Bitchypoo

Yesterday morning, I had breakfast with friends (cat-lovin’ friends, so there was plenty of talk about poop and worms and such at breakfast, of course, which always makes me laugh. I know it sounds gross, but there’s very little you can talk about at a meal that will put me off my feed these days.). Before I left the house, I noticed that I seemed a bit colder than the weather (mid-30s warranted), and while I was eating breakfast, I was REALLY cold despite the fact that I could feel the warm air coming down from the vent nearby. Then on the way home, I had the heat turned up full-blast and wondered why I was so cold, and suddenly the light bulb went on over my head, and I felt my forehead.

When I got home, I took my temperature with the new thermometer, and it read 99.9. Then I took my temperature with the OLD thermometer, and it read 100.3. Then a few minutes later, I used the new thermometer again, and it read 100.4.

So even though they couldn’t seem to agree on the exact number, it was clear I had a damn fever along with some lovely chills. I also felt really, really tired and had a headache. I took some Tylenol and then called Fred to discuss whether I should call my gynecologist to report the fever. I had no other symptoms that the piece of paper they gave me before I left the hospital listed, and I just KNEW if I called the office they’d want me to come in, and I had NO desire to schlep my ass all the way across Huntsville, given the way I felt.

Ultimately, we decided that I should go take a nap and see if the Tylenol would bring my fever down.

I got my bottle of water and was going to head to the living room to lay down on the couch under my electric throw, when I noticed that there were four cats gathered around the wash stand, in the dining room. From under the wash stand, I could hear a cat banging around and growling. At first I figured that one of the cats had a toy he was protecting from the other cats, and almost walked away. I decided to make sure it wasn’t something more, and I was about to get on my hands and knees and look under the wash stand, when Jake shot out, a huge fucking vole in his mouth. He was going to run down the hallway, saw me, and changed course into the kitchen.

“Really?” I said grumpily to the other cats. “We NEEDED another good hunter in the house? You think? I blame you,” I said to Newt. When I’d gotten home, Newt was out in the side yard watching a vole run around, and occasionally pouncing on it. I opened the door and called him inside, and he’d come in willingly enough. The vole ran off in the direction of the driveway, and I figured it would run across the driveway and into the foliage between the garage and workshop. Apparently, instead, it ran into the back yard and into the jaws of Jake. (Fred, by the way, is SO proud of Loony Jake and his huntin’ ways.)

I followed Jake into the kitchen. He went to the corner near the sink, dropped the vole, then snatched it up again by the scruff, and growled at me. I grabbed Jake by the scruff, shuddered, grabbed the vole by the tail, and Jake released it.

This vole, I’m telling you, was a big motherfucker. We’re seeing a lot of big voles lately, it seems. I guess baby vole season hasn’t started yet. Its body was bigger than my fist. But I had it by the tail (UGH) and carried it out beyond the garage and let it go.

I got inside, grabbed my bottle of water, and headed for the living room. I got my heated throw, turned it on, and started to lay down on the couch, when I smelled the distinctive smell that drives me to a homicidal rage.

Someone had peed somewhere.

I spent the next ten minutes sniffing every damn inch of my couch before I found that one of the pillows had been peed upon. I gathered up all the pillows, tossed them in the washer, told all the cats that I hated them, resniffed the couch, determined that the source of the smell was gone, and was just about to lay down when Fred called to see how I was doing. I took my temperature, and it had gone down to the mid-90s. It continued to drop down to normal (my temperature regularly runs about 97.2) and never came back.

I continued to feel really sleepy all afternoon, so I mostly sat on the couch and watched TV (I would really love to know how the holy fuck they’re going to wrap up Lost in the next 10 episodes, given that the storylines seem to be meandering with no forward motion lately). Last night, we watched 24, which I completely slept through, and Survivor, which I did not.

I slept pretty well last night, and this morning I feel perfectly fine.

Very weird.

(And yes, if the chills and fever come back, I’ll go to the doctor. I promise!)

