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Thursday, March 5, 2015

Contemplations of a Fat Cat OR I am Blogging About the Cat Again

In case you're new to this blog, I'm a writer/author/storyteller who publishes independently.  I often blog about whatever strikes my fancy.  My daughter has two cats.  One is Megaroy, the moron cat, a Maine Coon mix with all of the IQ of a box of rocks.  The other one is Splotch, our adopted stray who is now an inside cat.  I often make fun of Megaroy, because I have to, and mostly because it's super easy.

Tell me.  Who wouldn't make fun of that?
I can't count how many times I've used
this picture.  He's totally asking for it.
Of course, there are others because I haz a smart phone with a cameraz.
I also haz a autosketch program where I can do
what I want with captions.  This makes for
much amusement.  (Another photo which is
well-used.  After all, it's LadderCat, with his
ears all sideways.  You know he knows I'm
making fun of him.)
And since I'm on a roll.
Yes, I took a photo of the moron cat playing in
the potty.  I couldn't help
myself.  (There was a bug fluttering around
in the water, in case you were
But now, there's Splotch.
Splotch is our rescue cat.  He was a stray we
fed for about a year until I could get him
to trust me, which was a problem for him
when I scooped him up and shoved him
in a cat carrier to take to the vet.  But
he forgave me eventually.
Splotch is what I would call well-nourished.  Since he was an outside cat, I believe that his reasoning is to eat everything because it might get swiped.  Meanwhile, Megaroy is looking on with a puzzled expression on his face and the obvious thought that went through his little pea brain, "Hey, why ya eating the whole bowl?  It's not going anywhere."  Consequently, Splotch has become fat.  16 pounds at the last vet visit.  That conversation sits on me just about as well as when I have to go to the regular doctor.

Doc: Did you know your cat is overweight?
Me: That explains the back pain I have when I pick him up.
Doc: That's not healthy for cats.  Do you give him table scraps?
Me: I eat the table scraps.
Doc: Haha.  Don't give the cat table scraps.
Me: I don't give him table scraps.  He eats his food and then he eats Megaroy's food.  I don't know why Megaroy hasn't lost weight.  (13 pounds and I got a lecture about that, too.)
Doc: We might have to put him on a kitty diet.
Me: He howls in the middle of the night.  Do you know why?
Doc: Why?
Me: The dry food bowl has run dry.

Of course, this isn't Splotch, but it looks a lot like him.
I thought I had such a fun time going to the regular doctor and discussing weight issues.  Well, it's twice as much fun discussing the cat's weight with the vet.  Why you might ask?  Because I'm getting looked at like I deliberately made the cat eat his food and Megaroy's too.

I have never owned a fat cat before.  Or dog for that matter.  Or goldfish, guppy, parakeet, etc.  We've always subscribed to the keep the-kibble-full theorem.  The animals knew it was there; they didn't stress out.  However, Splotch has food issues.  It's not an issue if he eats it all.

Here's Splotchy in his second favorite locale, enjoying
human leg warmth.  Does that look like a fat ass?
(Don't worry, I don't think he reads.)
And yes, that's an exercise ball in the background.
For some reason, the cats don't want to use it.
Here's my other issue.  If Splotch were any other cat, I would just chase him around the house every day for exercise.  Good for him, good for me.  Win/win.  Problem: he's scared of people.  He trusts me but not if I try to play with him.  It's too threatening.  I can chase Megaroy around all the live long day, and he likes it.  I chase Splotch for about a foot and he goes to hide under the bed for the rest of the day, which is good because he's not eating but bad because the poor thing is scared.
One of Splotch's favorite floor spots near the kitchen.
When Splotch runs his belly swings from
side to side.  I wonder if it hurts.
So I try to get him to play by using string or a cat toy.  I drag it around.  Splotch watches it, bats at it, then falls over, and bats it from a prone position.  I think the cat knows I won't make him work for it, which means he's about ten times smarter than Megaroy.

