Random things that make me twitch: 1. Could of/ should of/ would of. No. NO. There is NO SUCH ANIMAL as “could of.” What you’re trying to say (write) is “could’ve,” which is short for “could have.” Please stop. Every time I read something along the lines of “I could of kicked him!” I have … Continue reading “4/7/09”
Random things that make me twitch:
1. Could of/ should of/ would of. No. NO. There is NO SUCH ANIMAL as “could of.” What you’re trying to say (write) is “could’ve,” which is short for “could have.” Please stop. Every time I read something along the lines of “I could of kicked him!” I have a tiny little aneurysm, and one day I will fall over dead and it will be ALL YOUR FAULT. STOP IT.
2. Robin Tunney. Jesus god in heaven, please stop me from smacking her across the face until my arm aches. While I will admit that she’s a passably good actress, I SUPPOSE, her super-pouty face makes me want to hurt her.
3. Microfiber. My hideous, dry-ass hands always get caught in the fibers of micro, and it is a singularly unpleasant feeling. I don’t wear microfiber underwear, I refuse to clean with microfiber cleaning cloths, I DON’T CARE HOW WELL THEY CLEAN, I can’t stand the feel of the fibers plucking at my super-dry skin, and my home will always be a microfiber-free zone. PROMISE.
4. My super-dry hands. Look. I slather lotion on my body from head to toe as soon as I get out of the shower, and then that’s generally it until after the sixteenth time I wash crap (sometimes literally) off my hands, and I think “Wow, my hands are gross and dry!” and then I lotion them up, but then I ALWAYS have to wash my hands like ten seconds after I’ve put the lotion on them, and I’ve tried that whole thing where you put Vaseline on your hands and then put gloves on over the Vaseline and sleep with the gloves on (or at least a few hours, whereupon I wake up, yank off the gloves, and toss them on the floor), but it doesn’t help. AT ALL. Stupid hands.
5. Cats licking themselves and making that slurpy smacking sound. Every night. EVERY NIGHT. Every night I settle down to read for a while before bed, and Miz Poo settles down next to me, and she starts grooming herself. She grooms her face. She grooms her ears. She grooms her chest. But then as soon as she hits her mid-section, she starts making that SLURPY SMACKING noise, and she might as well be driving an ice pick through my eardrums, because it takes about ten seconds of that sound before I lose my mind. I poke at her and say “Stop it.” She looks at me, appalled at my nerve, pauses, stares off into space, tucks her paws under her and closes her eyes, and then I go back to reading. AND THEN IT BEGINS AGAIN. Like I’m not there and can’t HEAR her. GODDAMN. So we go through the poke-stop it-acting-like-she’s-gonna-stop routine at least twice more before I put my book down, look her in the eye and say “Really? Are you fucking kidding me? Are you going to MAKE me run you off the bed?” She sighs and settles down for real most nights, sighing her put-upon sigh, but some nights she MUST make that slurpy smacking sound, it’s apparently MANDATORY, and so she jumps down off the bed, travels two feet away, and commences slurpy-smacking. Which is when I sit up and shake the can of compressed air at her until she runs out the door, sending a wounded look over her shoulder at me.
6. Is that cat pee? Is that cat pee? Or isn’t it? Do you smell that? You don’t smell that? Put your face right here next to mine, and sniff. No? Maybe? Well, help me find it! ::sniff::sniff::sniff:: It’s not the couch. It’s not the couch pillows. There’s nothing on the ottoman. The table? No, not the table. Sniff that part of the rug, Boogie was sniffing that part of the rug earlier with great interest and vigor. I’ll check the corner by the stairs. No, nothing here. By the door? The fireplace? Let me get the black light. Is that -? No, right, that was there. God, we sure do have a lot of fuzz on our couch. Well, I don’t see anything. Maybe it wasn’t cat pee. You’re sure you don’t smell it? I don’t smell it now, either. Hm.
7. What the fuck is that smell? Jesus CHRIST, what is that smell? Do you smell that? Right? Did something die somewhere? It’s not the litter boxes. It’s not the compost bucket. Is it the pig bucket? No. OH GOD. Did you throw FOOD in the trash can LIKE A WEEK AGO? I ought to TIE THIS AROUND YOUR NECK and make you wear it! Would you take the trash out, please?
Oddly enough, cleaning the litter boxes and/ or wiping kittens’ behinds does not make me twitch. Much.
I never did get any cleaning done yesterday (ran to Sam’s and got home just in the nick of time to pack up the kittens and take them to the vet), so off I go to start. I think I’ll start by relaxing with the kittens and then maybe swiping in a desultory manner at some dusty furniture.
The really good news for today is that all the kittens went to the vet and were tested for feline leukemia (FeLV) and feline immunodeficiency virus (FIV), and all came back negative. That’s great news – I’ll admit, I was worried, but all my worry was for naught.
I was actually going to leave Beulah at home because she’s still so tiny I didn’t think they’d be able to get blood from her. But she’s never been alone, and I didn’t want her to get lonely, so I popped her in the carrier, and they decided to go ahead and give it a try, and were able to get enough blood for the test. Yay!
(I will tell you, it was NO FUN sitting in the waiting room of the clinic hearing my babies cry from the back of the clinic. They did NOT enjoy having blood drawn, and they were scared. I gave them lots of love when we got home, and they seem to have forgiven me.)
They’ve also had their initial vaccinations, and now we can relax until they’re all over two pounds and can be spayed and neutered!
(Well, like I said, it’ll probably be quite a while before Miss Beulah’s big enough to be spayed, so probably her brothers and sister will go when they’re all over two pounds.)
Since their tests came back negative, it’s safe for them to mingle with our cats, so in the next few days I’m going to start giving them more room to roam. With the judicious use of baby gates, I’ll let them explore the bathroom (which is the room closest to their room), and then probably will quickly allow them the run of the entire upstairs. I expect it won’t be too long before they’re racing through the entire house, and I can’t even imagine what that’ll be like!
It’s like a clown car! You think we could cram another kitten or two in here?
“You are going to let those noisy, stinky little kittens…. OUT of their room? I don’t believe I care for that thought. At all. Is this up for negotiation, perhaps? Like, you don’t let them out, and I don’t barf on your keyboard?”
Previously 2008: She turned and glared her “FUCK YOU” glare at me, and went along her way.
2007: No entry. 2006: You WISH you were me. 2005: Off to Gatlinburg. 2004: Our palates are too immature, I suppose. 2003: Now I know why, when the camera and sound guy were setting up and I chirped “Oh, is this the camera that’s going to make me look like Ashley Judd?”, everyone laughed so hard.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry. 2000: Then he and the spud went swimming yesterday, since the pool’s up to a sultry 66.
It Ain’t Easy Being Dinner. Couldn’t’ve said it better myself. Fred processed ten chickens (mostly roosters) Saturday. It took two and a half hours, but he shouldn’t have to do it again anytime soon – we get at least two meals from each chicken, sometimes more. He decided about mid-week that it was time to … Continue reading “4/6/09”
Fred processed ten chickens (mostly roosters) Saturday. It took two and a half hours, but he shouldn’t have to do it again anytime soon – we get at least two meals from each chicken, sometimes more. He decided about mid-week that it was time to cull some of the roosters from the flock (you can only have so many roosters to so many hens – otherwise the girls walk around with bare spots on their backs, and the roosters fight each other all the time), and was dreading it so much that he woke at 2:30 Saturday morning and couldn’t get back to sleep.
He wanted to get it done and over with, but first we had to go to the dump, and then we had to wait for a woman who was buying eggs (she was coming with her grandchildren to see the pigs and chickens, and Fred didn’t think it was a great idea for some little kids to get THAT face-to-face with the farm life), and then he had a phone conversation with his sister, who wanted to come out and see the pigs (she and her husband are purchasing half of one of the pigs) and chickens, and when she found out Fred was processing chickens asked if she could buy a couple of them. He doesn’t particularly like the idea of selling our chickens to other people – like he says, if we get salmonella from them, that’s one thing; if he makes someone else sick, it’s an entirely other thing – but in the end she talked him into selling her a couple.
So, the woman showed up with her grandkids and got her instructions on how to hatch eggs, and then Fred started processing chickens, and I expected that his sister and her daughter would show up at any time, but he actually got the chickens processed and we put them in bags and got them into the refrigerator before they showed up. Fred showed them the big chicken coop and the chickens and pigs, and then I took them up to see the kittens, who were very well-behaved (well, except for Phinneas, who was startled by my sister-in-law when she bent down to pick him up, and he hissed. Nothing less terrifying than a fluffy hissing kitten, is there?)
When they left, since neither of us had eaten since breakfast, we went into town and got Chinese food for late lunch/ early dinner.
In and amongst the waiting and the processing, I made some white Amish bread solely because we were originally planning on having hamburgers for dinner Saturday night, and I wanted to try using some of the dough to make hamburger buns. The hamburger buns came out really well, but the loaf of bread I made with the other half of the dough didn’t actually get baked long enough, and when I went to cut up the loaf Sunday morning, I realized that. When I took it out of the oven, I suspected it might not be done, but I ignored that instinct, damnit.
Ah well – the pigs will enjoy it!
I also made a batch of dog treats using pureed vegetables, and cooked the chicken livers Fred had saved for me, so that I could make another batch of treats for the dogs on Sunday.
(The smell of boiling chicken livers: gag me.)
Sunday, I didn’t have to get groceries (I’m doing that later today), so I slept in ’til 6:15 (I KNOW! Slacker!), then puttered around the house, hung out with the kittens, and then went into the kitchen to begin some more baking. A few weeks ago a local reader (hi Jean!) sent me the link to this article about and recipe for whoopie pies. I was skeptical whether they’d be the same as my favorite whoopie pies – the outside cookie/ cake part is no problem, but I have yet to find a recipe where the inside filling is right.
So I made the whoopie pies, and while the filling was tasty, the filling wasn’t right, and so the pigs got themselves quite a treat. Ah well – like I said to Jean, finding the right recipe for the filling will give me something to strive for.
