Egg says, "Dude"

I posted another short video at Egg's blog. That one contains some priceless Egg faces of merriment. I cannot adequately explain how much it tickles me when Egg says, Dude. He calls all the cats Dude, and I am torn between teaching him that they are cats and just going with it. He doesn't have to learn their names, they're not as important as Dude, after all.

*Make sure to read the previous post and enter mah giveaway!*

Odds And Rectums

I took Reina to the vet yesterday to get her annual vaccinations. I had assumed that it would be a quickie in-and-out type of thing, other than requesting that they notate their records: DO NOT STARTLE. I'm sure I've discussed it before, somewhere around here in the last year but fuck me if I love you enough to look for it. (That's why I am starting to work on the labels in the sidebar-ease of searching for a particular topic.) So! Reina Teh Crazy, Do Not Startle. She hyper-focuses on things (I don't know what the actual term is but you get the idea) and blots out the whole world. During this period of time she is easily startled by anything. If you should happen to be dumb enough to touch her, you will bleed. She freaks the fuck out, whirls around and CLAWS EVERYWHERE. Next thing you know, there is blood and it is yours.  Hence the notation on her vet record.

Before the vet administers the vaccines, he asks if I would like to space them apart and just do one shot this visit. Really? We're doing this on animals now? Seriously? On my husband's fucked up crazy assed cat? I'm going to bring her in three times for shots because she'll....become autistic? Not feel good? Do animals have that problem? If so, I think she already is fucked up as much as she is going to get. I am not trying to make light of autism, vaccines, etc. I just can't believe people are spacing vaccines for CATS. The animals that freak the fuck out every time they have to go to the vet. It seems more humane just to do it all at once. Also, I do not like to bleed and vet trips sometimes equal Sam bloodshed.

Dude. Excessive talk about Reina. Sorry about that. I also seem to have petered out my ability to blog right now, so that's all you get. Next up, the things I missed today: Cloth diapering. Cloth napkins. Awesome care packages from Swistle. Postcrossing. And less!

ETA: Yes, there is a link with a picture of carnage. I suppose I do love you.

Neighborhood Peeping Tom

My neighborhood has a Peeping Tom. His name is Rex Roofer. He looks like this:



Sometimes he bites my leg when his owner is out of town. Other times he purrs nicely when I scratch him. But every day he peeps in my motherfucking window. It's my special kitty cat window. And he peeps in it. It pisses off Reina.



Reina and Dude enjoy sitting on Chicken's old chair in front of the window and surveying their lands. Rex Roofer likes to watch Reina. She wigs the fuck out and claws at the window. Sometimes, Reina gets so into her rage that she gets startled easily. When Reina gets startled, she turns into a deadly barrage of sharpened claws.



And I bleed.

Restless

Every time that Chicken goes to visit his father for more than a week I get restless. You see, although he is 12 and fairly self-sufficient Chicken is high maintenance. He needs to interact with me as much as humanly possible. I get that he is an extrovert, it is just plain bad luck that I am an introvert. I love people but I need down time. I joked to someone the other day that when TB was down in my vag area cutting Egg's cord he should have cut Chicken's as well. My Lord the kid can talk. And talk. And...talk.

While Egg has his own demands on my time, he doesn't require actual two-way conversation as of yet. This means that my brain has extra energy that I use to think thoughts of the thoughtful sort. I want to update my blog template and I want to do more with my writing. Not in the advertising, money-making way, just in the more sense. I can't articulate at this point very well. For example, although I tell myself that I don't censor what I say beyond not talking shit about (most) people I really do watch what I say. I try not to gush about Egg too much, I don't talk about really personal stuff too often because of certain real-life readers, and the list goes on and on and does not end with a preposition.

