There were several of these growing near the house, and neither of us had any clue what they were. Fred’s stepmother informed us that they’re spider lilies. Since they grow from bulbs, I may dig them up and transplant them. Then again I might not – I’m not sure where the bulb garden is ultimately going to be.
Pardon the blurriness, but these fuckers can MOVE. I saw one of these last month in the front yard of the house and tried to get a picture of it, but couldn’t. On our trip to the house Saturday, I saw several of them and finally managed to get a picture. I was going to put it up and ask y’all what it might be, but on a whim I Googled “Red velvet ant”, and found that – amazingly enough – it’s called a “Red velvet ant.” Or you can call it by its other name – “Cow Killer.” It’s not really an ant, it’s a wasp, and you can read more about it here. I thought they were kind of pretty, but if the fuckers have a painful bite, I’m just as happy to stomp on them.
We walked out to the back forty.
From the back corner of the back forty, looking toward the house. The owners’ son had started to bushhog the back field, but their tractor broke down before it could be finished. The tractor Fred almost bought, but decided not to. Dodged a bullet on that one!
Leaves starting to change on the black gum tree.
In the back forty.
Huge tree in the back forty.
Pecan tree overlooking the “pond.”
When we left the house, we headed toward Decatur to do something you don’t get to hear about yet (patience, grasshoppers. All will be revealed tomorrow. Or Monday. Nothing huge, I promise.), but on the way we passed a tractor place, and since it was apparently Fred’s intent to visit every single tractor place in the state of Alabama, we stopped. I sat in the car with my book while he went in and talked to someone.
Half an hour later, he came back outside. “I’m going to drive a tractor,” he said. “And there’s a cat in the store!”
She was friendly, but started getting bite-y after a while, so I left her alone.
Fred, driving his very first tractor.
When I was done petting and taking pictures of the cat, I went outside and watched Fred drive around on the tractor. The salesman turned to me and said “I hear you’re a fan of cats.”
“I am,” I said. “We have six of our own.”
He shuddered. “No offense, but I’m not a cat person.”
I shrugged. “None taken. I’m not a dog person.”
“I’m not really a dog person either,” he said. “I’m retired, and I might get home today and my wife might say “Let’s go to Tunica for a few days!”, and we won’t have to worry about the pets.”
“That’s true,” I agreed. I watched Fred for a few more minutes, and when he headed inside with the salesman to talk numbers, I went back to the car and read some more.
We went to Decatur, did the thing you’re not allowed to know about yet, and then headed for the Morgan County Fair. After all the talking-up Fred had done, I expected this fair to be HUGE and AMAZING. We went into the Expo Hall first, and I admired the quilts, while Fred talked to a couple of guys at a booth about – what else? – TRACTORS.
This is my favorite.
My other favorite. Makes me want to take up quilting.
After the Expo Hall, we went and checked out the livestock, and fed some goats. Well, Fred fed some goats. I wandered around and took pictures.
I haven’t got a CLUE what this thing is. It kind of looks like an ostrich, but I think it was some kind of sheep.
After the livestock, we wandered around the fair grounds checking out rides and games. It was a pretty small fair and there were no rides we wanted to go on, and Fred played one game and won a cheap little prize for me, and then we walked around a little more, bitching about the heat, and finally left to find something to eat.
We ate at a buffet – where I ate too much, damnit, but it was good – and then headed for home, after stopping off to do something else y’all don’t get to hear about yet.
(This is not sex-related, in case you’re worried. Though telling you that we’ve decided to become swingers would probably be a tad more interesting than what it’s really about.)
On the way home, Fred suddenly exclaimed Ere he drove out of sight, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!” “Hey, look! It’s Donald Sutherland!” And we spent about ten minutes trying to catch up to the SUV Donald was driving, so I could so-very-subtly snap his picture.
Not really Donald Sutherland. Or IS IT?
I spent the afternoon bonding with Maddy and then taking a nap, and Fred and I spent the evening watching TV until the spud got home (Fred can’t sleep until he knows she’s home safe).
All in all, a good Saturday!
* * *
A couple of cat questions, answered:
Ummmmm…… You *warmed* Maddy’s food? That must STINK to the high heavens!!!!
Yeah, I warm her food because I’m a total sucker, and god forbid she have to eat COLD food. She might starve to death! And yeah, it does stink. By the end of the day, after smelling the soft food I give Maddy all day long, when Fred opens a can of soft food to feed the big cats for a snack (and we wonder why Tommy is such a porker), it makes me a little nauseous. Also, I worry that I walk around all day smelling like cat food and just don’t realize it!
Maddy is SO cute. Question from a non-cat owning person…will her eyes always be blue or will they change color as she gets older? Still think you can give her up?
Her eyes will probably change from blue; they’re already lighter than they were, and I think I see flecks of gold in them. I’d love it if she kept her big blue eyes, though. They’re gorgeous! And yes, I think I’ll be able to give her up. It won’t be easy, but y’all forget – I’ve actually given up more foster kitties than I’ve kept. Excluding Maddy, I’ve had 11 foster kittens and given up 9 of them. So, see? I can do it! (And I know that if I give her up, there’ll be more fosters in my future. If I keep her, the fostering will have to stop because there is NO WAY Fred would ever let me foster again.)
I work with [deleted] and she has been showing me pictures of this perfect little angel kitten. I can’t believe that after you has nursed this little beauty that you can give her away….What kind of mother are you?? You are all she knows. You will damage her for life you know.
I’m actually not the only mother she’s ever known – I’m the third mother she’s ever known, at least of the human persuasion. God knows what happened to her “birth” mother. And let’s get serious here – she’s a CAT. I’m not going to damage her for life, because her brain is the size of a pea. If I went away for two days and came back, she’d be like “And you are…?” I’m giving her away to a very good home, because the shelter I work for is extremely careful regarding who they allow to adopt their cats. And like I said above, if I keep Maddy, the fostering will have to stop. I talked Fred into letting me foster again even after we adopted Tommy and Sugarbutt, but I have no doubt he’d put his foot down if I tried to keep Maddy and then foster again.
* * *
Maddy (or as I’ve taken to calling her lately, Miss Maddy Mack (Mack! Mack! With stripes of black! black! black! And fur that’s gray! gray! gray! All down her back! back! back!) continues to do well. She’s solidly over a pound, she’s using the litterbox exclusively (I do NOT miss stimulating her to pee and poop. No matter how fastidious you are about it, you end up with pee and poop on your hands at some point, and you don’t always necessarily realize it.), and she’s past the diarrhea stage. I got her to eat soft cat food twice yesterday, though at her evening feeding Fred tried to feed her, but she wasn’t that interested, only ate a little bit. I tried a while later to feed her, but she wasn’t at ALL interested in food or formula, just spent the evening exploring and sleeping on me.
She is just so unbearably cute that I have to bite my tongue so I don’t squeeze her to death, and now my tongue is sore all the time.
Everything I’ve read says that when you give a baby cat a bottle, you should have them on their stomachs at a 45-degree angle. But this is the ONLY position she’ll take her bottle in, standing on her back legs with her back against me. Also, very important to grab my hand so the bottle doesn’t go anywhere.
More pictures hither.
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Reader yawny pet pics!
This is Angie‘s Eden, relaxing in the leather recliner. Nice life indeed, Angie!
Dana’s Gracie…
And Dana’s Maxine. Who apparently live very exhausting lives. How hard ARE you working them, Dana?
Danielle says, This is Gilbert, an italian greyhound. I think he was about 8/9 weeks here, and ok, technically he was after his tail, not yawning. But the effect is the same, and I thought it was pretty damn cute.And the second picture, Gilbert is, again, not yawning, but instead trying to eat Hamlet Truman, my adorable new kitten. They’re about the same age, and really best friends. Hamlet spends a lot of time trying to carve Gilbert up into little puppy pieces, so they’re even. Y’all know I’m not a dog person, but Gilbert really kinda makes me want to get a dog so he can harass the cats!
This is Susan‘s Ruby. Susan says, Here’s another laughing kitten picture – a picture of one of our kittens, Ruby. I accidentally snapped it one day as she was crawling across my lap (that’s why it’s out of focus) but I absolutely love it. Is she laughing, or does she want to bite you like a vampire? Those are some seriously sharp-looking teeth! Y’all can see more of Susan’s kitten pics here.
This is Kelly’s Stella, who is an absolute dead ringer for Sugarbutt! I don’t think Sugarbutt could fit his big butt in the sink anymore, though.
And Kelly’s Jupiter. The look on Jupiter’s face just cracks me UP.
Thanks, Angie, Dana, Danielle, Susan, and Kelly, for sharing your pictures!
* * *
He straddled the bird bath like this for the longest time, staring off into space at something. It’s like he was posing for me!