Then I made a batch of liver treats for the dogs, and if boiling chicken livers = gag me, then baking chicken liver treats = gag me x 2. Especially later in the afternoon when I forgot there were treats in there cooling (once they’re done cooking, I leave them in the oven and turn it off so they’ll harden and cool) and turned the oven on to preheat it. I am not loving the smell of the liver treats, but the dogs seem to like them quite a bit. I’m sure they were getting bored with the peanut butter treats I’ve been giving them.
The rest of Sunday was pretty relaxing, I got to spend plenty of time with the kittens, and any day that includes a nap with a pile of purring kittens atop you is a good day, indeed.
Today, I’ll be making a run to Sam’s, swinging by the grocery store, and later I’ll be starting to clean the house. My parents are going to be here Thursday afternoon, and so it’s a good time to get some Spring cleaning done, although the damn weather has turned cold again and it feels more like Winter than Spring.
Friday night, when we sat down to watch TV, Fred asked what I wanted to watch.
“We still have that movie from Netflix,” I reminded him.
“Oh,” he said, clearly not into the idea of watching Seven Pounds.
“Well, I’d like to give it ten minutes; if we don’t like it, we can watch something else.”
We started watching it, and about ten minutes in, he grumpily said “This movie is too confusing!”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’ll make sense eventually, ’cause they always gear movies toward the lowest common denominator.”
He laughed. “They do?”
“Will Smith movie, mainstream? Not one of those confusing artsy-fartsy we-don’t-have-to-make-sense-we’re-making-ART movies? They do. And we’re not the lowest common denominator. There’s someone out there watching this movie who’s dumber than we are, I guarantee it.”
During the scene about half an hour or so into the movie with Will Smith and Barry Pepper in the hotel room, I knew how the movie would end. Because I can’t keep knowledge like that to myself, I told Fred what was going to happen.
He looked at me appreciatively. “I bet you’re right! I never would have guessed that!” He laughed. “You might not be the lowest common denominator, but apparently I am!”
As it turned out, I was right about the ending. It wasn’t a bad movie, all in all – I’ve certainly seen worse.
I did the weekly weigh-in with the kittens last night. Phinneas continues to be the heaviest, at 1 pound 12 ounces, and Beulah gained a whopping 1.5 ounces this week and weighs in at 11 ounces.
Everyone else is right around 1 and a half pounds.
At the current rate, I imagine that everyone but Beulah will hit two pounds (and thus be ready for spaying and neutering) in three weeks or so. And that Beulah won’t hit two pounds until she’s six months old!
My sister-in-law and niece stopped by yesterday to see the pigs and chickens, and of course I had to take them up to admire the kittens. All the kittens were like “Yay! People to give us love!”, although Phinneas was startled by my sister-in-law, and actually hissed at her when she picked him up.
Yesterday around mid-day, Fred said “Where does Upstairs Mama hang out during the day?” and I said “The top of the bookcase in the front room, or outside. Why?” He shrugged and said “I just wanted to see her.” He couldn’t find her, so we figured she’d found herself a hidey-hole. This is the cat, after all, who went up the chimney in the front room last summer and hung out.
Yesterday evening I realized I hadn’t seen her all day, and by 5:00 she’s usually hanging out in the kitchen giving me the hopeful “Is it Snackin! Time! yet?” eyes.
“When was the last time you saw Kara?” I asked Fred. I was worried that, despite her electric fence collar, she’d managed to get out of the back yard.
He gasped. “You don’t think she’s in my room, do you?!”, and he raced up the stairs. Opened the door. Said “Hey, Mama!”, and when I reached the bottom of the stairs, she came racing past me.
That poor thing had spent over 12 hours in Fred’s room without food or water and without access to a litter box, and didn’t make a single sound. She also didn’t pee in his room anywhere.
“That means she’s one of the good ones!” Fred informed me.
Previously
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry. 2006: Now, I’m sure I’d rather be skinny and bald than fat and hairified, but what I’d MUCH prefer to be is skinny and hairified, thanks. 2005: I think that a more accurate description would be “covered the annoyance of itching by making your skin feel as though you’re being set on fire.” 2004: Meme.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry. 2000: Fred’s such a bastard.
It sure would be nice if we had, like, a week or two without torrential rain. It rained so hard last night that the back forty was nothing but water (and oddly enough, the dogs thought it was AWESOME). At least it drained off quickly and it’s not supposed to rain today. For the last … Continue reading “4/3/09”
It sure would be nice if we had, like, a week or two without torrential rain. It rained so hard last night that the back forty was nothing but water (and oddly enough, the dogs thought it was AWESOME). At least it drained off quickly and it’s not supposed to rain today. For the last couple of weeks (or so it seems), we’ve had a lovely, sunny day and then a rainy day, sunny then rainy, and so forth. Fred’s itching to get the new shade structure built on the front of the big coop, but the water level is too high, and he can’t set the posts. Also, he wanted to plant the garden next week, but it’s too wet to till. It’s driving him a little crazy, all this wet weather.
It’s actually supposed to get down to freezing again early next week. Ugh.
We watched Slumdog Millionaire, started it Wednesday night and finished it last night. To be honest, when the movie started I was like “Oh, I don’t think I’m interested in this…”, and I was flipping through a magazine, but as the movie went on I got more and more into it, and in the end I have to say – that’s one damn good movie!
A quick tip that may save you time/trouble – if the only thing that is making you want to switch cable tv providers is price….call your current provider and say, i’m gonna quit you because this place can give me the same service for $25 less. Escalate it to a supervisor if need be, and I’m betting that you get your $25 discount and don’t have to wait for a new provider to come out and install the dish, etc etc. 🙂
It usually works, and i would imagine in these times it might work even better.
I thought that the only thing making us want to switch was the price, but I found out that apparently Dish N3twork offers all High-Definition channels and Dir3ct TV doesn’t. Or something like that. I honestly don’t ever notice whether something’s in High Def or not – it’s all the same to me. But in the end we’ve got High Def – which makes Fred happy – and a lower cost, which makes us both happy. So it’s all good!
Do any of your cats, drown their “victims” in the water bowl? Gus has started to put the milk lid rings into the water dish which is scary. My mom’s kitten has taken over a Beanie Baby cat as his friend/victim. He daily puts his buddy into his water dish – usually more than once a day. So far, my mom has had the wet bb dropped on her head from the bed’s headboard in the middle of the night and a mark left on the headboard in the outline of a wet bb. I sure hope Gus doesn’t start drowning his victims and bringing them to me in bed. Yikes.
I’ve heard that sometimes cats put things in their water dish so that they can see where the surface of the water is – but if they’re dunking their toys and then bringing them to you, god knows what that’s all about!
In our first house, I used to find toys in the litter box ALL the time. I figured it was the cat version of reading on the toilet.
About Big Love. I just read that it WAS picked up for another season. On February 5, HBO announced that it was renewed for a 4th season, set to premiere in 2010. YAY!!
Yay! Only, now that I don’t have HBO, I’m going to have to wait ’til 2011 to see it! Boo!
I came across this link the other day, and tried making the bread, it was awesome! I though you might like to give it a try with your bread making adventures.. at least with this one you don’t have to do anything, it just takes time!
Here is the link to the article – and the link to the bread recipe.
The only reason I haven’t made the No-Knead Bread yet is because I actually don’t have a dutch oven or other heavy covered pot in the right size, if you can believe it. That’s the next thing I need to get, I think!
I don’t seem to have spraying cats, I have door molding shredding cats. Drives me crazy! Got a fix for that?
How about this Sticky Paws double-sided tape stuff? I put some on the back of Fred’s office chair, and the back of the couch, and it seems to work pretty well, actually! (If your door moldings are painted, though, I’d probably be worried about it pulling the paint off.)
Also, forgive me for not knowing but I did not know you had a brown tabby. Is this a new addition or perhaps Mr Boogers in camouflage?
That’s Kara – the mother cat who gave birth to kittens almost a year ago. Fred fell in love with her, so we had to adopt her – last Fall, in fact. She brought our permanent cat resident count up to double digits. ::sigh::
Your photos of the new kitties have made me long for a kitten. I told my husband and he gave me a dirty look. But we have only 4 cats. That’s nothing, right?
I would say that having four cats is really not even in the realm of being a cat owner, you amateur. How can you tell you even HAVE cats? You don’t become a real cat owner ’til you’ve got six or more.
Honey– exactly how many chickens do you have now? You need more?
What? You think 140 is too many for two people? Really? ‘Cause I’d like to see it around 200 in another two months. WE CAN DO IT!
(NOT.)
As far as the purebred flock we’re attempting to start (we got four hatched over the course of the past few days, and we should have another hatch beginning on Monday), for reasons completely mystifying to me, people pay a lot more for fertile Copper Black Marans eggs than they do for fertile “mutt” eggs. If we had a purebred flock and could sell a dozen or two a week (once they start laying), we’d come pretty close to being able to feed all our animals off the money those eggs brought in. “All our animals” including the dogs and cats – that would be pretty awesome.
I love to make BBQ sandwiches out of leftover Pork. I chop or shred the pork, mix my favorite BBQ sauce in, and serve it on a nice onion roll or sesame roll. Wonderful with some potato salad and cole slaw (personally, I like my coleslaw ON my BBQ sandwich!
I quote this comment because it made me think, for some reason, of the fact that when I first moved down here, I had no idea on earth that they put coleslaw ON BBQ sandwiches. One day I went and got BBQ for everyone in the office, and I opened the bag o’ food when I got back to work, and threw a fit because there was no coleslaw in the bag. Which is when Fred stepped in and gave me the you’re-an-idiot look and told me that the coleslaw was on the sandwich.
you poor thing! I hate the feeling of not being able to move from the mud – I did the same thing last summer at the off-road vehicle park. I felt like a dumbass. But with you wearing your boots, it reminds me of the time that Ramona Quimby got herself stuck and she couldn’t move and there was a picture of a tow truck pulling her out by her raincoat. LOL She coulnd’t bear to leave her boots behind so someone had to come back and rescue her boots too. That sounds like something you might do.