Consequently, we have a moron cat and a meatloaf cat.  Anyone who knows their Kliban will recognize that, but here's the cartoon for the reminder:
Now I know how to put the cat on a diet.  I have to put Megaroy's food on the table because Splotchy is too fat to jump up there.  (That's going to be a vicious cycle.  Splotchy will lose weight, jump on the table and eat Meg's food, get fat again, and then won't be able to jump on the table again.)

Okay.  Fat Woman out.

Sunday, February 8, 2015

How I Choose to Exercise the Freedom of Speech OR Really, Seriously, Really?

Recently a certain anonymous person made the following comment on one of my blogs:

This is literally the most stupid shit I've ever read. I wish I could take the 5 minutes and 20 seconds or whatever back that I just wasted of my life back. YOU pulled your calf muscle, probably because you're lazy as fuck and havent stretched it since middle school gym class.

Fat bitch complaining because she's an impatient, ignorant cunt.
This person felt compelled to share their opinion about my opinions on Pier 1 and about myself.  I now feel compelled to mention a lovely amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
Isn't free speech a lovely right to have?  Isn't it nice to be able to say what you're thinking?  Isn't it wondrous to have that freedom because you live in a country that allows you to have that freedom?  And I only bring this up because the person who just insulted me seems to be under the misinterpretation that I have to just take it, that I don't get to respond, even when the person is...da...da...dah...anonymous, a person who is too cowardly and craven to acknowledge that he or she is the author of a cold, lowbrow insult of the poorest quality.  While I detest stooping to that person's level, I can't help thinking, Haha.

Why yes.  Yes, it is.

With that in mind, I can only say a few things to Mr. or Ms. Anonymous.  Are fat bitch and impatient, ignorant cunts the very best insults you could come up with?  Were those the limits of your woefully inadequate and limited intellect?  Did your brain explode from the knowledge that you had posted a comment and told the author a "thing or two"?  Were you pleased that you were able to actually spell "impatient" correctly?

Oh, the pity I feel for you at this moment.  Allow me to bend to your stunted, impotent, wretched level of doltishness and assist you with a few undaunted insults.  Possibly you could memorize the ones that you understand, if you can get past having to look up words in the dictionary.  (I'm certain you don't own a dictionary so use one online.  Of course, if you can manage to read all of the words in a tolerable amount of time not limited by your use of your index finger pointing out each of the words, as well as moving your lips to sound them out.  (Whoops, one slipped past me.  I couldn't help it.)  In any case, here's some help for you, so that you won't look quite so stupid when you post your paltry, sad insults on the next blog that vexes your imbecilic sensibilities.

1. I was hoping for a battle of wits but you appear to be grievously unarmed and horridly indefensible.

2.  When you spoke your mind, you obviously didn't have even a bit of anything left in it.

3.  It isn't that I'm not a people person, it's that I'm not a stupid people person.

4.  I just stepped in something that was smarter than you, and it smelled better, too.

5.  Come back and post a comment when your I.Q. exceeds your age.  Or possibly your bra size.

6.  Your village just called.  They're missing an idiot.

7.  Calling you stupid is actually an insult to stupid people.

8.  It's a good bet that your brain feels very good, seeing as how you've never actually used it.

9.  Walmart called for you.  They've run out of stupid.

10.  What's on your mind?  You'll have to forgive the overstatement.

Well, I feel better now.

And for my favorite insult of all time...

I'd like to see things from your point of view, but I can't get my head that far up my ass.  Good luck getting yours out of your ass without needing to see a proctologist.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Bubba and the Ten Little Loonies is OUT!