* * *
Previously2005: Phear my l33t fotograffic skillz.
2004: Dear Stephen King: Stop defending what you did, and just write the goddamn story.
2003: Meet Gizmo.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.]]>
Warning: Liberal use of the “c” word in this entry. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
So, ever have one of those days that starts out just fine, and then something goes wrong and then something else goes wrong, and then you realize you’ve called every car in front of you on your trip from one city to another “A stupid goddamn asshole cunt fuckhead”, so you come to the decision you should never have gotten out of bed?
No? Just me, then?
Seriously, yesterday started out just fine. I got up when Fred left for work, I got dressed and puttered around the house a bit, I started last week’s CSI and Grey’s Anatomy burning to a DVD for my sister/ nephew (CSI) and mother (Grey’s Anatomy) (PS: Torrents are THE SHIT), then I looked at the clock and realized that it was five minutes ’til seven, and the spud wasn’t out of bed yet. I went and woke her up, and when I was sure she was in the shower, I left for the pet store.
(I would have given her a ride to school, but her boyfriend – friend? guy she’s dating? I am unsure of the correct technology, here – was planning to give her a ride to school, so I knew she’d make it there okay.)
I was at the pet store, cleaning out a litter box when my cell phone rang. It was the spud, telling me she’d left something on the printer, and could I drop it off at school for her before her class? I briefly considered giving her a hard time about it, but I think this is pretty much the only time she’s done this, so I refrained.
I was almost finished cleaning cages at the pet store when one of the cats who’s been there for a little too long reached out and swiped her claws across the back of my hand, leaving long, painful scratches behind. I’m used to the occasional scratch (those kitties don’t always love to be held and snuggled and kissed on the top of their little heads, you know), but I’ve gotten pretty good at dodging the cats who intentionally try to scratch me, only this time I was distracted and she caught me by surprise.
I washed out the scratches, gave the cat a dirty look, and finished up my chores.
I left the pet store and went across the street to the gas station where I usually fill up on Monday mornings, because it’s the cheapest gas in Huntsville* and although I usually only go through about half a tank of gas in the course of a week, I prefer to have half a tank or more of gas at all times. Who knows when I’m going to need to make a run for the Mexico border? Best to not have to stop and fill up in that case, is how I see it.
So I pulled in next to the pump, got out with my debit card to pay at the pump, and looked down to see that the display on the pump was saying “Please pay cashier inside.”
Dudes, what the fuck? If I WANTED to go inside and stand in line to pay the cashier, would I be trying to pay at the pump? I said “FUCK THAT”, got into my car and left for home, deciding to stop on the way home to fill up the tank. Sure, I’d pay a little more, but I wouldn’t have to STAND IN LINE. I cannot abide standing in line when I don’t have to -thus the reason 90 percent of my shopping is done online. And even the slowness of THAT pisses me off sometimes.
Heading towards Madison, I pulled out my cell phone and called Fred to bitch. He pointed out that we were going to be going to Athens in the next few days, and he’d filled up at a gas station there for $2.06 on Sunday, so we could just take my car instead of his and fill it up on our way into town. I agreed that that was a good idea, hung up the phone, and pulled into the grocery store parking lot.
My trip to the grocery store was okay except… you know what I hate? Besides standing in line (which I didn’t have to do at the grocery store, because it was early and there weren’t many people there)? I hate it when the cashier looks at something I’m buying, and makes a comment about it. Like “Oh, that looks good!” or “Is that good?”, because although I am not as fat as I used to be, my brain still hasn’t caught onto that fact quite yet, and so I stand there feeling like the 300+ woman who’s buying a cake, knowing that they think I’m going home to shove it all in my face.
(Which I usually was.)
So I went home and put the groceries away and got Maddy’s food ready for her while Sugarbutt lolled seductively on the counter, giving me his best “Hey Momma, what you got there for the Sugarman?” eyes. I went upstairs and Maddy was sitting in her little car bed in her cage, and when she saw me she got all excited, and then when I opened the door to her cage, what did she do? She stepped OUT through the door and ran over to me. She’s so smart, my Maddy.
I was loading the syringe of cat food to shove in her face, and she was apparently so hungry that the smell of the food was driving her crazy and she started sniffing around my hands, and she actually ate some cat food off my hands and off the dish! I got all excited and thought we might have made a breakthrough, but I saw the light go on over her head as she thought to herself “Wait a minute. I’m a pretty princess and shouldn’t have to feed mySELF!”, and she whined and cried until I shoved some cat food in her face through the syringe, and followed it up with a bottle of formula.
I am surely pushing this cat into an eating disorder. She’s going to end up like a little Nicole Ritchie, with the huge sunglasses and the scary, bony legs.
The absolute best moment of the day came when I was just hanging out with Maddy, and Sugarbutt and Tom Cullen came in to hang out, too. Sugarbutt got into one of the cubes that stays in the kitten room. His tail was hanging out one of the holes, and Maddy saw it and became curious (she’s turning into a real little CAT!) and ran over to sniff his tail. I snapped a picture of that moment.
And one instant later, Sugarbutt realized that Maddy was sniffing his tail, and he simultaneously hissed and levitated out the hole in the top of the cube, and he hung there for several long seconds, then pulled this running-sideways Matrix move, where he ran along a part of the wall and out the door. This act scared Tommy, who was hanging out in Maddy’s cage, so badly that he hit his head on the side of Maddy’s cage with a resounding ::clang:: and then tore out of the room so fast that he was nothing but a big black portly blur.
I called Fred to tell him about it, and ended up laughing so hard I was crying and he couldn’t understand what I was saying.
GOD I wish I’d had the camcorder in there with me. That’s a moment that would surely have won us ten thousand dollars on America’s Funniest Home videos.**
So I discussed with Fred what time I’d be at his office to pick him up for an errand y’all don’t get to hear about just yet, and we decided I’d be there at 10:30. At 10, I called to tell him I needed to run to the spud’s school and the post office and then I’d be there to pick him up. And just. like. that. I got into a bad mood. Because Fred bitched about the fact that if I was later picking him up to run the errand, the later I’d be dropping him back off at his office, and the later he’d be eating breakfast, and he was hunnnnngry.
YEAH? HUNGRY? JOIN THE FUCKING CLUB, FUCKER. I HADN’T EATEN YET EITHER AND YET I WAS GOING TO BE SPENDING THE MORNING DOING ERRANDS I DIDN’T PARTICULARLY WANT TO BE DOING, I HAD SHIT TO DO, AND I HAD PLANNED TO WATCH DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES IN AND AMONGST DOING ALL THE SHIT I DIDN’T PARTICULARLY WANT TO DO.
So I got dressed, drove like a speed demon to Fred’s office, and got there at 10:28.
“Did you not go to the school?” he asked, surprised that I was there so early.
“Well, NO,” I snarked. “I had forgotten that the world revolves around you and your carefully timed pot of coffee between 8 and 9:30, your breakfast at 10:30, and your 11:03 bowel movement.”
“Oh, shut UP,” he said, rolling his eyes at me.
My bad mood faded a little during our errand, and then I dropped him off at his office and headed toward the spud’s school. Well, no. Actually first I thought I’d go to McDonald’s and get a fruit bowl, since I was fucking STARVING TO DEATH, but how many cars do you suppose were sitting in the drive-up at 11:30? Why, ten million OF COURSE. And there were even more people in the fucking lobby, and I growled “OH, FUCK THIS,” and pulled back out onto the road. I saw a gas station up the road and decided I’d stop there for a bottle of water and find something to eat.
I ended up buying a small pack of cashews, and a J@ck Links piece of beef (I don’t remember the official name of the stuff) along with my bottle of water. And then I got in my car and headed toward the spud’s school, trying to open the package holding the piece of jerky-like beef, and I could not get the fucking thing open. I finally had to CHEW my way into the package, and when I got into the package and bit into the jerky-like beef, it tasted EXACTLY like the cat food I accidentally ingested when Maddy shoved her cat-food-covered face into my mouth the other day.
I was so pissed I thought about pulling over and throwing the beef barfy onto the ground and running over it several hundred times while swearing loudly, but I (a) didn’t want to pull over and (b) didn’t want to be arrested for introducing such a toxic piece of shit into the environment, so I settled for swearing loudly while I drove down the road.
And then. AND THEN. The road I was on? The road from Huntsville into Madison? Old Madison Pike? Oh, there was CONSTRUCTION, of course. Construction. WHY WOULDN’T THERE BE CONSTRUCTION? But of COURSE. Construction. And the traffic was backed up so far that I couldn’t see the actual construction, and I was in such a place that there was no way to turn around.