Oh, I was NOT leaving the vicinity of that damn ditch without my boots, believe you me. If I’d had to crawl out of the ditch and then turned around and yanked the boots out, I would have. If I’d had to make Fred go get the tractor and pull them out with heavy chains I WOULD HAVE.
NO BOOTS LEFT BEHIND, that’s my motto! (I paid too goddamn much for those boots to lose them to some stupid muddy ditch!)
There are houses across the road/street from you! For some reason I’ve always imagined an open field there, with the only neighbors being the ones next door.
No, we’ve got neighbors – not as many, and not as close as we did in the ‘burbs, but they’re certainly there. This is what it looks like from the front porch:
Standing on the front porch, looking to the left. That flash of yellow is the sign for the Dollar Store. That white building is a little strip of stores. The red car is on the access road that runs from the strip of stores to the street that comes out right across the road from our ditch.
Directly across the street – an empty field. I hope it stays empty forever!
Turning toward the right.
And to the right. Neighbors across the street (but not TOO close), and across from them (next to us), is the church.
What were all those firemen and such doing while you were wollering around?
I did not even look at those damn volunteers. Fred said he didn’t think anyone was even looking, but it didn’t occur to me to look over and see if they were laughing at me. Probably a good thing I didn’t, ’cause I’m sure I would have given them the finger or some other such classy gesture.
Beulah does have an odd eye-to-head proportion/placement thing going on, but I think it’s because she’s still so runty. She’ll grow out of it, and Fred’ll be changing his tune.
Unlike my mother, who still calls my tortoiseshell Cassie “that ugly monkey-faced cat of yours.”
Katherine (who came over to admire the babies yesterday and then watch those damn Housewives of NYC with me) said that she can kind of see where Fred’s coming from.
I have to admit that I think of Beulah as the feline version of Nance‘s Felina. She’s got the big-headed googly-eyed thing going on, but I still think she is GORGEOUS.
Also, Fred thought that Flossie – here, let me show you a picture of Flossie:
Fred thought Flossie was hideous because, and I QUOTE, “Her markings are asymmetrical.”
Looking at Red Friendly and Charlie got me to wondering how many of your hundreds of chickens have names?
Not that many, actually – the problem is that for a chicken to have their own name, we need to be able to distinguish it from all the other chickens, so the Buff Orpingtons are known collectively as “The Buffys”, but don’t each have their own name.
The chickens who do have names are: Mister Friendly (the speckled black and white chicken born in November, so named because he’s a friendly little guy), Red Friendly (ditto on the friendliness), Michelle the Rooster (named after a reader!), Charlie (named because of her twisted-up toes), George (who looks just like Charlie, but doesn’t have the twisted-up toes), Sassy (the black chicken who leaves the back forty every day to lay her egg in her childhood coop), the Rock Star (which is really more a description than a name), the Featherheads (again – description, not really name), and The Assholes (who are not long for this world – so named because they are so fucking rough on the hens. They’re gorgeous but THEY SURE ARE ASSHOLES).
Chickens who are no longer around that had names (and let me just say, people who say don’t name your chickens ’cause then you won’t eat ’em? WRONGO.): Flappy (the first to be eaten and SHE WAS TASTY), Frick (who died of natural causes – or at least, WE didn’t kill her. We suspect she was eggbound. Easter Eggers lay pretty eggs, but they surely are not dependable layers) and Bob, who I liked a great deal, but you can only have so many roosters in a flock. Edited to add: How could I have forgotten McLovin?? Our first rooster, who lives on in a ton of our chickens. Good ol’ McLovin.
I love wisteria, too! I’ve heard that it takes 7 years to establish itself and start blooming and I just don’t have that kind of patience!
I had no idea it takes so long to establish wisteria! I think it’s so pretty that I’ve mentioned the idea of having an arbor (made of hog panels) placed somewhere, with wisteria planted at the base. I guess I’d better get moving on that!
Those subscription cards they toss in all magazines that fall out all over the damn place. I don’t get WHY they include those even in the magazines you already subscribe to!
The kittens had a visitor yesterday – the lady who adopted two of Kara’s kittens (then they were River and Inara – now they’re Nate and Dora, which I think fits them better!) stopped by to visit, and the kittens handled it quite well. They weren’t skittish or scared of her at all (did I mention that it’s nice to have a bunch who are so friendly?) and in fact just considered her another person to climb on and be petted by (and entertain!).
We had a lot of rain last night, and we were watching TV when suddenly the ceiling in the living room started to leak. I went upstairs to so what was going on, and the ceiling in the closet of the foster room was leaking. We just got a new roof like a month ago! So the roof guy’s coming to investigate the source of the leak, and the kittens will get another visitor.
“Oh, is it snack time already?”
(Fred was taking the babies out to the brooder and set them on the cat bed while he put his shoes on. They were very popular with Tommy, to say the least.)
Previously 2008: I don’t, for the record, covet the struggle anymore. 2007: At least the floors are clean. 2006: Fred was no help, because he was standing there laughing his ass off.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry. 2003: Nothing, by the way, pisses me off more than the crap that gets installed with the program you really want – Office 2000, I’m looking at you and your crappy Outlook friend. 2002: Mother Nature is getting ON MY NERVES.
2001: No entry. 2000: So if rainy days and Mondays always got me down, I guess I’d have been suicidal today.
Yesterday I was sitting on the couch watching TV with Fred, and I was flipping idly through a magazine, and out of nowhere GOT A GODDAMN PAPER CUT FROM ONE OF THOSE MOTHERFUCKING BLOW-INS. WOE. Lord, I ask you: WHEN WILL THE SUFFERING END?! ***i’mjustadividerlineyesi’monlyadividerlinedividingthissectionfromthatandthatfromthisawwwwyeah*** Scenes from around Crooked Acres, ’cause I’ve got litter … Continue reading “4/2/09”
Yesterday I was sitting on the couch watching TV with Fred, and I was flipping idly through a magazine, and out of nowhere GOT A GODDAMN PAPER CUT FROM ONE OF THOSE MOTHERFUCKING BLOW-INS.
Scenes from around Crooked Acres, ’cause I’ve got litter boxes to scrub out and kittens to cuddle; oh my rough, rough life.
Two of the baby chicks born at the beginning of March, facing off. Clearly they’ve hit their goofy stage, and are racing toward their gawky stage as well. Still cute, though.
One of the Polish crosses. Her mohawk is coming along nicely, dontchathink?
More of the ones born at the beginning of March. I love their little fluffy tails. They crack me up.
Good ol’ Charlie. She’s a mess, but she seems to be doing better – she’s able to get in and out of the coop on her own the last couple of days, so hopefully her wing is improving. Assuming that her wing improves and she’s able to get around on her own with no troubles, she’ll likely end up permanently living in the blue coop with whatever flock ends up there.
This guy’s from the batch of 7 born… Uh. (Let me think…) At the beginning of February, so he’s almost two months old. He’s very friendly – we’ve started calling him “Red Friendly”, to distinguish him from the black and white speckled (much older) chicken in the back forty known as “Mister Friendly.”
Joe Bob investigates the egg basket to see if the hens have been doing their job.
I usually go out to check for eggs around noon. When Fred gets home at 3:30, he goes out and checks again. Yesterday, I got 21 eggs at noon – Fred got another 12 at 3:30, and then a few more after that. I’d say our hens are doing their job and doing it well!
Sassy McGee kicks around in the compost heap. She sure does live the life of Riley. I should rename her Sassy Riley – but it doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.
The violets are blooming.
Wisteria! I had never had any experience with this stuff before we moved here, but the blooming of the Wisteria is something I’ve come to really look forward to. I can see it from my desk, and it makes me happy.
Red bud in the front yard. SO PURTY.
All of a sudden, the Spirea burst into bloom. I love this bush, but I sure wish I had any idea how to prune it. The camellia, the winter honeysuckle, the butterfly bushes and rose of sharons, no problem. The freakin’ Spirea is beyond me, though.
Let me tell you about Phinneas. Anyone who knows me knows of my great and abiding love for orange tabbies, and Phinneas is a good example of why I love them so. He’s a little wild thing, racing around the room, jumping on his brothers and sisters, biting them on the neck one moment and then vigorously grooming them the next. He’ll race across the room to jump on my foot and bite it as hard as he can (and these kittens can bite HARD when they want to!) and then when I pick him up and pet him, he instantly goes limp, purrs loud enough to be heard from two rooms away, and gives me the Eyes of Love.
He’s the biggest kitten, and he likes to eat. Like, a lot. And he doesn’t want anyone else to eat off the plate he’s eating from, so if anyone gets too close, he gives them the Paw of No. Right now he’s at a pound and a half, and he has a big ol’ beer belly. It doesn’t slow him down, though.
NOTHING slows down our Phinneas – but he’ll take time out for a belly rub, of course. A boy’s gotta have priorities!
“That’s right. I started out living in this trash can, and then I moved up to a condo by the back steps. Now I’m back in the trash can. Some might say my downward spiral is due to my addiction to the herb known as The ‘Nip or my failure to take responsibility for my own actions. Maybe even the ECONOMYYYYYYYYY. I think we all know the truth, though – it’s your fault. It’s ALWAYS your fault. Remember that. Now go away and leave me to my stinky trash can in the back yard and my half-gnawed squirrel head. I’ll be fine. Just fine. DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME.”
Previously 2008: I try not to do the snackin’ time call unless it’s really snackin’ time, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 2007: When one mows the lawn on a windy day when it hasn’t rained in a long time, one gets a lot of dust on one’s face.
2006: No entry. 2005: I am not pregnant, and I’m especially not pregnant with twins. I’m sorry to disappoint – some of you got REALLY excited, didn’t you? 2004: I can totally see the Bean clinging frantically to the top of the Jeep while I cluelessly drive around. 2003: But you’d better believe that if I had a penis, it’d be a big swingin’ one. 2002: “Walmart eating ass” will be the name of my seventh novel, in case you were curious.
2001: No entry. 2000: Well, I’ve got magazines to read, and naps to take.
