so damn long since I’ve had it!

* * * I’ve mentioned in the past, I believe, that I’ve read books highly recommended by Stephen King, and every single time I’ve thought “You thought THAT was so great?!” You’d think by now I’d know better than to get excited about books he loves the hell out of, but you would be so very wrong. A few months ago he wrote… something somewhere (I don’t remember at ALL – possibly I read it on his site, or in his newsletter, or in a column somewhere. Who the fuck knows?) extolling the talent of Meg Gardiner, talked about how awesome her books were, and told me I should run right out and get all her books and read them immediately. Because I never learn anything EVER, I got all her books, put them on my bookcase, and then ignored them for a few weeks. Finally, earlier this week, I picked up China Lake and started reading it. About fifty pages in, I was like “Goddamn Stephen King. He did it to me AGAIN. This isn’t bad, but it’s nothing special GODDAMNIT.” And then it started getting better and better, and by the time I’d gotten 150 pages in, I could barely stand to put the damn thing down. Evan Delaney (whose name I inevitably read as “Evany”, which then makes me start singing “Evany and Ivory”, because I am a DORK) kicks ASS. I hope the rest of Meg Gardiner’s books are as good as China Lake turned out to be. * * * Hatehatehate. “Tastes like chicken. I think. Perhaps I need to taste test a real chicken, just to be sure.” * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: Taking the week off. 2004: No entry. 2003: Fred: That was a cowardly yellow-dog liberal DEMOCRAT thing to say. 2002: Things are getting back to normal. 2001: One of these days I’ll get my ass in gear; I just never know when that day will be. 2000: Squooshiness begets squooshiness, you know.]]>

Litter Robot or the Litter Locker. If you were looking for something else entirely, feel free to leave a comment or email me and I’ll do my best to help out, because that’s the kind of sweet, helpful badass I am!