So I downed the pack of cashews and swigged some water and tried to calm down, but we were MILES past the “eat and calm down” stage. I was in full-bore pissed-off stage, and as I sat in place for ten minutes, I swore and swore and swore, and usually that calms me down in a “cursing zen” kind of way, but not this time. All I ended up doing was pissing myself off some more, and FINALLY the traffic started moving and I thought we were finally getting somewhere, but I moved about twenty feet and stopped, but luckily I was in such a place that I could bang a u-ey, so I did so in a squeal of Badass Tires, and I went back the way I’d come, got onto the highway, and approached Madison from another direction altogether.
I stopped by the post office, mailed off the CSI/ Grey’s Anatomy disc, and headed for the spud’s school. I got there right at noon and went in to the front office and dropped off the spud’s paper at the front desk.
I went back outside and got in my car. I noticed that a woman a few cars up was pulling out, so I sat and waited for her to get out of the way. And she stopped her goddamn car DIRECTLY behind mine. Why, you might wonder, WHY would she stop her car directly behind mine? Was there another car in the way? Had her car broken down? Was she having a stroke?
Why, no. No other car. No broke-down car. No stroke. She apparently had the OVERWHELMING GODDAM NEED TO PUT LOTION ON HER GODDAMN HANDS.
People. If I’d had a golf club, a bat, or some other implement that was good for breaking things, anything other than a soft-sided cat carrier in the back seat, I would have gotten OUT of my car, and I would have gone Nicholson on her ass, and I would have been screaming very loudly (you have NO idea how loud I can be if I want to, people. I could break eardrums with the volume of my voice, just ask Fred), “SERIOUSLY? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, YOU SELF-INVOLVED, SELF-IMPORTANT CUNT? SERIOUSLY? YOU HAVE TO STOP RIGHT HERE AND PUT LOTION ON YOUR FUCKING HANDS? SERIOUSLY??” As it was, I swore loudly and inventively and when she didn’t move, I hit the gas and started backing out directly towards her (calm down, I was backing out slowly. Mostly.), and that got her attention, and she drove away.
THEN I had to go to the bank, where I had to wait far too long to deposit one check, but that was to be expected and the only person I was pissed off at was me, for being dumb enough to forget to bring a book to read while I waited.
From there, I went over to the grocery store to pick up something for lunch, because I was STARVING and unwilling to go home and cook something, I just wanted something easy that I could go straight home and eat. And I ended up going to the same cashier as I’d gone to a few hours earlier, and she smiled and greeted me with “Back again?!”
And I threw my smoked salmon wrap on the floor and bellowed “ARE YOU CALLING ME FAT?”
No I didn’t. But I wanted to.
Then I went home and ate my salmon wrap, and then I ate some salad, and then I cleaned the kitchen and watched Desperate Housewives as I threw a Shepherd’s Pie, three-bean salad, and hamburger patties together (not together, together. I threw the Shepherd’s Pie together, then the three-bean salad together, etc.). I half-watched an episode of Dr. Phil while I cross-stitched, and then I talked to Fred on the phone for a few moments. He wanted to go to a tractor place and drive a tractor, and thought I should just throw the steak we’d been planning to have for dinner in the freezer, and we could go to the tractor place and then out to eat for dinner.
So I agreed, and a little before 3:00, I went upstairs to feed Maddy so I’d be ready to leave when Fred got home. Maddy was her usual cute self, and I swear just rubbing her little bitty ears makes me happier than anyone has a right to be, so after that I was back in a somewhat good mood for the rest of the day. But for a while there, I’m telling you. I thought my liver was going to explode from the stress!
(I kid. Livers don’t explode from stress (I hope).)
Fred got home around 3:45, and we headed for the tractor place. Since I thought it was going to be a long drive (it was, but not as long as I expected), I remembered to do all the stuff my physical therapist had recommended, like put a rolled-up towel on the back of my seat for back support, and a Boppy on my lap for arm support, and I’ll be damned if my back didn’t hurt at all.
At the tractor place, Fred was disappointed to find that I was completely uninterested in coming inside to hear him talk knowledgeably to the tractor guy about tractors and tractor parts and all that incredibly fascinating stuff. I love my husband, but I couldn’t possibly be any less interested in tractors. I do NOT give a shit what kind of tractor he buys, I honestly just don’t. If you’d spent the last month hearing every last detail about every last tractor god put on this earth, you too would be uninterested in anything tractor-related.
Cats, I can talk about ’til the cows come home. The house? I’m ready to talk about it! Same goes for books, TV shows, clothes (for a limited amount of time) and whatever stupid thing the dumbasses in Hollywood are doing. (I AM SO DEEP.) But tractors? Snoresville. Totally.
So I sat in the car with my book, and I happily read for over an hour, while Fred was apparently off a tractor, and when he was done, he made me accompany him to see the tractor he’d bought, and the various implements. He tried to get me to drive the tractor, even got on himself and drove it around, but I refused.
“Yeah, babe. Fascinating. Can we go eat now?”
I figure there’ll be plenty of time for driving the tractor when it’s actually AT the new house. I should totally get on the tractor and pretend I’ve lost control of it and head for the pond!
Except that that would totally bite me on the ass, because I probably WOULD lose control of it and end up upside-down in the damn pond.
We left the tractor place, Fred babbling about the tractor and me occasionally inserting a story about Maddy, and neither of us even pretending to pay attention to what the other was saying. We went into Decatur and had dinner at Big B0b Gibson’s, which has some damn fine meat, but I find the side items somewhat lacking. I could barely eat a quarter of what I’d ordered (a quarter dark chicken and pulled pork, with a side salad), but I did save room for lemon pie. If you ever get to Decatur, Alabama, you have GOT to eat at Big B0b Gibson’s. Seriously, folks, it’s damn good.
Then we came home and played with Maddy and Fred sent out pictures of himself on the new tractor, and we watched that pretty, pretty Wentworth Miller on Prison Break, and pretty much, the day ended okay. Started okay, ended okay, but the middle part was a bitch.
I’m sure I’m dealing with PMS, because it HAS been an entire week and a half since I last had my period, so it’s about time to start again!
(I’m seeing my Gynecologist on Wednesday. CAN’T WAIT! FUN FUN!)
*Except that apparently the cheapest gas in Huntsville ain’t the cheapest gas in the area. The gas station where I usually fill up had gas for $2.12 yesterday. When Fred and I went through Decatur last night, gas was five to six cents cheaper.
**Except that only the not-particularly-funny videos tend to win on that show. The exception being the guy whose wife would lock him out of the house or car and make him dance and wouldn’t let him back in until he did. BEST VIDEO EVER.
This is Rachael‘s Darby, who I LOVE. He’s just such a character, and I always love seeing pictures of Darby. He cracks me up!
This is Cathy’s Princess Sophie. Cathy says, This is my little bundle of love. She is 10 years old and I adopted her from an animal shelter when she was just a kitten. She is with me in my store everyday and gets lots of love from my customers. This is her typical position – and her typical expression. Ah the life of a cat especially in a home where they are loved more than anything in this world… What a gorgeous kitty!
Trisha sent this one in. She says, This is my boyfriend’s parents’ cat. Her official name is Stinky, but I affectionately call her Tub-Tub, in honor of you know who – also because she is quite tubalicious! I love her pretty colors. Hey, now. She’s not tubby, she’s just big-boned! (I love her colors, too!)
This is Andrea’s late cat, Tiger. Andrea says, Tiger was a 23 year old cat who was my husband’s buddy and my boyfriend for ages and ages. He passed away last August, but when you asked for yawny cat photos, I immediately thought of this one. Enjoy. We do miss him, my sweet Tiger kitty. Awww, rest in peace, Tiger!
Thank you to Rachael, Cathy, Trisha, and Andrea, for sharing your awesome kitty pics!
* * *
Tommy practices his kitty yoga.
* * *
Previously2005: I’m sure I’ll get used to it, though, the way I got used to the neighborhood kids always running across our yard and always setting up shop in our driveway.
2004: No entry.
2003: Immediately, screaming like a little girl, Fred levitated across the room to the fireplace, where he began dancing a jig, slapping at his legs, and screaming intermittently.
2002: But it’s still tempting.
2001: J’accuse.
2000: No entry.]]>
you still cross stitching?
Yes and no – I have a ton of kits to do, and I keep intending to cross-stitch while I watch TV in the evenings, but I haven’t actually done any cross-stitching in a couple of months. I tend to cross-stitch every night for months and months, and then not a single stitch for a few months before picking it up again.
* * *
Why 6 months before you sell your house? Will it be that long before you move?