Happy April 1st, fools! New month, new banner! This one was created by Aly, who answered my cry for help (the beginning of the month took me by surprise!), and did a fabulous job of it, didn’t she? Thanks (again!) Aly! ***dividerlinedividerlinethelinethatdividesthissectionfromthatsection*** On Monday, Fred and I dropped my car off at the car … Continue reading “4/1/09”
Happy April 1st, fools!
New month, new banner! This one was created by Aly, who answered my cry for help (the beginning of the month took me by surprise!), and did a fabulous job of it, didn’t she?
On Monday, Fred and I dropped my car off at the car place in Nearville so that they could change the oil and do whatever they usually do at 24,000ish miles. This meant I had no transportation to go anywhere yesterday, so I was home all day long. Allllll day long
When Fred got home from work, he and I went to Nearville to pick up my car. It took us maybe 20 minutes from the time we left the house to the time we got back home. Possibly as long as 25 minutes, and I think that would be stretching it. I was right behind Fred as we drove down our street, and so I expect we saw the flashing lights of the fire truck at the same time.
Calm down – this isn’t an entry about how the house burned down, or about how the garage burned down (with all those baby chicks inside!), and it’s not an April Fool’s joke. Nothing was burning. No one was dead or even hurt.
There was, however, a truck hanging over the culvert leading to the ditch between our property and the church property next door. The fire truck was parked in front of our house, and all the traffic was being diverted onto the access road across from our house. Someone was parked in our driveway.
The truck was attached to a trailer and was hauling a car on said trailer. There’s a stop sign directly across from the culvert/ ditch, and I’m assuming the guy couldn’t stop and slid across the road and into the ditch.
He was fine, no one got hurt – it’s about as much excitement as the fire department’s seen lately, so there were a LOT of fireman standing around out there.
Fred drove down the access road and talked for a moment to the infant fire department volunteer, who shrugged a “Dude, I don’t know what to tell you, MOVE ALONG NOW.” Fred moved along, and pulled into the church parking lot. I followed him, and we parked on the side of the lot nearest our land.
We locked our cars and walked across the church property to the ditch dividing our property from theirs.
“Wow, they have a mole issue over here, too,” I noted, sinking into the ground with every step. Fred agreed.
We reached the ditch, and began looking for a place to cross. Due to the amount of rain we’ve gotten recently, the ditch had water in it.
“There’s really not anywhere to cross,” Fred said. He was wearing sneakers. I was wearing my boots.
“I’m going across here,” I said, approaching a spot where the water was low, and the bank on the other side of the ditch wasn’t too high.
“Careful,” Fred said. “The ground is really soft.”
I looked down at where I was about to step and thought it doesn’t look that soft. It looks kind of sandy, actually… and stepped.
I sank in mud that came up to within about two inches of the top of my boot. Unable to do anything else, I brought my other foot down, and it did the same. The suction on my boots was so hard I couldn’t lift either of my feet up. I flailed around and looked helplessly at the bank from whence I’d stepped.
“Well,” Fred said BECAUSE HE REALLY IS THE HELPFUL SORT, “You’ve gone that far, you might as well go forward!”
“I CAN’T!” I bellowed.
Fred skittered back and forth behind me, trying to find a place to cross. I pulled as hard with my right leg as I could, and then I lost my balance and fell forward onto my knees. My purse and the bottle of water I was holding fell into the mud. From behind me, I could hear MY ASSHOLE HUSBAND as he LAUGHED AND LAUGHED AND LAUGHED.
“Goddamn,” I said.
“Jesus fuck,” I said.
“JESUS GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCK,” I said.
Fred giggled helplessly. Which somehow did not help. I picked up my purse and the bottle of water and heaved them over the bank in front of me. Then I reached up to the bank in front of me and yanked my right leg as hard as I possibly could – so hard that my thigh aches today – and then I did the same with my left leg, and I crawled through the mud on my hands and knees until I was over the bank.
At some point Fred skipped gaily across the ditch, and when I picked up my purse and water bottle and stomped toward the house, he followed behind, gasping for air.
“Some day,” he promised between high-pitched giggles. “You’ll see the humor in this!”
“FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING FUCK,” I snapped, left my purse and water bottle on the side steps, and then went into the back yard to wash the mud off my boots and scrape as much mud off my jeans and coat before I tossed them into the washer.
I’m still waiting to see the humor in that situation. HASN’T HAPPENED YET.
(Note that you can not only see the truck and the random men standing around supervising, but also my car (the red one) and Fred’s (the blue one) in the church parking lot.)
Since I was home all day yesterday and couldn’t go anywhere even if I wanted to (which, really, I didn’t given the rain and the crappy, cloudy, overcast day), I decided to do some baking. First I made a batch of Cooking Light Chocolate Chip Cookies – BEST chocolate chip cookies ever, I swear – and then I happened to glance in the fridge and saw the container of ricotta I’d bought last month. I checked the date on it and since it was expiring in May I figured – y’know – better use that baby up before it goes bad! So I made a batch of Lemon Ricotta Cookies, which are SO good. This time around I only glazed half the cookies, because I personally think they’re way better without the glaze. Just the slightest bit of a lemon taste to them. I also made them a lot smaller this time around, too.
Then – because we decided that sandwiches made with leftover pork roast from Sunday (I really think we’ll be eating roast pork for at least two more meals – luckily it’s tasty!) would be good, I put all the ingredients for a loaf of whole wheat bread in the bread machine. And THEN, because I had buttermilk in the fridge taking up space, I decided to go ahead and make Buttermilk Honey Bread.
Everything came out just right (though the loaf of whole wheat bread came out a lot smaller than I expected, but then realized I’d followed the directions for a 1 1/2-pound loaf rather than the 2-pound loaf. Dur.). The Honey Buttermilk bread came out tasty, but I’ll be honest – I think I prefer the Amish White bread Aimee linked to.
The funny thing is that after all that baking, I wasn’t interested in eating any of it.
Fred thinks Beulah is ugly. I think he should just shaddup – how could a wee little kitten who likes to sit on my knee and look judgmentally at her siblings as they go bouncing by be ugly? DOES NOT COMPUTE.
Okay, clearly I have a particular fondness for Beulah, but let me tell you about Ezra.
Ezra is just the sweetest little guy. He loves to bounce around and fight with his brothers and sisters and he has a LOT of energy (an energetic kitten, go figure!), but when it’s time for snuggling and going to sleep, Ezra doesn’t hesitate. He climbs up into my lap and looks up at me, and then he jumps up, grabs onto the front of my shirt, and pulls himself up so that he’s right under my chin. If I don’t immediately put my hand under him, he has the saddest meow, like I’m breaking his heart, how oh HOW could I just let him hang there like that?! When I do put my hand under him, he lets go of my shirt, and he lays there and purrs and purrs and purrs.
(He also likes to be kissed, but don’t tell his brothers or they’ll mock him mercilessly.)
Sometimes he decides actually it’s NOT time to snuggle and take a nap, in fact he has gotten his second wind. So he climbs up onto my shoulder and surveys his kingdom, and then he slowly lets himself back down to the floor by backing down the back of my shirt.
And off he bounces, to expend some of that energy!
Previously 2008: However, I don’t subscribe to the “only pick it up if it’s heads up!” theory of thought.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry. 2005: There’s a saying that men make plans and god laughs.
2004: No entry. 2003: Won’t be happening in my lifetime, thanks.
2002: No entry. 2001: I get the weirdest freakin’ referrals to my site.
2000: No entry.
So Fred mentioned in one of his recent entries that we’d decided to put together a purebred flock – Black Copper Marans – to raise in the old chicken yard. He ordered eggs from two different places, and one of the shipments came in two days, but the other one was shipped in Georgia and … Continue reading “3/31/09”
So Fred mentioned in one of his recent entries that we’d decided to put together a purebred flock – Black Copper Marans – to raise in the old chicken yard. He ordered eggs from two different places, and one of the shipments came in two days, but the other one was shipped in Georgia and went to freakin’ NEW JERSEY before it finally ended up here, a week after it had been mailed out.
Good thing she shipped them Priority, isn’t it? I guess Parcel Post would have taken a month.
We put the first batch of eggs in the incubator (I have the hardest time coming up with the word “incubator” – my mind always serves up “humidifier” instead for some reason) as soon as we got them, and since the second batch of eggs arrived five days later than the first, we put them in the incubator, but had to order a second incubator (as eggs reach time to hatch, they have different humidity requirements) to put the second batch of eggs in when it was time for the first batch to begin hatching.
Several days after the second batch of eggs were placed in the incubator, Fred candled them (ie, held a bright light up to each egg to see if there was anything growing in them). He reported to me that of the 40 eggs in the incubator, it looked like only one – possibly two – had any growth.
He informed me that chicks raised singly are “weird” and “warped.” We began brainstorming about what to do. We dithered for a few days. He called around to various hatcheries. He offered that we could get a batch of chicks from one of the hatcheries to arrive the day before hatching (on the first batch) was to begin, and then they could all be raised together.
Once he’d offered up the idea, I pushed him to do it. Who wants a chick who’s “weird” and “warped”?
(Yes, I heard you say “Fred does. He married you, didn’t he? LOL!” Shaddup.)
So Fred ordered a batch of what I call the “Shit no one else wants” special. Basically, we’d get a mish-mash of chicks that hadn’t been sold in a batch to someone else. After the chicks were ordered, Fred went and candled the eggs again.
Suddenly we potentially have 20 eggs hatching, but some of the “membranes are loose and weird.” (I am declaring this goddamn chicken thing to be right the fuck out of control. This time next week, depending on how many of the Marans hatch, we could have 150 chickens. JESUS CHRIST.)
We got 26 chicks from the hatchery this morning. They’re awfully cute, and we got some interesting looking ones. I expect there’ll be more roosters than hens (even though they’re supposed to be “straight run”, ie – “you get what we grab.”).
And tomorrow the hatching begins. Maybe. Or maybe nothing will hatch at all.