One would think that I could talk about Egg on his blog, but there I feel the constrains of having TB's conservative Christian Arkansas grandmother reading every word. How does one write without an occasional fucking cunt-faced whore sprinkled into the mix? I suppose the shit-ton of writing that I did in college was absent foul language, but I'm fairly sure that the writing was not as intriguing. *sigh* The goal I have in my head for the moment is to start writing here again like I am writing for myself and my dear bloggy readers that love me no matter what tumbles out of my brain. I'm weird, random and foul. I like myself that way. You will, too.

I want to post more pictures here, too. I really enjoy taking them and I want to share them with you. Everyone loves a cat picture, right?


I don't know what you call this pose at home (if you have cats), but we call it bread. As in, "Look, Chicken, Reina is bread!" I truly lead a life that is a thrill a minute.

Dinner Time Motherfuckers!

I really enjoy cooking and baking. Stop laughing. Please. Those of you that know me are well aware of the amount I cook and bake. Which is almost never. But I have a very good excuse. At the end of the day, the amount of energy I tend to have (zero) plus the amount of pain I am in (much) means that standing in the kitchen is not on my list of fun things to do. Before the fibro kicked in I used to cook EVERY day. Like a real housewife. Now TB is the cook 95% of the time, Chicken and I share the remaining 5%. I hate it, because cooking can be so much fun! I would bake goodies more often, as it doesn't require as much standing and stirring but then I would eat it all and become very fat.

This is all a very long-winded way of saying that I cooked dinner tonight and I want to share in the goodness with you. I have been inspired by a few bloggers that have recently posted recipes, namely Swistle, Calliope, and The New Girl. Matthew brought home this recipe from Rachel Ray's cooking magazine and made it for us last week before he flew off to Virginia. It is from the $10 Spot section, where you can make dinner for a family of four for ten dollars or less. My version cost $15 because I made a few changes.

The recipe is Pasta with Roasted Cauliflower and Ham. I'm not going to post the recipe because you can operate the innernets, right? Okay then. You can click on any of the images to get a super-size version. Because I love you.

Changes:
I used three small heads of cauliflower, almost a pound of ham, almost double the sage, and gluten free pasta. The sage I used is organic, but that is only because that is all I found at Henry's. Unless I want to go to multiple stores (not when it is 100 degrees outside I don't) I have to go to a specialty store to get the gluten free pasta.






The finished product:Super yummy and maybe good for you?

Lazy Assed Blogger

Because I haven't posted this month and I'm a total fucking asshole I am posting an email exchange. Not even new, original material here at Sam's place. However, I have recently returned several emails that were months old, so there's that. And, Egg is six months old today. Can you believe that shit? I'm not sure how it happened, but I have a sitting up baby that interacts with you and plays with eats toys.

In other news, I am house sitting for someone right now. Or animal sitting? Which is the one where you have something furry squirming under your ass making a strangled mewing sound? That one. So the animal I am watching (in his home) is a cat. A terribly lovable cat that I call Rex Roofer. His first name is Rex, and to protect his anonymity I can't tell you his last name. But it isn't Roofer. So Rex Roofer is awesome. He loves me, and purrs and lets me pick him up and cuddle him. He's usually an indoor/outdoor cat, and even when he is outside he comes to me meowing and wanting love.

During this cat sitting gig he is stuck inside. This is pissing him off A LOT. I can tell this by two things: he pissed all over the kitchen rug, and he fucking attacked my left leg tonight when I tried to leave. When I say attacked, I don't mean rubbed up against me purring and meowing with a silky soft touch. I mean he ran up to my leg, grabbed it with his front paws, claws extended and into my flesh while his fucking mouth opened wide and he bit my fucking calf. With his teeth. Drawing a bit of blood in four places if you include the claw marks. Dude. It sucked. I am not wearing shorts over there again. Tomorrow I am wearing an old pair of jeans and possibly bringing Reina with me. Because that bitch hates him.
She sits at the window, waiting for him. When Rex is sighted, she runs from window to window, following him and losing her shit. One night he came up to the front door and I was dumb enough to open it. A white-hot ball of fury named Reina chased poor Rex Roofer's ass down my front walk to the grass and then I'm pretty sure she yelled, "And fucking stay off my lawn, motherfucker!" I'm not sure why she hates him so much, but she's an angry bitch that I wouldn't cross.