Because the spud wants to graduate from her current high school and there’s nothing in place so that we could live in Smallville and she could drive to Madison every morning (Fred has talked to the superintendent – I don’t know if it’s because we’re moving to another county, or what). So we decided to buy the new house, work on it for the next six months, then put this house up for sale. In February we’ll probably do something where we move a bunch of stuff to the new house, then Fred (and the cats) sleep there nights (well, the cats will be there full-time) while the spud and I sleep here. That way the spud can make her five-minute drive to school and work until she graduates, and we can recarpet this house, since the cats won’t be around to barf all over the new carpets the minute my back is turned.
* * *
Hi Robyn – I have a question for you. I’ve read Bitchypoo a long time and I’ve been searching for something you wrote a while back. Here’s the thing — I started walking for exercise and I get a tense feeling in my shoulder blades and neck and shoulders. And I thought you had mentioned that you had that happen to you as well but I’ve looked back in your archives and can’t find anything about it. Please help me solve this mystery – was it you this happened to? Oh and don’t worry – I’m not looking for any miracle cure by Dr. Robyn – I know to see a doctor if I’m really worried – however I thought I remember you talking about some solutions or causes or something and if so I wanted to go back and read it.
I was having some back pain in my thoracic spine region – mostly directly under my left shoulder blade. I switched from a regular bra to an Enell, which basically pulls your boobs back against your chest so there’s no jiggling and wiggling of the boobs, and that helped. I would also stretch while I was walking – stretching my left arm across the front of my body helped – but really, what’s helped the most is that I’ve been seeing physical therapists for about a month, and they gave me exercises, new ways to sit, and stretches, and that along with the time I took off from most all physical activity after I had my gallbladder out seems to have fixed the back pain issues.
* * *
Didn’t I read that you had plantar fasciitis? How has it been since your weight loss?
I did! And I haven’t seen hide nor hair of it in months and months. In fact, I’d completely forgotten all about it. Another happy side effect of the weight loss!
* * *
I know you’ve looked into (or will) the possible complications of removing skin and various lifts, but have you seen The Shrinking Woman on Discovery Health? The episode about a Tennessee woman aired on Monday night, I think. Granted, she started out much larger than you ever were (over 600 lbs), but the complications and recovery of her multiple surgeries were scary. She also pushed herself, and had surgeries before allowing herself to recover fully, I think. Anyway, just be careful. (I know you will.)
I haven’t seen that yet, but every so often I go through the Discovery Health programs and set up to record everything that looks interesting; I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for that!
I will, of course, be careful. I think the fact that I’m pretty healthy, overall (don’t tell my liver!) will be a big plus when I’m ready to go for plastic surgery.
* * *
Re: cats. And now it’s official. I have 6 cats in a 1300 sq. ft. home (and 2 outside cats who are slightly feral, both from an irresponsible neighbor). Have I lost my mind? We took in 3 kittens, found a home for one, and probably scared off any potential adopters of the remaining two. Sorry, I don’t apologize for screening people. Good thing I have a Dyson. So I am crazy cat lady, but not a hoarder (yet). Someone told me that you were a hoarder only if you couldn’t afford them all. Not there yet, I hope.
6 cats in a 1300 square foot home is LESS THAN one cat per 200 square feet. I think, personally, you don’t actually have ENOUGH cats.
Wait. I think I don’t have enough cats, either. I think the rule of thumb (which I just completely made up) is that you need one cat per 100 square feet of housing space (you should include closets in this calculation). I think this means you need at least another six cats – and I need another (doing the math…) 19!
Seriously, though, I really don’t think you become a hoarder until you can’t move through your house because there are so many cats, you can’t possibly take care of them all (I hate it when the Animal Cops discover a hoarder who has cats who are living in their own filth. Drives me NUTS. If you are unable to care for your cats properly, you need to find a new home for them.), you can’t afford to take care of them all, and you refuse to consider finding homes where people can take proper care of them.
And good for you for screening the hell out of potential adopters!
* * *
I’ve read you journal for years and have watched the spud grow from a kid into a beautiful young adult. She is gorgeous. I love both pictures but the one with her glasses on and that warm bubbly smile really is my favorite. Plus she’s lost some weight hasn’t she?
Yeah, I really love that picture of her. Her best friend went with her when she was having her picture done, and in that picture where she has the great, natural smile, her best friend was making her laugh.
I don’t know if she’s so much lost weight as gotten taller, actually. But I agree – she looks good!
* * *
You should get your results soon since the test was done in a hospital (at least that was my experience). I hope you only get good news. When do you see your GI again?
Actually, the GI told me it’d probably take about two weeks, because they send the tests off to California (yeah, probably California, INDIA) to be read. I don’t have another appointment with him, but he’s going to call when he gets the test results and let me know what they found out.
* * *
Maddy is adorable. So tiny! How hard will it be to let this one go, Robyn?
and
how in the hell are you going to give that baby up after you have bottle fed her? Yikes! She’s too cute and I’m a sucker. But then again, so are you!
I’m absolutely going to have to suck it up and let her go, because if I don’t? There is NO WAY Fred will ever let me foster again. I’m sure it’ll be hard – it was hard as hell with the other fosters – but knowing that she’s going to go to a good home helps a lot.
* * *
Aww, poor kitty! How did she ever get seperated from her momma and siblings?
I don’t know what her story is yet – I need to ask the shelter manager!
* * *
I’ve been meaning to ask you since you are moving out to the farm, do you guys think you will ever try a dog again? I remember when you guys adopted one, but then it tried to bite Fred or something. Can’t remember exactly. If you do, I would suggest a basset hound. They are the BEST dogs and wouldn’t dream of biting a person. They could even hunt rabbits for you.
The dog we adopted several years ago didn’t work out because she was pretty aggressive toward the spud and I and just flat-out wouldn’t listen to anyone but Fred. The final straw came the day Fred and the spud were out in the back yard, and the dog pretty much went out of her way to run over the spud, knocking her back and putting a gash on her forehead.
Honestly, we’ve talked about having a dog when we move into the new house – it just seems like a farm needs a dog, y’know? – but when it comes down to it, we really aren’t dog people. Nothing personal to dog people – I like pictures of dogs, I like your dog stories, but as far as wanting one of my own? Not so much.
* * *
do you knit?
I don’t, and I’ve thought about taking it up, but I did knit for a bit when I was a teenager, and it kind of made me twitchy, so just thinking of taking it up makes me twitchy. In fact, thinking of all the damage the fucking cats would do when they discovered my yarn stash (AND YOU KNOW THEY WOULD) makes me twitchy. Besides, I’d take up quilting before I’d take up knitting, because I can always use more quilts!
Maybe I’ll take up knitting in my old age when I’ve learned patience.
* * *
There’s quite a discrepancy in that hospital bill, who paid the rest of it? You: $150, insurance $3K+, leaves a little over $19K left. Factoring in that I’m more than a half a moron when it comes to this insurance business not having had it most of my life.
The hospital writes off that $19,000. Basically they say to the insurance company “This is what we’re charging” and the insurance company says “Too bad. We’re only paying this much.” and the hospital says “Um. Okay! We’ll just go harass some uninsured people and make them pay the total amount they owe us. For you, since you’re a big insurance company and we want the business of the people you insure, we’ll just pretend we didn’t need that entire amount anyway. Mmm’kay?”
* * *
Just in case you don’t know, (and what makes it all the more poignant) is that Tiffanie DeBartolo based Jacob Grace on Jeff Buckley.
I did NOT know that (or if I found out about it after I read the book, I’ve since forgotten and it’s all new to me!) and I’m surprised I didn’t. I LOVE Jeff Buckley’s music.
* * *
I can’t believe it’s Friday, and I haven’t written about what we did last Saturday, yet, and put up the pictures. I guess this has been a kind of busy week for me, what with the hating on the floor guy and sitting around waiting for him to never show up and bringing home a bitty baby kitten.
Anyway, we left the house early last Saturday because we wanted to visit some tractor stores and get prices and flyers and maybe sit on a few tractors, so Fred could dither back and forth about which one he wanted to buy and fret about how expensive they are and all that. We ended up visiting three different tractor stores.
We visited the Massey-Ferguson tractor store first, and I snapped a few pictures.
Old blue tractor. I think it’s purty.
Whenever Fred sees a big-ass tractor like this, he always says “Now, THAT is what we need!” I ought to rent one and park it in the driveway at the new house and tell him I bought it for him, just to freak him out.
There were no animals at the Massey-Ferguson store. I count that as a strike against Massey-Ferguson, personally.
Next, we went to the Kubota store.
“Lady, please. Don’t make me rip out your throat. I have a store to protect and a fuzzy blue bed to keep warm.”
One cute little (but not terribly friendly) dachsund in the Kubota store – that’s a plus in the Kubota column, as far as I’m concerned.