I find that this whole ordering-eggs-through-the-mail is really not my sort of thing. I can’t handle the stress – will they get here in a timely manner? Will they have been run through an X-Ray, thus potentially causing deformed chicks? Will any of them be fertile?
I’ve suggested to Fred that if we get less than 10 from the eggs, we cut our losses, add them to the General Chicken Population of the Back Forty, and make a purebred flock of Buff Orpingtons. If we get more than 10, we’ll go ahead with the Marans flock.
I bet you never knew life with chickens could be this fascinating, did you?
I started off the day angry and annoyed yesterday, actually. I had a dental appointment at 8, an appointment that’s been scheduled and written on the calendar for about a month. But then Fred informed me on Sunday that the chicks might arrive, and when they arrive the post office always calls pretty early, and though I suggested that Fred go into work late and deal with the chicks himself, that didn’t happen.
Naturally, TEN MINUTES before I needed to be on the road driving to the dentist’s office, Fred called to report that the post office had called and I needed to go get the goddamn chicks. I swore a blue streak during my drive to the post office (it’s really close, so I had to swear fast!), I got the box o’ pissed-off-sounding chicks, and drove them home. Fred had set up the brooder in the garage on Sunday, so all I had to do was take each chick out of the box, dip its beak in the water, and then set it free in the brooder.
Except I had to LEAVE RIGHT NOW or risk being late for my appointment. I called Fred and asked, in an exasperated manner, if the beaks needed to be dipped RIGHT NOW or if I could wait ’til later. Exasperated by my exasperation, he said it could wait.
I made it to my appointment about three minutes late (according to the clock on my cell phone. The clock in my car said I was ten minutes late. None of the clocks in my life are in accordance with each other.). I was there to have a filling replaced in a tooth on the top in the front of my mouth, which meant they had to numb up my lip, and part of my nose went numb as well.
It’s not a pleasant sensation.
That went pretty quickly, and I was out of there by 8:45. Since our litter reserves were hitting critical levels (I only had two 40-pound buckets of litter, and one 25-pound bucket of litter left – not NEARLY enough!), I went to Sam’s.
Did you feel the earth shake yesterday? I’m sorry about that. For the first time EVER, I went into Sam’s with a list (kitty litter and an entrance mat), and left (duh duh DUH!) WITH ONLY THE THINGS ON MY LIST.
Oh, don’t get me wrong – I eyeballed the yoga pants, and I stared longingly at the underwear, and I considered the 300-pound bag of M&Ms, but I walked out with just the litter and the mat, and had to call Fred and report how awesome I am, because I’m pretty sure that has never ever ever happened before in the history of me.
Fred was distinctly underwhelmed. HE JUST DOES NOT UNDERSTAND.
Naturally, since my numbed-up lip made it hard to talk clearly, the cashier struck up a conversation with me. OF COURSE.
I left Sam’s and stopped at Wal-mart on the way home to pick up dog food and a few grocery items (I’m pleased to see that the price of milk had dropped to a reasonable level), and OF COURSE on my way out the door the women working at the door had to strike up a conversation with me. She wanted to know what kind of dogs I had, and how big they were. And did I mention the numb lip making it hard to speak clearly? I could see on her face that every time I said something, it took her brain several long seconds to decipher what I’d said.
I stopped at the bank, and then headed home.
At home, I unloaded the car, then went out to the garage and proceeded to dip the beaks of the new chickens into water – well. Actually, first I had to ask Fred where he’d put the rocks that we put in the bottom of the waterer. Little chickens are tiny and stupid and prone to fall over asleep where they stand, and it is no fun to find a drowned baby chicken, believe you me. So Fred didn’t know where he’d left the rocks, so I was wandering all over hell and creation before he decided that maybe he’d left them over by the wood shed after he cleaned them off a few weeks ago.
I found them, put the rocks in the bottom of the waterer, dipped the beaks of the new chickens, and then left the garage and almost had a heart attack when I found someone waiting in the driveway. It was a guy who regularly buys eggs from us, stopping to see if we had any. (I am coming to decide that the only real service the “Fresh eggs – $2.00” sign provides is to bring in new customers. People who’ve bought from us before stop by regularly to buy again. I find that the more often it happens, the less it bothers me, actually.
(And at this point, the money we make from the eggs we sell pretty much pays for the chicken feed and scratch. They’re paying their own way, bless their hard-working little hearts.)
The baby chicks taken care of, I went over to the blue chicken coop to check on the other little chickens. Fred wrote about this yesterday, Charlie is recuperating (reCOOPerating, HA HA!) in the blue coop amongst the smaller chickens, and also the white silkie went broody, so we moved her into that coop (and some eggs for her to hatch. I DON’T THINK WE HAVE ENOUGH CHICKENS.) as well because we’re a little leery of the dogs around baby chickens.
When I went into the coop to check on Charlie, she was in a nest box, and she was laying on her side with her head bent at an odd angle, and I panicked.
“Chuck!” I said. I went over and touched her, and she started flailing around. “Chuckles, buddy, what’s going on?” I said. She honestly looked like she was dying. I picked her up and set her on her feet, and she fell over again and began flailing. I finally picked her up and put her on the floor of the coop and she sat there and blinked and looked around, both her wings trembling, and then walked over to the food and began eating. I decided that since there wasn’t much straw in the nest box, she’d slumped over onto her side in her sleep, and then since she didn’t have the use of both her wings, she couldn’t get back up.
Later, I saw that she’d left the coop and was out in the little yard with the little chickens. When I went over to toss some scratch she said “Hey, lady, I would like to get back into the coop, but as I have twisted-up toes and cannot use my injured wing to balance myself, what happens is that I begin walking up the ramp, lose my balance, and go tumbling off the ramp. Look! Let me demonstrate that for you! Don’t you feel like a cruel and abusive chicken owner?”
So I helped poor crippled Charlie back into the coop. When Fred got home, he filled up the nest box with straw, so that hopefully she won’t go falling onto her side and flail around and scare me (because it’s all about ME, duh).
Yesterday I dragged a Cat-It water fountain out of storage. I’ve had it for a while (I got it for free – earned it with Fresh Step Paw Points! They don’t seem to offer the water fountains anymore, though.) and the last few days I’ve been trying to decide what to do about the water bowl situation in the kitten room. I have two big bowls filled with water in there, but they’re awfully high and heavy and it’s a pain to always have to fill them (and I kind of worry that the water level will get too low when I’m not paying attention and a kitten will have to lean over the bowl and end up falling in and god knows kittens are not the most coordinated little beasts). I used to have a lot of smaller bowls, but I think I tossed them in the great “Oh my god, I have TOO MUCH STUFF IN THIS HOUSE!” purging of 2008.
Anyway, when I got the Cat-It last year, I set it up in the front room for my cats and they completely ignored it – it appears they prefer the Petmate fountain in the bathroom upstairs, or the Drinkwell fountain in the laundry room. (Actually, a couple of them just prefer their water, unmoving, in a bowl. SO unadventurous.) So I put it in storage and forgot about it until recently.
Yesterday, I filled it up and took it into the kitten room, and plugged it in. I half-expected there to be a stampede of kittens to the new exciting thing in the room, but they completely ignored it for about half an hour. Eventually, Phinneas went over to check it out, he sniffed at it, and then he REARED UP ON HIS BACK LEGS AND DANCED AWAY FROM IT.
Oh, if I’d only had the camera with me. And turned on. And pointed at him.
Ah well – I can live with missing the photo opportunity, since I was snuggling kittens at the time.
This morning, I saw at least two kittens drinking out of the fountain, so apparently overnight they had a meeting and decided that the water fountain was A-OK.
“Madame, quite frankly I am appalled that you would take such liberties with me. Did I indicate that a belleh rub would be welcome? I did not.”
Previously 2008: Shea Butters would be an excellent stripper name.
2007: No entry. 2006: It was so friggin’ cute I made Fred listen to it, too. 2005: I have my finger on the pulse of pop culture, apparently. 2004: A day in the life. 2003: What makes me crazy.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry. 2000: Okay, enough of the wallowing.
You’d think after having a day of FAIL on Thursday that Friday would be so very much better. It started off better, I got out of the house bright and early to take the recycling (which had been piled high for days, but taking the recycling to the recycling center is BORING, so I put … Continue reading “3/30/09”
You’d think after having a day of FAIL on Thursday that Friday would be so very much better. It started off better, I got out of the house bright and early to take the recycling (which had been piled high for days, but taking the recycling to the recycling center is BORING, so I put it off for several days past the point where any civilized human being would have loaded up the car and gotten it done). On my way down the road I called Fred on my cell phone to ask if he needed anything at the grocery store. Since I was going to be in town anyway, I figured I’d stop at the grocery store.
Oh, FINE. That’s a LIE. I was going to town BECAUSE I wanted to go to the grocery store to buy powdered sugar to make cupcakes (well, the powdered sugar was for the frosting), and figured since I was going to town anyway, I’d take the recycling back. If I hadn’t needed powdered sugar, I’d be typing this to you from atop a fifteen-foot tower of cat food cans, I’m sure.
Anyway, when I called Fred he told me that he’d called Dish N3twork and found that they could come out to set up our new service on Saturday, and this meant that we needed to get the Dir3ctTV DVR cleared off because as of midnight, our Dir3ctTV service would be cut off.
So I dropped off the recycling and then went to the grocery store, and I was standing the checkout line when the lady who was bagging the groceries for the person ahead of me seemed to recognize me. She looked at me several times and smiled at me, and she didn’t look familiar. I’m guessing either she’s a reader, she remembers me from the article in the local newspaper (the one about Flappy McGee (GODRESTHERTASTYSOUL) laying an egg inside an egg) last year, or we had a conversation at some point in the past that I’m totally blanking on. Who knows?
I ran home, went and spent some time with the kittens, and then headed for the living room with purpose. I knew I had an episode of Lost to watch, a couple of episodes of Jon & Kate Plus Eight, and an episode of Brothers & Sisters as well. I put on my slippers – which were laying near the couch, which I point out only because it’ll be important in a minute – and sat down to watch TV. Then I thought “Oh! I need to go take my lunch out of the freezer so it’ll thaw before lunch time!”