 

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I saw this on People of Walmart. I wonder if anyone ever submitted a picture of you when you’re buying 80 lbs of kitty litter.

Better watch your back!

I only check out People of Walmart occasionally, so I’m actually not sure – do they only post pictures of people in Walmart, or do they include other stores? Because if it’s Walmart only, I’m safe – I get my litter at Sam’s! 🙂

And 80 lbs of cat litter? I WISH I only bought 80 pounds at a time. It’s more like 400 pounds at a time! I seem to recall (though I’m too lazy to go looking for it) posting a picture once of the inside of the back of my car with 10 40-pound buckets of litter, two huge bags of cat food, and another ton of canned cat food.

If you guys see a picture of me posted on People of Walmart or elsewhere, you better tell me!

 

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Is it just me, or is this Mr. MFSW and a room full of partying cheerleaders?

If it is him, way to spend your interweb photo royalty checks, Grandpa!

For comparison purposes, Mr. “Motherfucker say what?!”:

 

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I had severe endo too, and they had to switch to abdominal incision from the laparoscopic because of this. This was 4 yrs ago and it’s the best thing I could have done! I’m on bio-identical hormones. Have you decided on which kind of hormones? Or is your head spinning at the thought of that so soon??!!

Right now, I’m on an estrogen patch and progesterone cream and feeling good, but I’m reading about my options. I finished The Hormone Solution the other day, and just started What Your Doctor Might Not Tell You About Menopause this morning. At this point, I’m much preferring the latter to the former, mostly because I’m disturbed by the fact that Dr. Erika Schwartz (the doctor/ author who wrote the first book) “prescribes” Progesterone cream in the following dose: 5-7 mg per kg of body per day. When I figured that out, it was 360 mg of Progesterone per day. The conventional wisdom (and what Dr. John Lee, the late doctor/ co-author of the second book and pioneer in the field of bioidentical hormones) “prescribes” is 20 mg per day. Needless to say, that’s a huge difference.

But anyway, I’m going to keep reading, and discuss it all with my doctor at my 6-week checkup!

 

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You need some of these!

Indeed I do!

 

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do you follow “shit my dad says” on twitter? if you’re not, you should really check it out. in any case, that old curmudgeon in the photo sort of looks like the shit my dad says guy!

I do follow that guy on Twitter, and it usually makes me laugh. And you’re right, I see the resemblance!

 

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After my hysterectomy, and despite my 9″ incision, I was feeling good pretty quickly. I asked my doctor if I could do more than he’d originally given me permission to do. He gave me some great advice, which is that after major surgery, your body heals at a rate of approximately 10% per week. So even tho I was feeling 75% better, my body had only healed 10%. And just in case I still thought I knew better, he told me that the result of over-doing it could be herniating my incision and having to start over with the staples. Needless to say, I stayed put. Argh.

Herniating my incision is my biggest fear! I am definitely taking it easy, but also REALLY looking forward to the next three weeks being over and getting the clearance from my doctor to get back to business as usual. I’m enjoying the downtime, but it’s kind of starting to get old!

 

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Can I tell you my horror story of stuff in the wall, can I, can I??? Anywho, last summer, we kept hearing sounds in the wall and ceiling. We thought they were bats. We figured first frost, they’d go away. Ummmm, nope. After hearing fluttering in the wall that turned into purring noises, we called the exterminator. We had a yellow jacket nest about 6 ft wide by 2 ft tall in the wall over the doorway to our kitchen. The purring noise was all bajillion and one of them buzzing their wings at the same time to cool the nest. Yeah. SUCK! So $1200 later and our house is pest free. For now.

That is the CREEPIEST (and yet COOLEST) story EVER.

Pictures, please?

 

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What do you guys do to keep the dogs’ fur from matting with all the dirt and outdoor living?

Fred brushes them pretty regularly, which seems to do the trick (and you should SEE the amount of hair he gets off them!). They do very occasionally get a mat, and we carefully clip out the mat with small scissors.