Next, we went to the Agco store. We went out to look at the tractors and I said “Get on the tractor and let me take your picture!” He wouldn’t, so I gave him the camera and told him to take my picture.
He interpreted “Take my picture” to mean “Wait until I look as dorky as humanly possible, then snap my picture, please. Oh, and if I’m in the middle of a blink, so much the better!”
“Lady, please. Don’t make me rip out your throat. I have a store to protect.”
“Shit. Did she believe me? I don’t remember how to rip throats out. Pull, then bite? No, that doesn’t make sense. Bite, then pull, then what? Am I supposed to eat the throat I rip out? Do I spit it out and then pee on it? Crap. If I don’t look at her, she’ll think I’m mysterious and scary. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.”
“Hello. You got food for me?”
A Tommy lookalike greeted us as we left the Agco store.
That’s three animals at the Agco store. Three checks in the Agco column, as far as I’m concerned. But I get no say in the purchase of the tractor, so Fred will probably decide on the no-animals-having Massey-Ferguson. Bastard.
From the last tractor store, we had to drive back into Madison. The owner had planned to leave us a key to the new house in our Super Sekrit Hiding Spot, but she hadn’t had a chance, so she sent the key to work with her husband, who works in Madison. So we went to his place of business to pick up the key, and I sat in the car and watched Fred chat it up with him. I’d thought to bring a book with me, but naturally it was way in the back of the car, and I kept thinking Fred was going to come out annnnnny minute now, so I didn’t go back and get the book.
Fred finally came out, and we headed to the house. There was, honestly, not anything we needed to do at the house. We just wanted to walk through it and hang out in it for a little while and look over the land. Fred wanted to check out the attic, so we swung by home to pick up a flashlight.
At the house, we walked through again (I asked Fred to toss the dead mouse in the laundry room out into the yard, because it was bugging me), and then we went out to the pond to see Mister Duck, and Fred tossed some poultry feed out to him.
On a side note, Fred actually had the idea to go to a Trade Days this weekend and get Mister Duck a girlfriend. When he called the owner to find out if they planned to leave Mister Duck at the house, he heard the sad news that something had killed Mister Duck on Saturday.
Rest in peace, Mister Duck.
So after the duck had been fed Fred went into the house to poke around in the attic, and I walked around the back yard and took a few pictures.
One of the numerous pecan trees in the back yard. I think it’s gorgeous – I love big old trees.
Red maple. It’s looking a little rough due to our dry summer, but hopefully it’ll recover nicely this fall and winter.
I was sitting on the back steps when I heard Fred call me from upstairs.
“What?” I said.
“Come up here,” he said in that special you’ll-want-to-see-this tone. I went inside and up the stairs. He was standing outside the bathroom. When he saw me, he gestured for me to walk into the bathroom.
“What?” I said, walking into the bathroom. He pointed at the toilet, and I walked over, half expecting to see a dead mouse floating around.
It wasn’t a mouse, and it wasn’t dead.
The Southern North American Toilet Frog.
“Is it real?” I said, peering down at it. The picture doesn’t do justice to just how bright green the frog was.
“It is.”
“And he was just sitting there when you walked into the bathroom?” I asked.
“I walked into the bathroom and lifted up the toilet seat, and he was sitting there.”
“The toilet seat was DOWN?”
“Yes.”
“How the hell did it get in there?”
“I imagine it swam up the pipes.”
I regarded the frog. It regarded me back.
“I sure am glad this isn’t MY toilet,” I said. “And I hope the spud doesn’t come screaming bare-assed down the stairs one day with a bright green frog stuck to her ass.”
“I second that,” Fred said.
“Are you going to take it out back?”
“Yeah, I just wanted you to see it.” Fred leaned down to pick up the frog. He had it in his hand and was starting to stand up when, with an almost audible ::SPROINNNNNNG:: the frog leapt out of his hand, hit the wall, and stuck there.
“I don’t think he wants to go,” I said.
“Well, we can’t leave him in here. He’ll starve!”
“Can’t he swim back down the pipes?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Frogs aren’t known for their overwhelming brilliance.”
Fred leaned down and reached for the frog. He shifted position and eyed Fred with bright-eye malevolence.
“He’s going to end up stuck to your face,” I predicted.
Fred looked around the bathroom, then picked up a toilet brush and poked at the frog with it. The frog blinked, considered, and decided that a toilet brush would be a fine place to sit.
Fred carried the Toilet Frog down to the pond and left him near the water. Hopefully whatever got the duck didn’t get the frog as well.
Or maybe the FROG got the duck! I’m sure if the frog ::SPROINNNNNG::-ed onto the duck’s face, the duck would have dropped dead from a heart attack.
* * *
Maddy’s doing well – she actually stopped sneezing, so maybe it was a matter of just being in a new environment that was making her sneeze, I don’t know. I was a little worried because I didn’t get a poo from her yesterday, but then she gave one up this afternoon, so I’m happy.
I never thought a little poo would make me so happy.
Maddy isn’t to the “playful” stage yet, but she does like to play a game. When she’s done eating and peeing, she wants me to put her down. Then she wants to tunnel somewhere. If I don’t use a baby blanket to make her a tunnel, she’ll butt her little head against my leg until I lift it or she’s able to tunnel underneath. Most of the time I make a tunnel for her out of a baby blanket, and she goes through it, then is SO proud of herself she has to flop over for a belly rub.
It’s excruciatingly cute.
All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither.
Also, for those of you who requested Maddy movies, there are two. In the first, Maddy sniffs around and then meows her little meow. In the second, she’s just crawling around. Neither movie is all that great – I need to take the movie camera upstairs – but you get an idea of the cuteness that is Maddy.
YouTube link.
YouTube link.
* * *
Reader yawny cat pics!
This is Zoey. She belongs to reader Hulda in Indiana. I love the attitude she’s got going on.
Hulda’s Zoey again. I swear, when I first glanced at the picture, between the black cat, the red collar and the cat chewing on something it shouldn’t, I thought it was Tommy! What a cutie pie.
Leo the mighty lion roars! Leo belongs to Hulda’s mother, who lives in Iceland.
Leo again. Now THAT is a hard-sleeping cat.
Leo’s sister, Krista. I love how sweet and soft she looks.
Thanks for sharing, Hulda! The rest of you – keep ’em coming!
* * *
Previously2005: Maybe I just like to bitch, y’think?
2004: Waiting for Ivan.
2003: No more Benifer. How sad.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Speaking of N Sync – that Lance Bass is a cutie, but I get the distinct feeling that although the lights are on, no one’s home. ]]>
Can you ask your all-knowing readers what they can recommend for a camcorder? We’re about to have our first baby and since we live halfway across the country from any family, we need one so we can fully share the love. I don’t mind spending the money on one as long as it’s decent. Our only requirements (so far) are that we don’t want to have to use tapes and we want something that will be compatible with Macs (we don’t have one now but probably will in the next year or so).
I know you guys can help out – leave a comment at the bottom of the entry or email me, and I’ll pass your suggestion on to Shelly.
I made the MOST fabulous dinner last night. We had hamburgers made on the George Foreman grill, and I sauteed mushrooms, onions, and garlic to go on top of the burgers. I put a slice of American cheese on my burger, topped it with sauteed mushrooms, onions, and garlic, and it was both filling and very, very, VERY tasty.I imagine it would be good on a hamburger bun, as well.
We’re having a run of really good food lately, it seems.
We went out to the new house Saturday and spent close to three hours walking around the house and property making extensive lists of what we wanted to do to the rooms (pretty much yank down the crown molding, repair and repaint, put up new crown molding that better works on those rooms, and replace all the light fixtures, in every room. Not to mention refinishing many of the floors.) and to the property. We actually walked to the very back of the property, since we hadn’t done that, and neither of us picked up ticks or snakes or anything particularly scary, so I consider it a good trip.
Pictures, you ask? Why of COURSE I have pictures.
The owners of the house we’re buying are very religious. I didn’t actually roll my eyes when I saw the Roy M00re sticker. But I WANTED to.
The view off the porch to the left. Note the ceiling fan.
The view off the porch to the right. Note ceiling fan #2. Next year there’ll be plants hanging off the porch roof to attract hummingbirds.
The view off the front porch, straight ahead. I think that lawn needs a nice big bulb garden for next year, don’t you?
The house comes with a chicken coop. It’s like a sign, between the chicken coop and the kittens.
Inside of the chicken coop, which needs to be cleaned.
One of the several pecan trees on the property. We’re going to have SO many pecans we’ll probably have to set up a little stand and sell them.
Mimosa tree. Fred hates them; I think they’re pretty.
Toward the back of our property, this is a shot from one side to the other.