I did that, and I walked back into the living room, and I glanced down at the floor between the two ottomans (ottomen?), and I said “Huh. The floor is.. wet? What the hell?” I got down on my hands and knees to investigate, and quickly became aware that it wasn’t water. IT WASN’T WATER AT ALL.
Goddamn motherfucking cats. And the part where the cat – or cats – had peed was exactly where my slippers had been laying. I took off my slippers and sniffed them, and sure enough, the far-too-familiar odor was there.
I went and got the bottle of Cat Odor Off (which I use alternately with Stink-Free these days) and some cleaning rags, and I cleaned up the goddamn cat pee, and I saturated the rug near that area, and I tossed my slippers in the washer. And then I decided that since I had the spray and the cleaning rags out, I’d go check out the far corner of the room to see if anyone had peed there. I don’t know why, and I don’t know who (though of course I have my suspicions), but in the corner of the front room where the stairs that Fred built are located (there’s a platform at the top of the stairs for a cat bed), someone regularly sprays. I went over to check it out, and there were a few drops on the floor. So I wiped them up and I stood up and decided I still smelled cat pee.
A few weeks ago, on my one day of productivity, when I got out the sewing machine and sewed a few beds for the cats, I sewed a bed to go on the top of the stairs. And because I knew that someone likes to spray over there regularly, I got all smarty-pants, and on the inside of that cat bed, I sewed a piece of shower curtain. My idea was that the shower curtain would catch any cat urine that was left on the cat bed, which would protect the platform.
So on Friday, I picked up that bed, and apparently the piece of shower curtain worked REALLY well, because when I picked up the goddamn bed, a gallon of cat pee when pouring out all over the goddamn motherfucking place. And such is my life, my soaked-in-cat-pee life, that I didn’t even have a temper tantrum. I just shot a strong look of loathing at the nearest cat, and I began cleaning.
In the end, I had to scrub down that whole area of the room, and then strip off my clothes and toss them in the washer.
And then finally I sat my ass down in front of the TV and I watched Jon & Kate Plus Eight and Lost, and about ten minutes of Brothers & Sisters before deciding I wasn’t in the mood for those goddamn Walkers, and then I deleted Castle (which I’d been taping but hadn’t watched) and a million episodes of Oprah, and then I went out and hung out with the kittens for a long, long time.
At some point in there I went into the kitchen and made a batch of Sugar Cupcakes, the recipe for which I’d ripped out of a magazine. During the making of the cupcakes, I made two crucial mistakes.
First, I lined the muffin (cupcake) tins with silicon liners. Second, I followed the directions to a T and used almond extract.
When Fred got home from work, I made the frosting for the cupcakes and he frosted them, and then he went to eat one of them. Which is when we discovered that those silicon liners don’t pull away from the cupcake, like, at ALL. So half the fucking cupcake stuck to the liner, and then he took a bite of the cupcake and Princess Fred doesn’t care for almond flavored things. Like, at all.
(I was apparently supposed to magically KNOW of his dislike of almond flavoring, but somehow I managed to not add this tidbit to my Super Important Fred Database, so I DIDN’T FUCKING KNOW.)
So he had a small temper tantrum, and as my belief is that you should respond to an uprising by nuking the village, I had a SUPER temper tantrum and told him I was never baking anything for him again EVER DO YOU HEAR ME YOU GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKER?!
(I’m not sure that two days before your wife’s period is due is really the time to get pissy with her.)
And so the pigs got themselves quite the treat that night, let me tell you. I could handle the almond flavoring (I am not a pretty pretty princess with delicate tastes), but the fact that the bottom half of the cupcakes stuck to the silicon liners got all over my nerves.
(Also, I’m not crazy about cream cheese icing.)
So that was Friday. Friday = FAIL.
Saturday was quite a bit better, actually. I boxed the kittens up into carriers and spent half an hour vacuuming their room, changing out litter boxes, and wiping down various surfaces. I spent lots of time with the kittens, vacuumed the house, painted the spots on the ceiling I’d primed earlier in the week.
Mid-morning, Fred ran over to the post office which is literally less than 200 yards from our house. He had some eggs to mail, and before he left he reminded me that he had the “eggs for sale” sign up.
“Try to hold off the hordes!” he joked. It’s always his job to deal with the public when it comes to selling eggs, whether they be for eating or for hatching, and I give him a hard time if there’s even the slightest possibility that I might have to talk to a stranger about the price of our eggs.
He’d been gone for MAYBE a minute and a half, and I was sitting in front of my computer when I heard a sound in the driveway. I looked out, and there was a man waving to get my attention.
He wanted to buy eggs, of course. We had a discussion about the price of eggs – or rather, I guess he knew how much the eggs were (it’s on the sign), but he wasn’t sure how many eggs you’d get for $2. I told him it was $2 for a dozen, but he didn’t understand “dozen”, so I rephrased it as being $2 for 12, and he asked for 24.
(The majority of people who buy eggs from us are primarily Spanish speakers with a bit of English thrown in, and it kind of makes me want to take a course in elementary Spanish so I can better communicate with them.)
He took the eggs and paid, and as he was walking back to his truck, Fred pulled into the driveway and grinned at me, because what are the chances he’d leave for three minutes and someone would come buy eggs?
Later in the morning, I made a batch of Sugar Cupcakes, this time with lemon instead of almond, and with buttercream frosting instead of cream cheese. They came out good and they were tasty, but I think Fred liked them more than I did, and in the end the pigs got about half of them.
Saturday afternoon I was hanging out in the kitten room, and Beulah climbed up in my arms and went to sleep, and then Ezra and Elijah did, and I had the other four in my lap, sound asleep. And I wished like hell that Fred would come upstairs with a camera, and so I started sending very strong thought waves at him to COME UPSTAIRS VERY QUIETLY WITH THE CAMERA AND TAKE A PICTURE OF THIS THE CUTE WILL KILL YOU, and I thought this many times and as hard as I could think it, but that bastard just sat downstairs, oblivious to the thoughts that were being aimed at him. Hmph.
(Seriously, it was so cute you would have died.)
Sunday I put an eight-pound pork roast in the oven. This was a roast we’d gotten off our very first pig and we hadn’t eaten because it was so fucking HUGE, and finally I said “Let’s just cook this up and eat it so I can free up some freezer space!” I had no idea how long it was going to take to cook, but I put it in at 8:00 at 275º F, and it took about 5 hours to cook.
We had it last night for dinner with baked squash and green beans, and it was nice to have another meal comprised of things we’d grown ourselves.
And we’ll be eating roast pork for the rest of the week, I expect.
Sunday afternoon I was hanging out in the kitten room, and all the kittens were racing around except for Beulah, who was perched on my leg. I picked her up and laid down on my side, and she settled in to take a nap, and then suddenly from all points of the room kittens ran over and climbed on top of me, so I rolled onto my back, and all the kittens except Phinneas took a nap on me. I dozed for a little while, waking occasionally to protect my nose from a kitten butt invasion (they REALLY like to try to sit on my nose, I swear to god. It must be warm.)
I also sent more strong thought waves at Fred to come upstairs with the camera, but again – nada. Hmph.
And that was the weekend. It started out with a day of FAIL and ended with good food and purring kittens.
I weighed the kittens yesterday. At the large end there’s Phinneas, who weighed in at a pound and 7 ounces. On the petite end, there’s Beulah who only gained an ounce in the last week, and now weighs a whopping 9.5 ounces.
When I fretted about her weight, Fred pointed out that she’d gained 1/12th 12% of her body weight. And then I thought about it some more and decided that she acts just like a healthy kitten, she’s just tiny. So I’m not going to worry about it.
The other kittens were all right around 1 pound 2 – 3 ounces.
Elijah and Beulah battle it out for the title of Supreme Ruler of the Kittehs. (Beulah won. She’s tiny, but she’s scrappy!)
Previously
2008: No entry. 2007: Love you! Mean it! 2006: I am absolutely the last person on Earth you want in the vicinity if there’s an emergency. 2005: Questions answered. 2004: I am absolutely stunned that… I frankly couldn’t give less of a shit.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry. 2001: I have to wonder, what the hell do all you skinny people do? 2000: Yes, this is a lame, short entry, but since y’all love me, you’ll be back. Right?
Donna says: My friend is trying to get me to take her kitty (she lives outside the city and strays are always having kittens in their garage… She’s kept 3 but can’t keep more!) I can’t have more than the two I have. I KNOW you have readers in the Calgary, Alberta Canada area…. Who … Continue reading “Attention: Calgary, Alberta, Canada readers!”
My friend is trying to get me to take her kitty (she lives outside the city and strays are always having kittens in their garage… She’s kept 3 but can’t keep more!) I can’t have more than the two I have. I KNOW you have readers in the Calgary, Alberta Canada area…. Who wants a kitty???
Lisa says:
She is adorable, Sarah is her name-a vixen and a diva but incredibly smart. Pass this picture on…I can’t keep her in the basement that much longer!!!
Yesterday was one of those days. First, it rained really hard all night, so the back forty was half under water – there was even water up under the chicken coop, and I don’t think that’s happened before. Fred called from work to ask me to put my boots on – my tall ones, the … Continue reading “3/27/09”
Yesterday was one of those days.
First, it rained really hard all night, so the back forty was half under water – there was even water up under the chicken coop, and I don’t think that’s happened before. Fred called from work to ask me to put my boots on – my tall ones, the ones I’d just packed away last weekend – and slog out to turn the lower part of the electric fence off. Since the lower wires were completely submerged, it wasn’t working, so needed to be turned off. I did that, and then stood and watched George and Gracie racing around through the water. Those dogs certainly do like to get wet. The water in one part of the back forty was deep enough for them to swim in, I think, and they were wading around, chest-high, drinking the water and barking at things I could not see.
(That they drink the water just grosses me out. That seems like a recipe for a walloping case of dysentery. Gah. Yeah, I know they’re dogs and it’s what they do, but still. GROSS.)