Bubba is in the midst of wedding planning, or rather, Bubba is the midst of evading the wedding planner, when trouble comes looking for him.  David Beathard AKA The Purple Singapore Sling AKA Bad Black Dog McGee AKA a whole new improved persona is afraid something awful is happening out at the mental institute.  David desperately needs Bubba’s help, seeing as how he’s been involved in solving a murder mystery or two, or three or was it four or five?  Even while avoiding all the wedding nonsense and coddling Willodean, Bubba feels the need to support a friend, be he a loony or not.  There’s folks disappearing, murder, and mayhem at the Dogley Institute for Mental Well-Being.  Armed with Precious, his faithful Bassett hound, and Ol’ Green, his faithful Chevy truck, Bubba aims to do what he does best, and amble on through the mystery before someone goes to jail, or worse, gets themselves murdered most foully.

Book 6 of the Bubba Mystery series.

Thursday, January 8, 2015

Anatomy of a DIY Job OR The Kitchen From Heeeeellllll....

When we moved in three years ago, I knew I had to do something to the kitchen.  It had an antique microwave from the aulden times.  It had linoleum counters.  I think the only thing that had been done to it was that the floor had been tiled.  But hey, they tiled on top of tile on top of linoleum.  I don't know what they were thinking but the guy who came to replace the dishwasher (high tile on the floor in front of the old dishwasher) had plenty to say about it.  (I don't think he knew that I could hear him.)  He had to wiggle the old one out and then he mentioned something about using a jack to get the new one in.  (I believe this wasn't the first time someone had overtiled in front of a dishwasher for him.  Anyway he finally managed to install it.)
This is the before kitchen, but after we removed the sink.
Yucky linoleum countertop.
I saved on paper by using all the extra crappy
sheets I get when I print something out from
a website and it prints an extra twenty sheets,
causing a vein in my head to pop.
I should have written down the date I started just to see how long it would take.  All I remember is that I started with the island.  I did the top of the island by spraying it with hammered silver spray paint.  Then I took all the doors and hardware off the island and sanded the doors and the base.  Then I used a gel stain on it.  Originally I was supposed to do the gel stain like five times.  One looked good to me.  Then I used a rub on polyurethane on it.  Finally I put the hardware on it.  It turns out that the new hinges don't fit exactly like the old hinges.  Therefore a process involving HIM, one of my feet, two drills, and pushing until something threatened to pop and I put the hinges in a new location.

So I stared at it for a while.  I took pictures.  The old stain didn't look like it was different from the new stain in the photographs.  I didn't like the countertop.  I counted the doors that I had to remove.  I stopped counting after 40 because my head hurt.