What amazes me about the dogs is how incredibly dirty they get, and then the next morning you see them, and they’re absolutely pristine. I always say their fur must be made of Teflon. The dirt slides right off!

 

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I live with my sister, and she’s the “handyman” of the house. This sounds exactly like something I would of said. “Oh yeah… she brought in a CHAINSAW to cut a hole in the wall.” LOL!!!

For those of you who didn’t see Fred’s comment, he didn’t bring a circular saw in to cut through the wall, it was a jig saw. IN MY DEFENSE, the handles on the jig saw and the circular saw are very similar, and I guess I didn’t look that closely at the saw – just saw the handle, and my brain filled in the rest, erroneously.

 

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Personally, I think cold snaps, but warm spells.

That’s right, warm SPELL is what I was looking for. Doesn’t “cold snap” make it sound like the cold is a living thing that comes up and flicks you on the nose and runs away giggling while you’re sputtering and trying to figure out what just happened?

 

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…do you mind being facebook friends with your readers? Or do you reserve it for people you really know? (In other words, if I try to friend you, it won’t freak you out, will it?)

I love to be Facebook friends with my readers! And I’m not that easily freaked out. 🙂 You can find me on Facebook here. I don’t update my status all that often, but I enjoy checking out everyone else’s!

 

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Stinkerbelle in one of her rare un-hatin’ moments.

 

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Previously
2009: DAMNIT.
2008: Q. What is the last heavy item you lifted? A. Miz Poo!
2007: “Yeah, it’s really fleein’ the interview,” Fred said.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: You suppose they’d mind if I went over after dark and pressed my face up against the window to see what’s going on?
2003: Maybe I should go for the dreadlocks look…
2002: Any resemblance to persons living or dead are completely coincidental. I don’t fart.
2001: every Mulvaney shat gold upon command three times a day.
2000: Here at casa bitchypoo, we believe in extremely lazy Sundays.

So, I got my hair cut yesterday – it kind of desperately needed it, it had gotten pretty long – and then I stopped by Kohl’s on the way home to see if I could find any sort of sleep pants to wear around the house ’til the swelling in my belly goes down to a reasonable level and I can wear pants again.

I ended up with a $5 pair of purple velour pants. Heh.

When I got home, I put my oversized sleep pants and sweatshirt back on (it’s nice to go out in public, but it’s nice to get my comfy clothes back on, too. Stupid swollen guts. I BLAME YOU, UTERUS!) and puttered around for a little while before turning on the Blu Ray player and putting the last disc of Californication, season 2, in the player. The player thought and thought and thought and then spit the DVD back out. I was all “GODDAMN BLU RAY PLAYER!” and put the disc back in.

Same thing.

This time, I thought to actually pick up the disc and look at it. It was fucking CRACKED. I was all:

“Motherfucker say WHAAAAT?”

But it was okay, because I had some episodes of Ellen on the DVR, and that kept me entertained until Fred got home.

I made dinner last night (it’s not an issue, as long as Fred gets out the pots and pans I need and puts them on the stove so I don’t have to lift them), it was a true Crooked Acres meal. We had pork chops, zucchini pie, and corn on the cob. It was AWESOME. I don’t know if it’s possible to mess up cooking the pork chops we have, because all I do is rub them with spices and then cook ’em in nonstick pan. They come out fantastic every single time.

The zucchini pie was made from zucchini I dehydrated last summer (I rehydrated it in warm water for about an hour before I put the zucchini pie together), and I made it without a crust and it was still fabulous. But seriously, zucchini, onion, and cheese – how can you possibly go wrong?

The corn was a bit chewy (I think I overcooked it), but still not bad, in the scheme of things.

So anyway, later in the evening, Fred was eating his snack of bran flakes in front of his computer, and he suddenly had to get up and go do something (break up a cat fight, I’m thinking), and when he got back to his desk, Elwood was bellied up to the bowl of bran flakes, slurping up the milk.