Then I came inside and began collaring up the cats so they could go outside. It was raining and except for Tommy they don’t like to run around in the rain, but they like to have the OPTION of going out and sitting in the rain, so I let them do whatever the hell they want.
I got Kara, Tommy, and Mister Boogers collared up, but I couldn’t find Sugarbutt anywhere. I thought perhaps he’d slipped into Fred’s room when Fred came out to get ready for work, so I ran upstairs and looked. No Sugarbutt. I looked in all his usual hangouts, I looked under the couches, and still – no Sugarbutt. I began to wonder if Fred had mistaken Sugarbutt for Newt and let him out the side door. I looked out the side door – no Sugarbutt.
Finally, I went out into the back yard where the other cats were wandering around (the rain had momentarily stopped), and Sugarbutt was sitting on the air conditioning unit. Somehow, he’d waited ’til I was looking elsewhere and slipped past me out the door.
I approached him to put his collar on, and he knew exactly what I was trying to do. He did a big jump off the air conditioning unit and ran across the yard in great big leaps, bellowing “FREEEEEEDOOOOOOOM!” the entire way. I chased him over to the patio, then got smart and hid the collar behind my back.
“Hey, Suggie,” I said, super-casual. “How’s it going?”
He completely forgot that I was trying to take his freedom away, and came over for an ear scratch. I started to bring the collar around to put on him, he caught a glimpse of it, and off he raced again. In the end, after a couple of circuits around the back yard, he ran into the house and I lured him back into the laundry room by dumping more cat food into one of the bowls. He heard the telltale sound of OMG! FRESH FOOD!, came running, bellied up to the bowl, and I snapped his collar on.
Things calmed down for a while ’til Fred called and told me that he’d ordered some posts and wood that would be delivered momentarily, and then I hung up the phone and glanced over into the small chicken yard. Fred combined the two younger batches of chickens – the seven born at the beginning of February, and the 34 born at the beginning of this month – last weekend. They’re in the blue coop, and he made a small yard to the side of the coop so they can come outside if they want to, or come out and go back in. Apparently a few of the little chickens had figured out how to get out of the little yard, and were wandering around making their “I am lost and scared, how do I get home?” noise.
I went out and spent half an hour trying to catch the two little brats, caught one of them, but couldn’t catch the other to save my life. I came inside and called Fred to bitch at him about it, said I hoped the little shithead got caught and eaten by a hawk, and then I glanced out the window to find anarchy.
However those two had gotten out of the little yard, another ten or so had gotten out the same way, and were wandering around. I swore, hung up the phone, and went out to corral them back into their little yard. One particularly stubborn little bastard went hauling ass away from the coop, but apparently had time for a leisurely stop to pick up a worm before he began running from me again.
I got all the little chickens put back in their yard and was just bending down to check under the coop to see if there were any other escapees, when the guy showed up to deliver the wood and concrete Fred had ordered.
(He’s making a shade-type structure to go on the front of the chicken coop so that the dogs and chickens will have a place to hang out when it’s raining and can stay relatively dry.)
So I stood around while the guy unloaded everything and talked about his daughter’s blue heelers (these are dogs, I assume) and how we have a little of everything, animal-wise, how his parents are talking about getting chickens (his mother doesn’t like chickens, but his father really wants some), how his mother trades a guy at a grocery store a pound of shelled pecans for 12 dozen eggs, how his parents went to some store that was going out of business and bought all their meat, and had to get two deep freezes to keep all the meat, how his father shot off his mouth and now his mother won’t cook for him ’cause he doesn’t appreciate her. And so forth.
He left, and I went to rescue the other escapees. It took some doing, but I finally got the little brats back into their yard, and then I went and found scraps of wood to block up the gaps where they were escaping.
After a morning like that, is it any wonder I spent the afternoon napping on the floor of the foster kitten room with a bunch of purring little kittens?
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Boiled okra??? *cringe* How would one make boiled okra that would make it appetizing? I imagine the sliminess factor would be wayyy off the charts.
I have no idea on earth how to make boiled okra that is appetizing – as far as I’m concerned, it’s a nasty, slimy mess, but Fred eats it (and he insists on growing WAY too much of it), so I’ll boil that shit up for him and eat something else as a vegetable for that meal.
I do like oven-fried (or fried) okra, and I like it stir-fried in our vegetable medley, but I won’t eat it boiled. Blech.
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A couple of years ago I was on a jury with a woman who was a retired doctor. I thought she seemed a little young to have retired (she looked to be in her early 50’s) so I nosily inquired why. She said that when she first started practicing she was told that to make a decent living she would need to see 8-10 patients a day. Once HMO’s came into play and also when medical malpractice insurance costs skyrocketed, by the end of her practicing days she needed to see 32 patients a day to make a living and she felt the quality of care she could give patients was diminished. HUGE difference and a really interesting insight on why the doctor is always hustling around like their a@@ is on fire.
Good god – Fred’s doctor is open from 8 to 4 (and they’re closed for an hour and a half in the middle of the day). I can’t imagine trying to cram 32 patients into that time frame!
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My aunt was walking her dog a few years back when a woman walking toward her stopped her and said, “That dog is so ugly, it’s almost cute!” My very quick-witted aunt promptly replied, “I bet that’s what people say about you.”
HA! I wish I was quick-witted like that. I come up with some pretty good comebacks – two days later. ::sigh::
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About the yogurt cure – I don’t get the yeasties often, but they’re pesky when they show up. And the OTC products? Give me hives. Good times. Anyway, yogurt really does work, and it’s quite easy to freeze: take a pair of thin latex gloves. Stuff each finger full o’unflavored yogurt. Freeze. When needed, you can chop off a finger, and you’ve got you a nice cold cootch-sicle (and the cold helps with that fabulous burning, itching).
and
As for the yeast infection, I started taking an acidophilus capsule (live yogurt cultures) daily and have never had a yeast infection since. My gynecologist recommended the acidophilus. Bonus it not only keeps your cooch bacteria in balance it also keeps the balance of good and bad bacteria in your belly and intestines.
I swear to god, my readers know absolutely everything! Thanks for the insight, you guys. 🙂
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If you cut the lotion bottle, is there only enough for one use or does it dry up before you can use it all??
I usually get several more uses out of the lotion left in the bottle – I use a sandwich bag over the top of the half bottle so the lotion won’t dry up.
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finally got a chance to read the penny pincher story. Why do I feel like I live on a different planet than the commenters in the story? I have always used coupons but don’t buy just to use a coupon, I have a thingy that squeezes the toothpaste out of the tube, I use generic products after a trial run to make sure the product is good, buy things on sale usually. Anyway, you would think I lived on a compound with my husband and six of his other wives. No wonder we are in trouble if these basic cost saving things are considered awe inspiring and ground breaking. I have not tried the vinegar fabric softener yet. Does it leave any type of fragrance/odor. I am VERY sensitive to fragrance/odor.
Yeah, I love that steps we take that just make sense to us are viewed by some people as “Wow! That is SO FRUGAL!” Ask Fred – frugal is NOT my middle name.
The vinegar doesn’t leave any odor at all – it evaporates as your laundry dries, and you can’t smell it at all, I promise!
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Have you tried those water hog type of rugs/mats? I’ve heard they are really great at trapping dirt/water and are indestructible. I don’t have any personal knowledge, though.
I haven’t tried a water hog mat, actually – I can’t tell by looking at a picture of them whether they can be vacuumed, and that’s my number one requirement, that it be vacuum-able. The mat we originally had by the back door couldn’t be vacuumed (well, it could, but all the stuff wouldn’t come up because the mat was deep and prone to hold on to the crap that got tracked across it) and it drove me nuts.
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I would like to see your grown up cats all lined up in a row like that! Think they’d go for it? No hissing, smacking, or eating off of each other’s plates?!
I don’t see that happening in this lifetime, no. Kara tends to get so excited at snack time that she runs around and growls at everyone and smacks them, and Spanky will run away if anyone gets too close to him, and Mister Boogers is just generally an asshole. Getting a picture like that might be my new goal, though – I’d certainly like to be able to!
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shout out for pet lovers- does anyone know where to find the milkbone line of dog toys? my jack russell’s birthday party is wednesday and i need to find a replacement for his favorite toy that he has thoroughly destroyed!
although my life is boring, i have a new blog. be sure to visit and enter for a free ipod!
and
Lisa, I see the Milkbone toys at Walgreens here in Texas.
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I echo the cuteness of the kitteh pics. And I totally agree, Best Ever pic of MizPoo. Totally notecard worthy even (hint hint)…will there be an assortment of And3rson Kitteh Notecards in your future? I carefully rationed out my Tubby Christmas cards last year because my supply of 3 packs was running low; I saw you still had them so I will probably get more in the future. But general notecards with kittehs are always appreciated around here as my best friend is the CrazyCatLady and I’d love some to write to her on. *Just another hint hint*
I’ve considered trying to put together an assortment of notecards featuring some of my favorite cat pictures (our cats, and fosters as well), but never really got to the point of looking around for a place to do it. I don’t believe it’s cost effective to do it on CafePress, but that’s something I might try to put together in the future. 🙂
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I’ve only seen that lol cat as this one, but it also made me laugh:
I knew I’d seen that picture before. It cracks me UP.
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I just created a blog for the first time. I really want it to be a place to rant and rave. I know you’ve had some issues when people “discovered” you. I am mostly worried because there is no way to keep it a secret from my husband. Yet, I know I will want to rant and rave about him. Is there a way you and Fred have dealt with this, or should I just suck it up and come to terms that I won’t be able to freely express my thoughts without him possibly seeing it. In other words, should I just leave him out of it? Also, do you have any other advice? I have changed all names to protect the innocent.
If you’re going to write about someone and you don’t want them to find it, you’re going to want to do it in a place where you can control access – you can have that as a separate section of your site, or on another site altogether. If you have it out in the open, you can change names and locations all you’d like, but I guarantee someone’s going to find it (I seem to recall Sundry being discovered by a member of her family who searched on the name of a drink and managed to stumble across her, and it wasn’t pretty), and they’re likely going to make sure whoever you’re ranting and raving about sees it, too. People are super-helpful that way, I’ve found.