Now, for the email exchange that you have been anxiously awaiting for the last two minutes. Unless you're a slow reader. Then ten minutes. Whatever. The first email isn't very funny. But the second is, I promise.

Jenny,

I was reading Good Mom/Bad Mom because I read all of your writing that I can get my greedy little hands on when I noticed that you took a picture of your daughter and niece while at Rosa's. Which is AWESOME because I love Rosa's and had dinner there tonight. Except probably not at your Rosa's because I live in Southern California. You are probably saying, "Big fucking whoop" because there are about 15 Rosa's in Texas. However, there is only ONE Rosa's in California. And I eat there. My baby fucking loves their cups because of the colors and he knows that crack cocaine lives inside them. We call it Diet Coke but he knows better. I have one question for you, if you can answer (please oh please) during your *cough* free time? Okay, never mind. I am a douche canoe. But! I will pose the question and if you should choose to answer, it is up to you. But I will be dying to know the answer and the guilt just may consume you. GUILT! Here it is: Is the ice at YOUR Rosa's as wonderful as the ice at my Rosa's? Because everyone loves it.

Thank you in advance for your awesomeness,

Sam

PS If you were wondering, flexeril does make one loopy and impedes the writing process. Also, I think I should refrain from emailing while relaxed in such a manner.

---

The Response:

I actually traveled 9 hours to get to that Rosa's because I love it so
much and the ice is fucking AMAZING. It's like rabbit poop if the rabbits
were angels.

~Jenny

---

I've never connected rabbit shit to the ice at Rosa's but she got it EXACTLY right. The Bloggess is The man. Or The woman. Whatever. She's so The that she transcends gender.

Dude Naps

Breathe Holes

Dude The Cat likes to cuddle with me in bed. His idea of cuddling involves plopping himself down on my head, covering most of my face, one shoulder and preventing me from breathing. I figured that as a cat, Dude does not understand where my human breathing holes are located and is not trying to actively suffocate me. Or, he just doesn't give a fuck as long as he is comfortable. Whatever.

Today I had to get up from a nice Dude nap and pick Chicken up from school. Disgruntled, Dude sauntered over to the next best thing: a sleeping Reina Cat. As he plopped down on the bed and her head, I realized that Dude does not have an understanding of breathing holes in ANY species. Or, he just doesn't give a fuck. He did look pretty comfortable.

Eat Mor Pussy

Once upon a time I had an idea born of way too much free time and copious amounts of something or other. It was likely the fault of Chick fil-A slogan that I grew to love when I lived in Virginia: "Eat Mor Chikin". How could you not love those damn cows? When Chick-fil-A finally made its way out west I realized that even without a bun their charbroiled chicken bacon cheesy goodness of a sandwich was AWESOME. Add Sam friendly (gluten-free) fries and a gallon of sweet tea and I'll spread my er...you know what I mean. Yummy shit that there Chick-fil-A. Now, everything was fine and dandy until I thunk up an idea that involved Dude the cat. You see, Dude walks around with his tail straight the fuck up like a flag pole all day long. It cracks me up (yes, I am easily amused) because you can see him coming around the couch just by the tip of his tail poking up on the other side.

One day I decided that such a magnificent flag pole tail needed a flag. It stands to reason that the flag needed to celebrate the goodness of Chick-fil-A and the badness that is my brain. I purchased some felt and puffy sticker letters and BAM! a flag fit for a Dude. I call it "Eat Mor Pussy" because who can't get behind a slogan like that?

Please excuse what I would love to call a "baby bump" but what is more aptly referred to as a big ole belly full of baby. Also, the chair pictured is Dude's chair complete with his special towel to keep his furs off my dining set. I do not have purple chairs, people. And, do not pay any attention to the fact that Dude is eyeballing the backyard with a "fucking help me please" tone to his body language. He loves the flag. See?