Eek! Mice don’t scare me, snakes don’t (much) scare me, but wasps scare the FUCK out of me. First order of business: getting the pest control people out to the property.
Our new house and property has no shortage of bugs.
From the back of the property, looking across to the other corner. The shed is on what will be our property (but isn’t ours), and to the right you can see a flash of white. That’s the house.
Another shot from the back of the property. The house is in the middle of the picture.
Tree to the right (if you’re facing it) of the house. I love how huge it is.
A peek into the creepy crawl space.
Mouse skeleton, found under the creepy crawl space.
The pond in the back yard. We’ve had a seriously dry summer, so it’s close to dry, and the catfish have all died. We’re talking about filling it in and digging out a pond further back (and deeper, too).
The bonus room over the garage, which will eventually become half foster kitten room, half storage.
Down the stairs from the bonus room. These stairs seriously need a handrail.
We’re not crazy about the light fixtures. They go well with the house, but we’re not big fans of tin, so we’ll be replacing these.
Now we come to the section I like to call “Identify this bush, tree, or plant, please”. If anyone knows, leave a comment. I’ll label each picture so we don’t get confused.
Tree #1 (back of property). Any idea what this tree is? It looks like it could be some sort of fruit tree, but we know nothing about this sort of thing.
Plant #1. Any idea what these things growing are? Fred suggested perhaps they were watermelons (due to the markings), but we’re not sure. See the big picture for a better look.
Bush #1. (Left side of porch)
Bush #1 (closeup).
Bush #2 (left side of porch).
Bush #2 (closeup).
Bush #3 (left of front part of porch).
Tree #2 (middle of front lawn).
Momma Dixie, giving us a bit of the attitude.
She keeps an eye on us when we’re around her babies.
She’s such a tiny little thing.
A pile o’ sleepy kittens (Dixie moved them from the corner of the garage to a more comfortable spot on a blanket in a plastic box).
The kittens start to wake up (helped in no small part by the fact that I couldn’t keep my paws off them) and root around for some food.
Hungry baby. (BEST PICTURE EVER)
We talked to the owner about the kittens while we were out there on Saturday. We told her that we (I) volunteer for the no-kill cat shelter, and Fred made a point of saying that we know it’s a good place, that they spay and neuter all cats before they adopt them out (and the owner shamefacedly said “Yeah, we need to get Dixie fixed…”), and she said “If I can’t find homes for them, can I give you a call?”, because we mentioned the idea of fostering them, and I said that of course she could.So I’m glad knowing that she knows that she’s got somewhere to turn if they can’t find homes for the kittens. But they’re so unbearably cute, I’m not sure how difficult it’ll be for her to find a home for them!
* * *
Things I bought in Maine, part 1 of a series, I’m sure:
Bookland in Cook’s Corner in Brunswick has THE BEST post-it notes. I could have spent an hour looking at all of them.
I don’t remember where I bought this shirt – maybe when we were shopping in Bath – but I love how simple it is.
* * *
Previously:
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: You say tomato, I say fuck you.
2002: “Cats don’t have lips, you freak.”
2001: “…and we’re willing to give this to you – coupons worth two HUNDRED and twenty-five DOLLARS! – for only $19.95!” he said, aflutter with the thrill of it all.
2000: Does the phrase “Through a lovely laxative effect” strike fear into your heart?]]>
Rescue Me.
“Lou sure does have pretty eyes,” Fred said. “Don’t you think so?”
I looked at the TV. “Yeah, he does.”
“No, wait. I didn’t mean Lou. I meant Kenny,” he corrected himself.
I looked at him, so he felt the need to elaborate. “I said Lou, but I meant Kenny.”
“That’s Lou,” I said.
“No, that’s Kenny.”
“That’s Lou AND Kenny, babe. “Lou” is short for “Lieutenant.””
“Oh.”
* * *
When we got to the end of season 2 of Rescue Me, I harassed Fred about downloading the available episodes of season 3. Finally, he showed me how to do it on my computer, and I downloaded two episodes a night and burned them to DVD. We’re about halfway through season 3 now, and that thing with Tommy and Janet? UNCOMFORTABLE. Fred was aghast. I know this because he looked at me with a blank face and said, deadpan, “I am aghast.”
Janet bugs me, because I feel like the actress had a lot of plastic surgery between seasons 1 and 2. The woman’s face doesn’t move. She’s got the same blank expression no matter how she’s supposed to be feeling.
I think our favorite comic relief, though, would have to be Probie and Sean. When those two start talking, they always make us laugh.
I’ve liked Denis Leary since his MTV days, and love to go watch the Asshole and Life’s Gonna Suck videos. He’s just really not an attractive man – I think his love scenes in Rescue Me must set the record for number of sex scenes where people are practically fully clothed. And his O face? He looks like a troll, he really does.
Also, I think we ALL know the only reason all those women throw themselves at Tommy Gavin is because Denis Leary is the co-creator, producer, and sometimes writer of the show.
* * *
I’ve also been downloading the entire season of Starved, the Eric Schaeffer series that only lasted for seven episodes DAMN IT.
BitTorrent ROCKS.
* * *
Fred and I have been talking INCESSANTLY about the new house and came to realize one thing – most of what’s going to need to be done to the inside of the house before we move in will be painting it and changing out the light fixtures. The light fixtures, we do not like. They’re all tin (the woman owner said she found them all online) and though they go well with the house, I find them not at all to my liking. Luckily, Fred and I are in agreement on this.
We want to do things like replace the counters in the kitchen and replace the bathroom stuff (especially the tubs and possibly the sinks), but that’s stuff that’s not a priority to us. We’ll do it eventually, but we can live with what’s there for now. We’re going to be hurting a little for storage space in the bathroom, but luckily there’s room behind the bathroom doors where we could put freestanding shelf units (preferably with doors), so hopefully that’ll help out a bit.
One thing we could do, I told Fred, is get a vanity to put in the master (mistress!) bedroom, which would cut down on bathroom clutter. When I was in Maine, I sat at the built-in desk in the room where I was staying to blow-dry my hair and put goop on my face, and it was kind of nice to just relax there and do my morning stuff, instead of standing in the bathroom like I do at home, looking around, and stressing out over what needs to be cleaned.
Fred went out to the house yesterday morning with the housing inspector, who said that the house is in really good shape for its age. He found a few small things – leaks – that the owners will need to repair before closing, but nothing big. THANK GOD. The phone kept ringing yesterday morning, and I’d look at the clock and panic. Because I wasn’t expecting Fred to call before noon, and every time the phone rang I’d think it was him, ready to sadly tell me “The inspector sunk a knife in the joist and the entire house collapsed!” or something like it that meant we wouldn’t be able to buy the house.
But it was never him calling – twice it was the gastroenterologist’s office*, once the physical therapy office, and once Liz – until a little after noon when he called, I saw his number on the caller ID, and answered it with “Tell me the good news!”
And he did. Yay!
Also, while he was out there, remember how I mentioned in the tour of the new house that the owners had a cat who’d had a litter of kittens they couldn’t find (she’s an outdoors cat, and they left her at the house to help control the mice population. No, I didn’t say “Get that cat fixed, woman!” I WANTED her to sell us the house, not piss her off.)? Well, Fred found them in the garage. They’re still so new their eyes aren’t open yet.
*When the gastroenterologist’s office called the second time, I knew it was them because I had been waiting for them to call me back and tell me when my appointment for the MRCP was scheduled. I was out in the back yard putting peanuts on the fence for the squirrels (can you IMAGINE how many squirrels we’ll be seeing in our yard in the new house? The mind BOGGLES.) when I heard the phone ring. I was way out at the end of the yard, even, which makes it amazing that I heard the phone ring. So I turned and hauled ass toward the house, ran the length of the yard, managed to get to the phone before the end of the fourth ring, AND I wasn’t even out of breath. Go, me!
* * *
I dare you to watch this and not get teary-eyed (in a good way).
* * *
Someone mentioned in the comments to yesterday’s entry that her husband had one shoulder higher than the other, and it turned out to be scoliosis. Which reminds me of my visit to the physical therapist on Tuesday. I saw a new PT – they like to have you see three different therapists, because they all have their own approach to the therapy, and this was the third one I’ve seen, and I like each one better than the one before – and my PT appointments have fallen into a routine where I climb up on the massage table, they work on my back for 20 minutes or half an hour (sometimes even longer), then they show me a new exercise to do.
Anyway, during Tuesday’s appointment the PT who was working on my back got called to another office to discuss something with another PT, so she asked yet another PT to work on my back for a few minutes. And this PT – Karen, I think her name was – pointed out that the left side of my back is so stiff and elevated compared to my right side that it was amazing. She suggested to the other PT – Brandy – that it might be a scoliosis issue. They had me stand and bend over to touch my toes, and apparently in that position my back isn’t scoliosis-looking at all, which I guess was a relief.