There are sites where you can password protect what you write – wordpress, diaryland (I think) – or you can set it up so that people have to “friend” you to see what you’ve written – LiveJournal and OpenDiary.
As far as what Fred and I do, well – when I feel the need to rant and rave about Fred, I do it to his face most of the time and he generally takes it well. He probably has a web site somewhere – mywifeisaravingbitch.com, perhaps – that I know nothing about.
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Did you try surfthechannel.com I think they have every show on tv!
I checked it out – they actually didn’t have much of a selection when it comes to the Real Housewives, sadly.
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I’m with you on not giving up Bravo. I’m not the biggest fan of the NY housewives but there’s a new series coming out in May. It’s the real housewives of New Jersey. It originates in two towns very near where my husband grew up. He will LOVE identifying all the places. The cast are related 2 sisters married to 2 brothers and a sister-in-law. Nepotism is big here so it fits. I’ve considered giving up HBO/Showtime/Starz as well. There are alot of channels w/o them. Can’t go cheapest though too much good stuff on higher channels.
We discovered that if we switch from Dir3ctTv to Dish N3twork, we can save about $25 a month and still get Bravo – so we’re gonna switch!
And I can’t wait to see the NJ Housewives, I’m sure it’ll be something to see! It sure looks like Bravo’s trying to capitalize on the popularity of the housewives, aren’t they? Another year or two, we’ll have 52 weeks of housewives!
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I’m pretty sure (but I’m too damned lazy to check) that hulu.com has the housewives. NBC owns Bravo and hulu, so it should be there. Maybe a few weeks later, but there.
Are you suggesting that I should WAIT to view my crappy reality shows? The very IDEA! (Heh.) Actually, I still haven’t watched this week’s show yet – that’s my plan for later today.
Yeah, they have the housewives, but it looks like I’ll get to keep my Bravo TV anyway – yay!
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Is it my imagination or has Kara TOTALLY pudged-up since coming to Crooked Acres?!
SHE HAS NOT. She just has a very round face. I swear to god, she’s not portly at all. She might appear to be portly, but she’s not.
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My husband and I were debating. Do you think this is the last season of Big Love? It wrapped up awfully nice.
That’s an excellent question – it didn’t occur to me while I was watching the show, but now that you mention it, I don’t think there are any questions left unanswered by the season finale. It kind of had an air of finality to it, didn’t it?
I have to say that Chloe Sevigny managed to make me feel sorry for Nicki this season, something I never would have suspected she could do. And the scenes with Nicki and Albie were surprising to me – they were both completely different people, open and honest and comfortable with each other, as opposed to how they usually are – guarded and suspicious and untrusting.
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I think the white silkie looks like a muppet. An especially beautiful muppet.
I can absolutely see that!
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Could you please get a good picture of a fat kitten belly – you know right after they eat and are comatose. I just need a fat kitten belly to look and dream about petting. It will stop me from running and getting a new kitten. My little condo and bed are full with 3 lazy cats, but they are so big. Their fat bellies aren’t as fun to pet as kitten bellies.
There you go! It’s not especially big and round, though. I’ll have to work on getting a shot of Phinneas’s gut; I swear he’s got a little basketball tucked away in there.
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Canz we hearz Miz Poo keening?
I haven’t been able to catch her with the Flip Video, but I have a movie of her from a few years ago when we lived in Madison. Crank the sound way up and stab yourself through the eardrum with something sharp to get the full effect.
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I love the kittens’ round eyes. will they stay that colour do you think?
Probably not – kittens’ eyes start out the deepest, prettiest blue, and gradually turn to their permanent color, usually shades of green or gray. Their eyes have already started changing, and it’ll be a few weeks, I think, before we really know what color eyes they’ll end up with.
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Um, I am sensing that Beulah may be an AndersOn kitty soon. I want to be on the record early with this observation. Just sayin’
Oh, god. Please don’t say that – then I’ve got to say “Of course not, we already have too many cats, lol!” and then immediately adopt three cats. This time next year we’ll probably have 19 of them, and the year after that we’ll be living in the chicken coop and the chickens and cats will be living in the house. All 300 of each.
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Beulah, conveniently located so that when the ball comes around the track, she’ll be there to greet it.
Stinkerbelle gives her man Tommy a look o’ lurve. (Yes, this angle makes her look portly. She’s not. It’s just a bad angle!)
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Previously 2008: I suppose that’s what I get for not having a job, ain’t it? 2007: I think you can imagine how very fucking thrilled I was. 2006: It’s a little-known fact that the butt is the tenderest and most flavorful part of the cashew.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry. 2003: I’d have to have a mind before I lost it, wouldn’t I? 2002: Luckily, I’ve perfected the mental art of putting my hands over my ears and humming very loudly should my mind ever try to wander in that direction. 2001: While we were on the way to the movie store this afternoon, she turned to me and said “For my birthday” which is in October, by the way, “Can I get another kind of pet?” 2000: Since then, Fred and I, predictably, have referred to smoking pot – when seen in movies – as “Smoking the wheat.”
So, the word on my iPod is that it didn’t need a new LCD screen – it needed a new battery. I got an email from the place letting me know that the battery needed to be replaced, so I responded with “Can I authorize that via email? Go ahead and do it, and let … Continue reading “3/26/09”
So, the word on my iPod is that it didn’t need a new LCD screen – it needed a new battery. I got an email from the place letting me know that the battery needed to be replaced, so I responded with “Can I authorize that via email? Go ahead and do it, and let me know how much it’ll be.”
And then they told me that actually it costs less to replace the battery than it would be to replace the screen, and they owe me $9 for the difference.
That rocks! They’re going to test it to make sure it’s working right, and then send it back to me. I can’t wait – I’m missing the hell out of my iPod, because I usually listen to it when I’m cleaning or vacuuming or cooking, and listening to the radio just isn’t the same.
Thanks, you guys, for your MP3-player suggestions. I’m going to save your suggestions for the inevitable time in the future when my iPod craps out for real. I suspect the new battery will buy me six months or a year, but eventually the damn thing is just going to die and I’ll have to replace it.
I have nothing else to report – except that we got a shitload of rain yesterday, the back forty is half-flooded, and the dogs are practically swimming around the outside of the back forty – so for you, a meme! Stolen, I believe, from Ms. Darkstar, who stole it from Mr. POSSLQ, who stole it from someone else and so forth.
1. Did you date someone from your school? My first boyfriend was from my school, actually. He was the only one from my school that I dated.
2. Did you marry someone from your high school? I did not.
3. Did you car pool to school? I carpooled for a little while with my then-boyfriend my Junior year, but after that I either rode the bus or drove.
4. What kind of car did you have? A Chevette. I loved that car. I wish they still made them, I’d dearly love to have one.
5. What kind of car do you have now? A Suzuki Reno. Meh.
6. Its Friday night…where are you now? Watching TV ’til 8:30 or 9, spending time with the kittens, and then going to bed. Well – Fred goes to bed, I usually stay up and read for a while longer.
7. It is Friday night…where were you then? Probably working.
8. What kind of job did you have in high school? My first job, I worked as a carhop at a drive-in restaurant. Then I moved on up in the world and began working at McDonald’s. I worked there my Junior and Senior year. In the summer between my Junior and Senior years, I worked in a kitchen on an island (Malden Island) where a bunch of people from Massachusetts owned homes. I think I was too young and stupid to truly appreciate that job.
9. What kind of job do you do now? I am the High Priestess of Litter Box Scooping, Pig Treat Making, and Kitten Butt Wiping.
10. Were you a party animal? I was not.
11. Were you considered a flirt? Not in the slightest.
12. Were you in band, orchestra, or choir? None of those – and the world breathes a sigh of relief, because I have no rhythm or singing ability at all.
13. Were you a nerd? Not at all.
14. Did you get suspended from school? Nope.
15. Can you sing the fight song? I don’t think I ever knew what the fight song was. Did we have a fight song? Surely we did.
16. Who was/were your favorite teacher? Mr. Hall.
17. Where did you sit during lunch? Either with friends, in the library (the librarian would let me stay there even though the library was technically closed during my lunch period), or out in my car.
18. What was your school’s full name? Lisb0n High School.
19. Where did you party the most? Uh… nothing comes to mind. I didn’t really “party”, if by “party” you mean “get drunk” or “get high.” I hung out at friends’ houses a lot.
20. What was your school mascot? A greyhound? Maybe? The teams were called the Lisb0n Greyhounds, so surely they had someone in a greyhound costume? Fuck if I know. I never went to the games.
21. Would you do it again? Do… what? Go through high school again? Fuck no.
22. Did you have fun at Prom? I s’pose. Junior Prom, I went with a boy I had a crush on (I asked him) and Senior Prom I went with a friend (ditto). Prom is overrated, I think.
23. Do you still talk to the person you went to Prom with? Nope, neither of them. I have no clue where either of them even are, these days.
24. Are you planning on going to your next reunion? Nope. Haven’t gone to any of them yet, why would I start now?
25. Do you still talk to people from school? On Facebook, a few times.
26. What are/were your school’s colors? Uh. Black? White? Maybe red? I don’t remember.
Honest to god, I’m equally terrified that I’m going to step on Beulah the runt (she likes to follow me around the room as I scoop litter boxes and pick stuff up) or squeeze her to death because she’s so cute.
Previously 2008: It took me a few weeks, but I finally finished The Washingtonienne and today I am announcing that bitchypoo.com, in conjunction with vituperation.com, is awarding The Washingtonienne the title of The Most Vapid Book of This Century. 2007: I was filled with a black hatred for the goddamn lights and my goddamn husband and every goddamn thing that ever was.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry. 2004: Another reason I love the man: he makes me laugh every day. 2003: I’ll tell you what, he’s lucky I didn’t go get the cleaver and chop that fucking finger right the fuck off. 2002: My mind is blank… 2001: It’s just the little things that get to me, y’know? 2000: Married people! Having sex in the middle of the day! What IS this world coming to?
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