* * * So – fingers crossed! – it appears that we really have sold the house (though of course it’s never REALLY sold ‘til all the papers are signed). They did the home inspection last week and came up with a pretty reasonable list of stuff that needed to be fixed. We’d been worried, because we were afraid there might be something big – nothing that we were aware of, but you just never know what a home inspector will find – but luckily the roof isn’t about to fall in or anything. The only problem was that there’s a cracked tile in the kitchen that they wanted fixed, and we can’t do it. We actually had the tile guy come to the house and look at it before we even put the house up for sale, hoping that he could take a tile from the back of the kitchen closet (we don’t have extra tiles for the Madison house – the sellers didn’t leave us any, and we can’t match the tiles either, god knows we’ve tried) and replace the cracked tile, but he told us that taking up a tile would break it, so that was a no-go. We discussed pulling up the tile and replacing it with linoleum, but didn’t want to spend the money on that, and replacing all the tile in the kitchen was prohibitively expensive, as you can imagine. Finally, we asked the realtor what we should do, and he said just to leave it, that the sale price on the house was low enough that we should consider the cracked tile a bargaining point. So Fred told our realtor (or rather, his assistant) that we’d do everything except replace the tile, and apparently that’s what the buyers expected, so there was no “Fuck you, we’re not buying the house, assholes!” or anything, thank god. Most of what needs to be done will be done by an electrician, maybe next week. And then the spud and Fred will be moving to Smallville, and we’ll have cable and internet and phone in Smallville and life can settle the fuck down. It can’t happen soon enough, if you ask me. * * * The chickens are now officially out in the coop 24/7, and it seems to be going well. I let them out in the morning and they come out immediately and run around and do a little flying, and then spend the rest of the day going in and out of the coop, pecking at the ground, hanging out with each other, occasionally getting under the coop and cheeping sadly until they realize how to get back out (chickens aren’t known for their intelligence, it would appear). During the day Newt and Maxi mosey on by to check them out or lay on the ground and watch them wander around their little yard. Those of you concerned that Maxi and Newt will try to get themselves a chicken snack, don’t you know that Fred would never allow that to happen? The chicken yard is completely fenced in with not one but TWO layers of fencing, there’s a locked gate the cats can’t get through, and the top of the yard is covered in koi netting so that cats can’t do something like climb the fence and drop into the chicken yard AND it’s also a protection against hawks and other birds of prey. We’re a few days in, and so far all the chickens have made it through unscathed. I hope that continues, because I don’t want to hear the blubbering if Fred’s beloved Frick* (Fricassee’s nickname) buys the farm. *Every time Fred or I call him “Frick”, we immediately think of Elliot on Scrubs, who always says “Frick!” when thwarted or caught in some bit of dumbassery. * * * One issue I have with this house is that there are no screens. The weather today is so lovely and sunny and warm(ish) that I’d love to open a few windows and air out the house, but since I don’t want any of the cats to escape, I can’t. I did open the door from the laundry room to the back yard (and latched it so the cats couldn’t push it open) and the cats periodically cluster around the door to peer out at Newt or Maxi or the chickens or Robins hopping around in the back yard. At one point all the cats except Spanky were sitting in front of the screen looking out at Maxi, who was rolling around on her back in the grass, and I’m pretty sure I heard her jeer “I get to go outside and you don’t, ha ha ha!” I had to run some errands, so I closed the back door. I was gathering the recyclables together when I heard a weird noise from the door. I opened the door back up to find that somehow, Mister Boogers had slipped in between the door and screen door while I was closing it. Good thing I heard the noise and investigated, or he would have been stuck there for an hour or so. No doubt he would have figured out how to bust out the screen, and then god knows where he’d be now. * * * The Litter Robot report: It seems to be doing okay, but it’s not a hit. I left the regular litter box out because I didn’t want to traumatize the cats, but I hadn’t been cleaning the regular litter box as often (that is, I clean it once a day instead of twice, because to go longer than that would gross me the hell out). The Litter Robot is being used, though not as often as the regular litter box. So far, I’ve found the Litter Robot stopped mid-cycle for no apparent reason, so I turned it off and then back on, and both times it finished cycling and was fine. I don’t know if the cats kept going back to look at it, causing it to stop cycling or what, but that’s what I suspect. Thus far, the regular litter box is getting more use than the Litter Robot, though that might be because I have the Robot set to cycle automatically rather than doing it manually. Earlier, Tommy kept going and looking in the Robot while it was cycling, then he made a noise of annoyance and used the regular litter box, so I’m guessing that if the Robot hadn’t been cycling, he would have used it instead. Maybe I need to go to doing it manually three or four times a day instead of leaving it automatic? I’ll have to think about it. In another day or so if usage of the Robot doesn’t pick up, I’m going to switch the regular litter box to a small one in hopes that using a clean litter box (the Robot) will be more enticing to the cats than using an unclean one. I wouldn’t say that the Robot is a big hit with me just yet, but I’m going to give it time – I’ve only had it set up since Friday, after all. * * * Over the weekend, Fred stopped on his way out to Crooked Acres to pick a few stalks of wheat growing in one of the many fields on the way. All the cats were interested, but Sugarbutt was absolutely fascinated to the point that Fred buried the stalks of wheat in the bottom of the trash can so Sugarbutt wouldn’t eat them. Sugarbutt was up on the counter when Fred leaned down and held the wheat out to the other kitties. Sugarbutt jumped down from the counter, and I snapped him in mid-jump/fall. * * * Previously 2006: Taking the week off. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: “Helloooooo, Fancypants! Hey, buddy, whatchoo doin’?” I said in my special Fancypants voice. 2002: Know what I’m thinking? Psycho stalker, desperate to come into the house, rape and rob us and leave us for dead, stealing the computers and the big-screen TV on the way out. 2001: I should have stayed in bed this morning. 2000: No entry.]]>

I’m getting my ass whomped by the Cute Overload and I Can Has Cheezburgers kids when it comes to Best Animal Blogger at the Blogger’s Choice Awards, but I can’t complain, because they’re two of my favorite sites and they RAWK.