But during the part where they were working on my back, it seriously felt like they were trying to poke their fingers directly through my ribs. It hurt like hell, but in a good way, if that makes sense. By the time they were done with my back, I was yawning constantly, and felt like I needed to go home and take a nap.
In fact, I yawned for the rest of the day and slept like a rock that night.
I saw Brandy again this morning. She worked on my back for half an hour, and we discussed the fact that I’m not having much back pain at all. We’re cutting down my PT visits to once a week for the time being unless I start having problems again.
* * *
We had yet another fabulous crockpot recipe last night. Of the four crockpot recipes we’ve tried in the past two weeks, all but one have been a big hit. I love it when that happens.
* * *
Last night, we were sitting in the living room watching Rescue Me.
“Who was that?” Fred asked after Tommy (Denis Leary) had taken a call.
“Janet,” I said.
“Who’s that, his cousin’s wife?”
I gave him a look. “HIS wife. His cousin’s wife is Sheila.” (Sheila annoys me, by the way, but not as much as she did during season 2.)
Let me point out that we’re currently watching season 3 of this show.
Two minutes later, he said “Who do you think took it? Lou?”
“No, Lou was with the other guys.”
“No he wasn’t, he went off after he told them about the p0rn ban, remember?” he pointed to the TV. “That’s Lou, Bessie.”
“That’s not Lou, THAT’s Lou.”
“That’s Kenny!” he said.
“Oh my GOD. Are we REALLY going to have this discussion again?” I said, bugging my eyes out at him. “”Lou” stands for “Lieutenant”, babe! Kenny IS Lou. THAT’s not Lou, that’s Jerry. Also known as “Chief”!”
He truly amazes me.
* * *
Sugs and Boogs, bird-watching.
“Bahahaha! You think you’re going to move us to the country and we’re NOT going to bring field mice in every single day? Suckerrrrrrrrrrrr!”
Such a rough life.
All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither.
* * *
Previously2005: If I insert a brillo pad into my ear, will it eventually get to my brain and scrub that song out, or is that an urban myth?
2004: You know, I’m getting PRETTY FRICKIN’ TIRED of finding cricket legs all over the damn place.
2003: “Mother,” said the spud, “That is an excellent idea, for I am going to melt into a motherfucking puddle of goo in about 10 seconds.”
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: In the future, the spud will be cleaning her own bedroom, since I took one look at her room and said “Fuck THIS.”]]>
* * *
Saturday morning, as I was doing the exercises given to me by my physical therapist(s), Fred came out of the computer room.
“There’s a new one for sale!” he said excitedly.
Ever since we decided that it wouldn’t hurt to start looking for a house out in the country now instead of waiting ’til we put our house up for sale, he’s been stalking ValleyMLS, sending me links to houses, and just generally driving me crazy.
“Oh yeah?” I said. “Where?”
“Smallville,” he said. “That’s not far from here!” (Smallville, of course, is not the actual name of the town, but it’s a very small town and I don’t want to give stalkers any hints on where to find us. Therefore, we’ll be referring to it as Smallville.) “Plus, we’ll be about five minutes from the river, which will be good for kayaking!”
“Well,” I said. “Call and find out more about it, and when I’m done with these exercises and have eaten, we can go drive by it.”
We drove out into Athens – past Athens, really – a couple of weeks ago to look at a house, and just seeing the exterior of the house was enough to put us off. Plus, the drive kinda sucked; it was further out than we wanted to go.
He called and talked to the realtor who was listing the house, found out where it was, and by the time I was done eating breakfast, he was practically hopping in place, he was so excited to get on the road. I decided to take my shower later, and we left.
It took us some doing to find the place, because one road turns into another road, and we hadn’t seen any signs indicating the road name change. Fred stopped and asked for directions (YES, he asks for directions! He’s no stereotypical “I don’t need to ask no directions!” man.), and found that we were on the right road, we just needed to keep going.
We found the house and drove by it, turned around, and drove by it again. We both tried to put a positive spin on it, but honestly, neither of us cared for it. Not to mention that it was 1500 square feet, and our current house is (I think) 2400 square feet. Yes, we could live in 1500 square feet, but did we want to?
“I… well, maybe we should just call Joe (the realtor who sold us this house) and see if we can go through it,” I said, but I could already tell that Fred wasn’t into that idea.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said reluctantly.
So we headed back toward home, and almost as an afterthought I pointed out the “for sale by owner” house we’d passed on the way. “We should write down the phone number and call them,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s a cute little house,” Fred said. He turned around and we looked it over again. “I don’t see heat or air conditioning units, though. Do you see any window units?”
More important to us than space is central heat and air. You can’t live in Alabama without it. Well, you could, but I wouldn’t want to.
I didn’t see any window units, and I didn’t see heat and air units, but I wrote down the number anyway.
When we got home, I went upstairs to take a shower, and Fred ate breakfast and came up to talk to me. I don’t remember what we talked about – I think I got pissy with him, though, whatever it was – and I said “Did you call about that ‘for sale by owner’ house?”
“Not yet,” he said.
“Why don’t you?” I suggested, knowing that it was pointless. It was going to be too small, not have central heat and air, or not be on enough land, I could just feel it.
He came back upstairs a while later while I was blow-drying my hair.
“The bad news is,” he said, holding up a piece of paper, “it’s only on 4 1/2 acres of land.” We’ve been talking about 5 acres or more. “It’s 4 bedrooms, 2 1/2 baths, about 2200 square feet, has heat and air conditioning units in the back – that’s why we didn’t see them – and they’ve redone the electrical and the plumbing completely. It was built in 1935 and had the same owner until 2000, when the woman went into a nursing home. The current owners bought it from the estate a few years later, and now they’re ready to sell.”
“DAMN!” I said, my eyes big as saucers. “We should go see the inside!”
“She’s going to email me some pictures of the inside,” Fred said. “She’s out driving around right now.”
He checked his email repeatedly until we left an hour later, but by the time we left the house, we’d received no pictures.
When we got home close to 8:00, the pictures had arrived. And each picture was better than the last, at least to me. We analyzed every inch of every picture, Fred forwarded them to his Dad for an opinion. Then he tried to call the owner to set up a time when we could walk through the house.
He ended up getting the husband of the woman he’d talked to earlier, and when Fred suggested late Sunday morning, the guy said something along the lines of “We prefer not to do business on The Sabbath.”
They settled on Monday afternoon, the guy told Fred he’d have his wife call him to settle on an exact time, and then Fred emailed the woman to let her know we were interested in seeing the house.
So Monday at 3:30 – 3:45ish was decided, and we spent every minute of the rest of the weekend staring at the pictures she’d sent, discussing what we’d do where. We talked it to DEATH, because while Fred was cautious about the house and whether we’d like it, I was unequivocal in my love for the house. I was IN LOVE, I knew it, I was practically ready to make an offer for it sight unseen.
Monday morning Fred called. “I don’t want to bum you out,” he said.
“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?” I moaned. Sometimes – most of the time – I wish he’d just come out and say it rather than pussyfooting around what he’s going to say.
“I just talked to the owner, and she said someone dropped off a contract yesterday.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I said.
“She said she didn’t think they were going to take it, so maybe we’ve still got a shot.”
I spent the rest of the day stressing out about it, because I LOVED THIS HOUSE. Which is when I decided to ask y’all to send generic good thoughts my way – sorry if I worried any of you, I tried not to! – and when we set off for the house, I felt surprisingly optimistic.
To cut a way-too-long story short, we LOVED the house. It has a huge front porch – which I’ve always wanted – it has lots of room (it seems, really, like it has MORE room than our current house; I’m wondering if 2200 square feet is an accurate measure of it), it has a nice big kitchen (room for an island or a butcher block in the middle), it has a window over the kitchen sink (which I’ve always wanted), and the amount of land is AWESOME.
When we were done looking at the house and the land, I was so worried that the owners would take the other offer that I was fairly vibrating with excitement and worry and love for the house. Fred asked the owner what they wanted for the house – he hates to haggle – and she named a figure, and we went out back and pretended to talk about it, then went back in for one more look at the house.
And we made the offer, and Fred discussed the closing costs with her husband (via cellphone), and the next thing we knew – the offer had been accepted!
Last night, Fred and the realtor – the guy who sold us this house, who agreed to usher us all through this process – drew up the contract, took it out to the house, and everyone signed. And assuming that nothing goes wrong with the house inspection (Thursday morning) or the appraisal – and we’ve already been approved for the mortgage – on September 29th, we’ll be closing on our dream house.