“Get away from there!” Fred said, half amused and half annoyed. He’s such a bad boy.” I turned and saw that Fred was holding Elwood so that Elwood’s belly was pointed toward me. I cannot resist a fluffy belly, so I reached out and squeezed it.

Elwood, that motherfucker, react by digging his back claws into my hand, and I ended up with a painful puncture wound in my right pinky, and I was all:

“Motherfucker that HUUUUUURT!!!!”

Of course, it’s my own damn fault, because you’d think by now I’d know better than to grab the fluffy belly of a cat. How many times do I have to be injured before that lesson sinks in, you suppose?

 

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*Please note: In the week after I had surgery, something got fucked up, and I wasn’t receiving your comments in my email for that time. It’s since been fixed, and it’s likely that there are comments I didn’t see, even though I went back and read them.

If you left a question, and I haven’t answered it, whether in the comments section or this entry, feel absolutely free to ask again!

 

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We live on a busy street so I really don’t want Snickers to go outside, but he is determined. Whenever we leave he is right at the door trying to sneak past us. At night, when I gather up the newspapers to put in the garage recycling bin, all he has to hear is the papers rattling and he tears for the door no matter what part of the house he is in. We always have to be “on alert” for a possible breakout. What can I do to discourage this behaviour? Of course, he has a pet chip and collar, but it’s the traffic I worry about. Any help would be appreciated.

In the past, we’ve kept a can of compressed air by the door to discourage cats who were insistent on going outside, and it helped deter them from trying to run out the door. I don’t know that that’ll work with a particularly insistent cat, though, so I’m throwing this out to the readers – suggestions, y’all?

 

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So will you go into menopause now?

Technically, since menopause is defined as The time in a woman’s life when menstrual periods permanently stop, then yeah, I’m in menopause. I think you’re probably asking whether I’ll have the lovely symptoms that indicate one is going through menopause, though, the hot flashes, mood swings, night sweats, trouble concentrating and all that. If we’re able to get my hormones regulated properly, then I shouldn’t have to deal with those issues, or at least I’m hoping I won’t. So far, I haven’t had any hot flashes (THANK GOD), and I don’t believe I’ve been particularly irritable. It’s still kind of early, though – two weeks and two days, uterus-free, woohoo! – so we’ll see how it goes.

 

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Glad you are feeling better! Every female on my mom’s side of the family will exit this world without their gallbladder or female reproductive organs (endo, c-section issues, etc.) and they all live to be like 100 (knock on wood).

Now, that’s what I like hearing!

 

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Also, when my brother had major hand surgery a few years ago, he woke up claiming he saw my (deceased) grandpa (who was the anesthesiologist, apparently) and BEGGING for his pants. He claimed that someone stole them while he was asleep and that he needed his pants or something horrible could happen (he was SO stoned).

They do steal your underwear if you go in with them on…bastards.

This cracked me UP. I always wonder if I’m going to wake up after surgery and be freaked out. Hasn’t happened yet, but there’s always a first time, right?

 

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How are you managing to keep cats off your lap while you are recovering? I know if I spend more than 3 minutes laying on the couch, esp if I have a blanket, I am fighting off my two furry beasts like I was covered in tuna.

Until yesterday, every time I sat or lay down, I’d have a full-sized bed pillow over my abdomen. In addition, I had a can of compressed air nearby, and any time I sensed a cat thinking about climbing on me, I’d shake it in their general direction. It worked really well – all the cats behaved themselves EXCEPT for Miz Poo, who has a deep-down need to be up in my shit as much as possible. I’m recovered enough now that even if a cat bounced across my stomach I should be okay, but I’m still pretty vigilant about making sure that doesn’t happen.

 

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If you think of it, could you post a photo of the tin that the popcorn came in, or measurements? Walmart and other similar -mart type stores used to sell tins of popcorn around Christmas time which came in sizes of “enormous,” “super-jumbo-tron,” and “holy shit, are you fucking kidding me?!”