* * * We watched Blood Diamond Saturday evening, and as I told Fred during the movie, I think Leonardo DiCaprio is a really good actor, I think he’s very good-looking, and I’ve liked a lot of his movies, but for some reason, on a personal level I just really do not like the guy at all, and I have no idea why that is. It’s a mystery. So we watched the movie, and afterward, with a super-sized helping of White American Guilt hanging over my head, I shut down my laptop computer (one of three computers in the Madison house at the time, and one of two I personally have access to while at the Smallville house) loaded it up in my cheap car (one of three that belong to the three members of our household), drove twenty minutes from one house that we own to the other house that we own (you know, the house that we dumped half our savings – an amount of money we could probably live off for the rest of our lives in some third-world countries – into over the course of five months), listening to my iPod on the way, walked into the aforementioned second house that we own, to be greeted by two cats who live on our porch in a house of their own, then walked through the front door into a warm, well-lit front room to be greeted by six spoiled rotten cats who have more soft, cozy, warm places to sleep than entire families of humans in some countries, walked back to the kitchen, where I have enough food to eat for a couple of weeks if I could get off my lazy ass long enough to cook it, cleaned out the litter robot I paid $300 for because I can’t be bothered to clean out the litterbox myself multiple times a day, took down the kitty snacks I paid too much for, so that our cats could be spoiled even more (and so one of them could eat too much and then go barf it all up on the floors we paid thousands of dollars to have refinished so that we could have beautiful, pristine floors right up until we moved in and the cats went racing down the hallway, leaving scratches behind), ran clean water from the tap in the kitchen to wash dishes, turned the heat up to 72 so I wouldn’t be too cold – god forbid! – put on my expensive (but it cannot be denied, very cute) boots to slog out to the back yard to open up the chicken coop (a building with more space than some families in Mexico have in their entire living quarters) and check on the chickens to be sure they hadn’t keeled over dead from the sound of thunder, all the while talking on my cell phone (one of three belonging to the three people in our household, and let’s not forget we have a landline at the Madison house, too) with Fred, and after I was done talking with him, I watched the latest episode of Lost (downloaded from iTunes for $1.99 on high-speed internet whilst at the Madison house) on my laptop, then washed my face, brushed my teeth (did I mention I can get clean drinking water on demand from no less than five different sinks in the house?), took off the cheap cubic zirconia ring I wear on my ring finger (because the diamond babykilling engagement ring Fred gave me nine years ago is too big for me, so sits in my dresser unworn), and crawled into my nice warm bed, made with expensive (to me), clean sheets and two comforters, a bottle of clean drinking water next to me, and I slept like a baby. It’s a rough fucking life. * * * Saturday it rained. And then it rained. It rained a little more. And when it was done? It rained, just for good measure. Fred wanted to get the chicken yard finished up, but when the rain was clearly not going to let up, he gave up and we ended up spending the majority of the day hanging out in the house snoozing, playing games, and reading. Fred’s taken up playing Snood, because he is a rat bastard who cannot stand to let me have a game I love without his ass jumping on the bandwagon and beating every single one of my high scores. I hate him. But he has a nice ass, so I guess I’ll keep him. At one point he’d had enough of the Snood and the snoozing, so we sat down and played Yahtzee. Now, in my defense, I had never ever played Yahtzee in my entire life, so I wasn’t completely sure of the rules until about halfway through the game. Which is when I realized that we were playing an old person’s game. “You don’t really like this game, do you?” Fred asked. “I do not. Maybe because I’m not 100 years old,” I said. “We’re never going to play this game again, are we?” Fred asked. “Not for another sixty years!” We ended up leaving Smallville a little after 2, and went to Madison, where I puttered about online and Fred took a bath, and then we went to an auction. We left after a couple of hours without buying anything, but there’s an auction next week we may check out. There isn’t anything we desperately need, but I’m keeping an eye out for a vanity (or a small desk to use as a vanity) to put in my bedroom, I’d like to put a table under one of the windows in the living room, and there are a few other small things I’d like to get, but there’s no hurry. Sunday, it rained again in the morning and early afternoon, and we went to Lowe’s to pick up some screws and hooks, and ended up leaving with a lot more stuff than we’d gone in for, AS USUAL, and my Fat Smug White American Overspending Got-Too-Much-Goddamn-Stuff-While-In-Other-Countries-Men-Are-Walking-Around-Without-FEET guilt reared its head briefly, but I stifled the bitch with a smoothie from Starbucks. We got a runner for the downstairs hallway. It cost us about $30 (for 13 feet), but the ends need to be finished. We bought an edging kit at Lowe’s, and we’ll see how that goes. Fred did a lot of stuff outside, then got so cold he had to come in and borrow some body heat from me, and then we snoozed for a while. We woke from our nap to find that the sun was coming out, so Fred spent the rest of the afternoon working on the chicken yard. I have to say – it was a pretty damn relaxing weekend, all in all. Any weekend where we spend most of it in Smallville is a good one. * * * This is Oscar, so named because she looks a lot like an ostrich (this picture doesn’t do her justice). She’s the runt and adorable. I want to pick her up and squeeze her. One of the Buff Orpingtons. We find that the Buffs are the least skittish and most friendly and curious of the chickens. Fred likes to pick them up and pet them, and they actually put up with it for a few minutes. The finished chicken coop. Fred did everything but paint it, and I think the thing is solid enough to withstand a direct hit from a tornado. Newt and Maxi explore the back forty. Newt checks out the garden. Hopefully he’s not trampling any new seedlings. Newt finds it important to keep an eye on the chickens. For protection purposes, of course. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: The freakin’ notify list. 2004: You could take notes, motherfucker. 2003: Okay, okay! Just please stop asking! 2002: I guess I was a doofus even way back then. 2001: DO NOT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, EMAIL AND ASK IF I HAVE ANYTHING ON THIS LIST, STILL. I DO NOT 2000: I had to refrain from picking her up and squeezing her to bits.]]>