It needs a lot – A LOT – of cosmetic work inside, and lots of work on the land, but since we won’t be moving in ’til next Spring (we have to stay in Madison so the spud can graduate from her high school; we had hoped we could go ahead and move in and she could drive to school in Madison from Smallville (only a 20 minute drive). But Fred talked to the superintendent yesterday, who said that there was nothing in place to deal with something like that, so no. We’re not going to yank the kid out of her high school a month into her Senior year; she’s been going to this school district for 7 years now.), we have lots of time to work on the inside of the house and the land.
I think I know what we’ll be doing with our nights and weekends for the foreseeable future…
And what kind of journaler would I be if I didn’t have a house tour up and ready to go?
Here you go.
* * *
Don’t forget – I’m answering questions in tomorrow’s entry, so if you have one, leave it in the comments!
* * *
Saturday, we went back to Tigers for Tomorrow. I’m not going to put up a thousand pictures of the trip, because it takes too damn long to do, and it’s getting late. I wouldn’t want y’all to leave work without your daily dose of Bitchypoo!
I will tell you this, though – we got to see the tiger cubs one last time in a one-on-one sort of thing, all four of them, and those little cats are getting to be too strong and scary. One in particular, Doc Holliday, was very bitey, and must have decided I was the weakest member of the herd, because he kept coming over to try to bite my legs.
Well. They ARE very meaty, I must admit. Maybe he mistook them for hamhocks.
Anyway, because I am a complete and utter fool, I forgot rule number one: DON’T TURN YOUR BACK ON A TIGER, DUMBASS. And so when Doc’s three siblings were being particularly cute, I turned and walked toward them with the intention of getting a picture, and a light went on in Doc’s brain, and he thought “Hmmm. I see no eyes; ergo, this animal has its back to me. Also, animal is moving quickly. Ergo, animal is prey. ATTACK!” and he came after me and sunk his teeth in the back of my right thigh.
As he was just forming the thought “Mmm. This is a nice MEATY thigh!”, Fred and Sue pulled him off me, and then he lunged at me again and went for my right butt cheek, and I thought I was going to be writing an entry about how a tiger took a chunk of my ass and I was now lopsided, but Fred moved faster than I would have thought possible and dragged Doc off me.
In the end (har!), I only got a bruise-y scratch on the back of my thigh (I’m not sharing a picture, and you are SO WELCOME, believe me) and a bit of a bruise on my butt cheek.
And I will NEVER turn my back on a tiger again. Guaranteed.
I’ll share a few quick pictures, then link to the rest so y’all can check ’em out at your leisure, if you so desire.
Emu. We refer to all emus as “Bill Phillips”, because the man looks strikingly like an emu. Disturbingly so. See for yourself. I mean that comparison in the nicest possible way, of course.
Someone on one of the message boards Fred visits on a regular basis made this out of one of Fred’s emu pictures, and it makes me laugh ’til I wheeze.
As Fred termed it (and I adopted it), a melange of tigers. That’s Doc on the left. Doesn’t he LOOK like he’d like to take a chunk out of your ass?
“I’m mean! Yes I am!”
“I consider this sibling conquered. What ever shall I do next?”
He swore there was no tongue involved.
This dog – the “babysitter”, Sue called him – did not HESITATE to mix it up with the cubs.
All of today’s uploaded pictures can be seen here.
* * *
Previously2005: They are NAS-TAY, and trust me when I say that you’d be better off never bothering to try the nasty things.
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: Looking at this hormone-laden piece of meat makes me… well, it makes me kinda drool, actually.
2001: I just smiled and nodded and kept walkin’.
2000: Mustard algae. Why must he doubt me?]]>
There were several of these growing near the house, and neither of us had any clue what they were. Fred’s stepmother informed us that they’re spider lilies. Since they grow from bulbs, I may dig them up and transplant them. Then again I might not – I’m not sure where the bulb garden is ultimately going to be.
Pardon the blurriness, but these fuckers can MOVE. I saw one of these last month in the front yard of the house and tried to get a picture of it, but couldn’t. On our trip to the house Saturday, I saw several of them and finally managed to get a picture. I was going to put it up and ask y’all what it might be, but on a whim I Googled “Red velvet ant”, and found that – amazingly enough – it’s called a “Red velvet ant.” Or you can call it by its other name – “Cow Killer.” It’s not really an ant, it’s a wasp, and you can read more about it here. I thought they were kind of pretty, but if the fuckers have a painful bite, I’m just as happy to stomp on them.
We walked out to the back forty.
From the back corner of the back forty, looking toward the house. The owners’ son had started to bushhog the back field, but their tractor broke down before it could be finished. The tractor Fred almost bought, but decided not to. Dodged a bullet on that one!
Leaves starting to change on the black gum tree.
In the back forty.
Huge tree in the back forty.
Pecan tree overlooking the “pond.”
When we left the house, we headed toward Decatur to do something you don’t get to hear about yet (patience, grasshoppers. All will be revealed tomorrow. Or Monday. Nothing huge, I promise.), but on the way we passed a tractor place, and since it was apparently Fred’s intent to visit every single tractor place in the state of Alabama, we stopped. I sat in the car with my book while he went in and talked to someone.
Half an hour later, he came back outside. “I’m going to drive a tractor,” he said. “And there’s a cat in the store!”
She was friendly, but started getting bite-y after a while, so I left her alone.
Fred, driving his very first tractor.
This is my favorite.
My other favorite. Makes me want to take up quilting.
I haven’t got a CLUE what this thing is. It kind of looks like an ostrich, but I think it was some kind of sheep.
Not really Donald Sutherland. Or IS IT?
Everything I’ve read says that when you give a baby cat a bottle, you should have them on their stomachs at a 45-degree angle. But this is the ONLY position she’ll take her bottle in, standing on her back legs with her back against me. Also, very important to grab my hand so the bottle doesn’t go anywhere.
More pictures hither.
This is Angie‘s Eden, relaxing in the leather recliner. Nice life indeed, Angie!
Dana’s Gracie…
And Dana’s Maxine. Who apparently live very exhausting lives. How hard ARE you working them, Dana?
Danielle says, This is Gilbert, an italian greyhound. I think he was about 8/9 weeks here, and ok, technically he was after his tail, not yawning. But the effect is the same, and I thought it was pretty damn cute.
And the second picture, Gilbert is, again, not yawning, but instead trying to eat Hamlet Truman, my adorable new kitten. They’re about the same age, and really best friends. Hamlet spends a lot of time trying to carve Gilbert up into little puppy pieces, so they’re even. Y’all know I’m not a dog person, but Gilbert really kinda makes me want to get a dog so he can harass the cats!
This is Susan‘s Ruby. Susan says, Here’s another laughing kitten picture – a picture of one of our kittens, Ruby. I accidentally snapped it one day as she was crawling across my lap (that’s why it’s out of focus) but I absolutely love it. Is she laughing, or does she want to bite you like a vampire? Those are some seriously sharp-looking teeth! Y’all can see more of Susan’s kitten pics here.
This is Kelly’s Stella, who is an absolute dead ringer for Sugarbutt! I don’t think Sugarbutt could fit his big butt in the sink anymore, though.
And Kelly’s Jupiter. The look on Jupiter’s face just cracks me UP.
He straddled the bird bath like this for the longest time, staring off into space at something. It’s like he was posing for me!
This is 
This is Cathy’s Princess Sophie. Cathy says, This is my little bundle of love. She is 10 years old and I adopted her from an animal shelter when she was just a kitten. She is with me in my store everyday and gets lots of love from my customers. This is her typical position – and her typical expression. Ah the life of a cat especially in a home where they are loved more than anything in this world… What a gorgeous kitty!
Trisha sent this one in. She says, This is my boyfriend’s parents’ cat. Her official name is Stinky, but I affectionately call her Tub-Tub, in honor of 
This is Andrea’s late cat, Tiger. Andrea says, Tiger was a 23 year old cat who was my husband’s buddy and my boyfriend for ages and ages. He passed away last August, but when you asked for yawny cat photos, I immediately thought of this one. Enjoy. We do miss him, my sweet Tiger kitty. Awww, rest in peace, Tiger!
This is Zoey. She belongs to reader Hulda in Indiana. I love the attitude she’s got going on.
Hulda’s Zoey again. I swear, when I first glanced at the picture, between the black cat, the red collar and the cat chewing on something it shouldn’t, I thought it was Tommy! What a cutie pie.
Leo the mighty lion roars! Leo belongs to Hulda’s mother, who lives in Iceland.
Leo again. Now THAT is a hard-sleeping cat.
Leo’s sister, Krista. I love how sweet and soft she looks.
Thanks for sharing, Hulda! The rest of you – keep ’em coming!
And what kind of journaler would I be if I didn’t have a house tour up and ready to go?