Here ’tis, with Jake and Elwood to give you some idea of the size (I really should have taken a shot more from the front of the tin than from the top, I’m thinking!). It measures 8 inches high, and 10 inches across. Can you believe there’s still that much popcorn left? Fred asked me to hide it from him because he was grabbing a handful every time he went into the kitchen. In the act of hiding it from him, I kind of ended up hiding it from myself, and how delighted was I to remember that it’s there? SO delighted, believe me!

 

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I’m glad to hear that this is behind you. You are such a trooper. You seem to breeze through surgery. Do you really not get anxious? I am so envious of people who recover nicely. I am a WUSS about surgery. I do not handle anesthesia well, and am a slow waker upper. I can’t handle narcotics (they make me puke). Not a good combination. I wish I could be one of those people who woke up easily (enjoying the nap) and could take the pain meds, enjoying the ride….For the record, I am a NURSE, you’d think I’d have a better GRIP, eh??? I love your uterus talk. Cracks me up!

This is how I am, anxiety-wise: I am perfectly fine with all aspects of surgery right up until the time I get into the hospital gown and into the bed in pre-surgery. Then I get REALLY nervous. When I went in this time, I was laying there, just this side of terrified, and I was thinking “I’m never this nervous! What if my instincts are trying to tell me something?! MAYBE I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!!!”

Then I remembered that I ALWAYS pretty close to terrified at this point before surgery – when I went in for my weight loss surgery, I was on the verge of getting up and leaving right up to the point where they wheeled me off to surgery.

I think I completely forgot to mention, by the way, that this is the first surgery I’ve had where I felt no nausea at all the next morning. I’m wondering if that has something to do with the fact that I had a cup of chicken broth and a cup of jello the evening after surgery? Maybe the nausea has been caused by hunger?

After Fred’s sister told him (before I had surgery) that I would be bed-bound for two weeks after surgery, Fred scoffed and said “No she won’t! She comes from sturdy Yankee stock!”

Of course, what Fred fails to remember is that on my mother’s side I come from sturdy Yankee stock, and on my father’s side is the man who a few years ago was like TWENTY FEET in the air trimming a tree, fell OFF the ladder, practically ripped his arm off, and DROVE himself to the emergency room. He’s also the man whose gallbladder was basically mush and, according to the doctor, had to have been feeling pain from gallbladder attacks for about a year before the pain got so bad he requested my mother take him to the emergency room.

In other words, on one side I’m sturdy Yankee stock and on the other side I’m stoic ignore-it-and-it’ll-go-away Southerner.

My people don’t take kindly to lollygagging.

 

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Tell the kitties they have to scoop their boxes themselves.

Oh, Fred’s the scooper these days. I originally told him that I thought I could get back to scooping at about two weeks after surgery, but since I do NOT want to do irreparable damage to myself, I let him know that it’s going to be a while longer. (It’s not the actual scooping that’s the issue, it’s the bending AND scooping AND lifting, and having to do it for five litter boxes, twice a day!)

 

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Do NOT be tempted to vacuum or do any other domestic chore. I decided a couple of weeks after my hysterectomy that I’d wash the floors. And promptly slipped on the wet floor and it HURT! Vacuuming wasn’t much fun either.

I am not touching that vacuum until I’ve been cleared at my six-week visit. And then you better believe that I’ll be vacuuming like a motherfucker!

 

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Love the sound of that popcorn. We don’t have fancy schmancy pop corn like that down under (although I stand to be corrected if any antipodean readers know of a source).

Come on, Australians, SURELY you guys have some fancy popcorn? Share the knowledge!

 

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When you wrote that Stinkerbelle didn’t like to go out, it reminded me of the first cat I had after getting married (Punkin, she lived to be 20 years old!) Punkin insisted on going out to roam a few hours every day, always returned before night. If I didn’t let her out, she’d go nuts — climbing the door trim, yowling, etc (and she was spayed early on). Anyhow, after about 5 years, one day I let her out — and instead of taking off like a shot, she sat on the porch awhile, looking around. Went out into the yard, sniffed at the grass a couple of times, then came back to the door. And that was it — she NEVER wanted outside again. I even put her on the porch a couple times, and she would zoom right back into the house. I guess she decided she was “retired” from outdoors, and preferred being inside!