This is the countertop spray painted with hammered silver,
which as it turned out, I didn't like.
Look, I've got lots of knives on my wall.
I chop a lot of vegetables.
Determined, I started on the cooking side of the kitchen.  I took all the doors and drawers off.  I numbered them with tape.  (Some of those doors were the same size and I wasn't going to take a chance.)  I started sanding.  I kevetched at HIM to help me sand because my shoulder started to hurt.  I taped off the counters.  I sanded some more.  I wiped.  I stained.  I poly-ed.  I did a system in the garage.  I systematically took every extra sock and rag in the entire house to use.  I finally made it though one side.  Then it took me three more days to do all the doors front and back.  Then hardware back on.  Then I had to grab HIM to help me put the doors back on and put the screws in a new location.  Finally one half was done.
This is the countertop after I decided to do weird
things with black paint and wadded up
plastic wrap.  (Officially that's called "faux."
Unofficially that's what I call "Oh, what the hell?")
I took a break for two weeks.  Then I went after the other side, which was smaller.  There were issues such as having to move the location of the new hinges on one of the doors above the refrigerator because it wouldn't butt up against the hinge from the door right next to it.  I invented new curse words.  It took me forever to do all the damn drawers and doors.  It took me forever and a half to cut the drawer pull's screws to the appropriate size because they came long and you had to just cut it where you needed.  Since I have about eighty-something pulls, not all of them were the same size.  The drawer's pulls were smaller than the doors.  The recycling drawer was also different.
This was my guinea pig island part.
We poured epoxy on it and then
used blow torches.  What fun.  After all
the cold this week I have learned
that blow torches can be used
for epoxy de-bubblifying
and unfreezing frozen faucets.
Finally, I finished the refinishing part of the kitchen and eyed the countertops with avarice.  I did not like the spray paint so I looked at faux finishes.  I found several to do and went to town with black and white paint.  Cressy insisted on helping.  I said, "What the hell," and let her.  Then we took the island into the garage and poured resin epoxy on it.  That sounds simple but involves mixing two parts together for three minutes, pouring it into another container, and mixing it for three more minutes, and then pouring it onto your top.  You also have to use something to spread it.  Then you have to use a blow torch to pop the bubbles in the epoxy.  Most important part is that you only have twenty minutes before it sets up.
Installing the kitchen sink.  Bottom left corner
is HIM, the man who has to put up with
such notions as "Let's redo the kitchen.  You
can help," and "Don't you think it would
look better if I did that instead?"  It's a sign
of undying love that he actually puts
up with it.
Supposedly you let it set up overnight for eight hours and then it needs to harden for 72 hours.  Okay, it looked good but it was gooey.  I got up in the middle of the night and it was still gooey.  In the morning after about ten hours I decided it was too damn cold in the garage and put heaters on it.  Then it set up.
There.  All done.  I know these pictures aren't in order
but the hell with it.  I forgot to take pictures
of the before and after of refinishing the cabinets.
It was then time to tape off the countertops and don't forget to put lots and lots and lots of plastic tarp on the floor.  We mixed a gallon of the resin epoxy and poured our little hearts out.  We spread and spread and used two blow torches and finally finished one side.  The next day we did the other.  Did I mention that we took out the sink and the garbage disposal for that side?  Well, HIM did that.  I watched and offered sarcastic commentary.  We went to see The Hobbit: Where 5 Armies Go to Kick Ass and Chew Bubblegum or whatever the name of it was, and then came back to pour the countertop.  That being done, HIM wanted to use the island but I was reluctant to put anything on the island since it had only been five days instead of 72 hours.  I think I was going for about ten days at that point because I couldn't figure out how it was going to work.  (Picture a fat woman with a fly swatter fending off HIM from putting anything on the countertop.)
I know this doesn't have anything to do with my DIY project but
I thought it was funny that someone tied in DIY with The Walking Dead.
I LURVE The Walking Dead.
After three days the countertops looked pretty good.  I helped put in the sink, which involved lots more sarcastic commentary.  HIM visited Home Depot no less than four times.  Home Depot people look at us weird now.  We send their children birthday cards.
Common sense DIY advice.
The new sink, new faucet, and hot water aerator were installed.  We had a sink again.  We had been using paper plates, plastic utensils, and washing everything else in the bathroom sink, which is inherently icky.
You know I don't have a nail gun...
But I have a blow torch.  Actually I have two.
I guarded the countertops until I deemed them safe to sit anything upon them, which was another couple of days before HIM slipped by my defenses.  I put the stovetop back in.
This picture doesn't do all that $%#@!!! work justice.
t looks a lot better in real life.
I have a fricking hot water aerator now.
I get instant boiling hot water.
I drink a lot of tea.  So that's good.
You'd think I was finished, but no, I wanted to paint.  I removed plug coverplates and the old curtains.  I washed and cleaned floorboards.  I discovered that I would have to cut in a lot of area because of the cabinets.  I wasn't sure if I was tall enough to do on top of the cabinets.  The ladder was tall enough.  I painted for days and days and days because the fricking paint needed three coats to cover everything up.  Sometimes it needed four coats.  HIM put in new plugs and switches.  I found and installed new switch covers.
Okay, who did all the DIY/Walking Dead memes?
I decided I wanted black, so guess what you can buy black outlets at Home Depot.  (Equal opportunity outlet provider, you know.)  Then I had to touch everything up.

I think I'm done with DIY for a few weeks.