You might also note that I appear to have a smaller belly button above my regular old belly button. (If you click on the picture it will get bigger.) I had my navel piercing removed a few weeks back to avoid a stretched-out, stupid looking hole. Too bad I can't avoid that fate all around, huh?

Dude

Because I am still feeling the backlash of emotion from the previous post, I figured that a picture of Young Dude would cheer everyone one (including ME!) up a little. Do I miss that 500 year old microwave? Not one bit.

PS I did not put him in there. I just ran for the camera to enable me to laugh at him later.

Fun And Games

I hate to disappoint, but my hands aren't cooperating with me today. So no posting goodness until the body is happier. I do have a treat, however. Reina the Queen Bitch Cat in a rabbit hat. I laughed until I cried and my stomach hurt. She hates me. I don't mind.

Fuck It. I Lied.

Yeah...so um well there ya have it. I thought I was going to start posting again and being functional and full of vigor and that certainly didn't happen. I'm hoping after having a decent day today, and partially decent day yesterday that I am going to feel better-ish for a while. You see, this whole global warming thing that doesn't exist and the weather is perfectly normal and la la la? My body says FUCK YOU George W. Bush, because the 90 degree one day and cold, miserable rain the next is not normal, even by California standards. The weather is fucked and therefore my body is also fucked. Not in the fun, wow there's a penis inside me way, but in the I'm still in bed way. Alone, in the middle of the afternoon, in pain. Then there's the migraines that are slamming my ass even more frequently than usual. Migraines mean I cannot blog, because I can't fucking READ the computer screen. And yes, I actually read what I write. Sometimes. So, enjoying the bitch fest yet? How about something mildly amusing? With pictures? And furry animals? Come on, you know you want it!

Here's Reina:See the line the red arrow is pointing to? That's where the great room ends and the hallway begins in our new home. It also marks the line that the dogs cannot cross. There used to be a gate at the line, but the dogs (Fred and Rusty) are now trained not to cross the line. So where does Reina like to hang out? Right at the line. Occasionally she will saunter into the great room just to prove that she IS the queen of the world. The dogs want to touch her and sniff her and lick her but are generally fucking TERRIFIED of Reina. She spits and hisses, their tails go between their legs. They are cowardly dogs. Meet Fred and Rusty:

Rusty is a Rhodesian Ridgeback and Fred is a Bernese Mountain Dog. For those of you that are not familiar with these breeds, let's just say that they are HUGE. Fred and Rusty are both just over a year old, and they probably weigh 100lbs each. Rhodesian Ridgebacks are historically lion hunters. Lions, people. And this lion hunter? Scared of Reina. Reina the fierce kitten. My favorite pastime of late has been putting Reina on the hardwood floor about six feet from the "line" on her side, and sliding her towards the line as fast as I can. Her body crosses the line and the dogs scramble for cover. It really never gets old. I'll video it one of these days and post it for your enjoyment.

Oh, and one other small bit of news? Teddy Bear and I set a date for the wedding. May 12, 2007.

Note: Anna, keep yer knickers on, I will recover from moving madness and you WILL see me. Whether you like it or not.

Stuff On MY Cat

Three months ago Chicken convinced me to send a few pictures to Stuff On My Cat. After searching weekly for months, I had just about given up hope when Heather left a comment that my Dude is a STAR!! Go look, my boy is FAMOUS! I bet Gus will totally want him now.

Re: Reina and her tossing Dude's salad

*Previous post reading is recommended for partial comprehension of the following nonsense.

Teddy Bear: She's a cat. She smelled yummy starfish and went for it.

Wii

For all you geeks out there, you might notice what Myra* the kitty is holding. Yessir, that is a Wii Remote. Too much flash = white out. Sorry.






Rayman Raving Rabbids. You must play it. I'm not a gamer, but OMG this is fun. Where else can you shoot rabbits with toilet plungers after attempting to swing a cow 60 meters? Good times.