I love that!

Maxi has been spending a LOT of time inside lately. In fact, I think she went almost five days without stepping outside at all. She’s spending her nights inside, and even over the weekend when it was warm and sunny out, she had no desire to go outside. It’s very weird, because over the past three years, she’s been outside more than in; even on the coldest nights, she’s preferred to stay outside all night and just come in long enough to warm up and eat.

I suggested to Fred that maybe she’d had a run-in with something (a dog or raccoon) and it scared her, but now I’m thinking maybe she’s decided it’s time to retire from being an outside cat!

 

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Love the pics of Newtles. He looks like he has taken to regular meals juuuusst fine. Or is that winter weight?

I think it’s just winter weight – he and Maxi both generally slim down a bit in the summer. But make no mistake – Newt does adore his regular meals!

 

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When i had my full hysterectomy in 1995, it wasn’t laparoscopic. When I woke up in recovery, a nurse came over to tend to me. She had a list of questions to ask me, and one of the first she asked was, “Is there any chance you may be pregnant?” I stared at her and responded, “Not if y’all did your job right!”

This reminds me that before surgery, they had me pee in a cup, and after the IV had been started, the nurse came in and said “Well, you’re not pregnant!” Um, yeah, good goddamn thing, I guess, huh?

HEY! In addition to all the other good stuff (no more pap smears, no more worries of ever developing endometrial/ cervical/ ovarian cancer, no more periods EVER), this means I’ll never have to take another pregnancy test again!

 

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http://www.thedoghousediaries.com/?p=1306

Did we all mention how much we missed you last week?

That cracked me UP!

 

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I have to admit that I didn’t read any comments this time because there were just too many – BUT – to answer your question re: Californication – my husband watched and watches all episodes on NinjaVideo.net . It’s not a “trusted” site yet, and you have to download an applet to play it. But he watches movies that are still in the theaters! (Also, we haven’t had any problems with it.)

I think I’m going to have to get over my dislike of watching movies and TV shows on my laptop! (And thanks for the tip!)

 

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Was Stinkerbelle always… less-than-social? Or did she grow into her attitude?

Stinkerbelle was actually the worst of a litter of four of the MOST feral kittens we’ve ever had (pics of all of them here). The fact that we are actually allowed to occasionally pet her these days is a source of endless amazement for me. In fact, all of her siblings went to the adoption center before she did, because we thought she needed more socialization. As soon as she was alone in the foster room, her attitude changed completely (thus proving the concept that separating feral kittens from each other changes the way they interact with humans). We kept her for a while longer (a few days, I think), then I took her to the adoption center.

A few days after that (possibly even the next day, it’s been 2 1/2 years and I don’t remember the specifics), I had my regular stint at the adoption center, cleaning out cages, and I made the mistake of reporting to Fred that it looked like she’d spent the entire night digging at the door, trying to get out of her cage.

That was all she wrote. Fred, who was half in love with her to begin with (he’s a sucker for a blue-eyed girl), demanded that I let him stop on the way home and get her. I eventually gave in, and she came home with him that night.

Her name was originally “Maryann” (we went with a “Gilligan’s Island” naming theme, kinda), and when Fred suggested “Stinkerbelle” as a new name, we both laughed. She’s been Stinkerbelle ever since.

Her deep love for Tommy has never wavered, either. BOY she loves her some Tommy, and has from the first moment she laid eyes upon him. Poor Tommy – it ain’t easy being The Ambassador.

 

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Previously
2009: “What’s this ’sit’ they keep saying to me?!”
2008: “You (kick) are such (kickkick) an asshole (kickkickkick) get in that goddamn house!”
2007: Christ, what a weekend we had.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: God, why why WHY do women do this to themselves?
2003: A Day in the Life of Spanky.
2002: No entry.
2001: Saturday was my dumbass day.
2000: No entry.