*renamed Reina

Meow!

Update on Dude's New Friend

Here's one kitty that we won't be adopting:

From Teddy Bear:
Do you still have the kitten from your ad? I'm very interested in him
... please respond if you do.

From Moron:
yes i still have him. his fee for adoption is $100. this is so we can spay his mother and also to feed him kitten food and litter box train him. you'll have to de worm him your self. we do not believe in vaccinations. email me with your number and i'll call you from work today. i live in ***** but i'm willing to drive south if i need to.

Now, aside from the snobby part of me that is horrified at the lack of capitalization, ending a sentence in a preposition and the irresponsible separation of words (de worm? your self? WTF?) I cannot understand why the Moron needs to include litter box training as part of the adoption fee. For those of you without any cat experience, let me illustrate the complexities of potty training a cat:

Cat sees litter box.
Cat thinks "Wow! A place to go potty!"
Cat goes potty.

Now, some cats like to shit on your bed, piss on your couch and generally make a big potty fucking mess. However, this means your cat hates you or needs Prozac or has an infection. It does not mean the cat needs "training" of the monetary sort. I've never seen a cat shit in a litter box for a twenty dollar bill. They do that for the sheer joy of pooping/peeing and then covering it up with excessive scratching and clawing and digging. I'm pretty sure that cats ONLY go to the bathroom because the aftermath is so satisfying.

Now, let us quickly address the cost of feeding a kitten. Mom's milk? Free. Kitten food? Cheap.

Next, vaccinations. For one, I'm impressed that Moron spelled vaccinations correctly. Way to go! However, "we don't believe in vaccinations" may work for your child. It does not work for your cat. It means "we're irresponsible pet owners that do not spay/neuter/deworm/vaccinate our animals" but we will sell the kittens for $100 a piece when they are born. Because, fuck! The cost of kitten food and all that litter training? Wow!

Lastly, spaying the mother should have been done before she went into her first heat, dumbass. If poor mother kitty had five kittens, and they sold at $100 per cat (carry the five and multiply and add 2 for luck) we have $502 from the litter. A litter that has no shots, probably has worms, and isn't spayed or neutered. I'm guessing that $500 is going to your crack habit, buddy. People like that shouldn't breed. Humans or animals.

Needless to say, we've found a nice couple that takes in kittens and does the following:

• Spay/Neuter
• Shots
• Deworm
• Bath if needed
• Clip nails
• Love
• Feed
• Potty Train!!

They charge an adoption fee of $90 to help cover their costs. I think that's pretty fucking reasonable. We're going tomorrow night to look at the kitties. Our favorite is Myra. Isn't she adorable? I'll be sharing pictures of whichever kitty we bring home. I'm so excited I could pee myself.

Pictures...*

I'm off to my semi-annual scrapbooking retreat. Here are a few pictures for you to enjoy/mock while I am gone!

Dude hearts Gus Greeper.

*Pictures involving peoples removed.

HNT Sleep

I know I'm still guilty of infrequent blogging. However, I've been so busy doing lots of very important things that I'm sure you will all understand. I have even documented the monumental tasks that I have completed with the following picture:
*picture removed*
As you can see, not only am I out there on a daily basis teaching the masses/two people the fundamentals of financial planning, I am caring for lonely house pets all over the globe. This particular cat, whom I shall call "Dude" to protect his identity, was found roaming the house in dire need of a nap. Without my swift intervention, Dude might have fallen asleep in any number of unsavory places. Due to my undying love for animals everywhere, I took this poor creature into my bed and helped him achieve nirvana (AKA afternoon napping).

So for all you selfish bloggers out there complaining about my aforementioned lack of blogging, you should be ashamed. Where would Dude be today without my love and attention? Do you see how he softly caresses my face, a gentle "thank you" for the good deed I performed? Shame, shame on you for demanding that I neglect one of God's creatures for your blogging amusement. Oh, and have a Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday. See Osbasso for more HNT fun.