Blog Archives

Oct19

Wine sucks

Posted on by
Standard

I have to write something! I’m sitting here, just goofing around fingerpainting instead of putting words on paper. Um. Pixels on pixels? Just what the hell is it called when you write digitally, anyway? We need new clichés.

I actually do use paper on occasion. Mostly to make a quick note to remind me of something funny, or a good turn of phrase I want to keep, something I want to Google later, or a date of importance. I have a crap memory. I blame it on all those drugs I did in the 60’s. Drugs, at least, would explain why I cannot keep to a single topic in a paragraph. Bad writing? Probably. Do I give a shit? Obviously not. This blog is me upending my cerebellum and splashing around in the puddle.

How many topics did I fit in there? I could have kept going.

Right, notes. I have four from last night, two from conversations with iDJ and two from the KIBIS meeting. One of the ones from my beloved relates to wine, and I have a photo to share, so without further ado, let’s talk about wine!

It sucks.

Okay! The ‘meeting’ was great craic of course. I’m glad we are making an effort to have a get-together regularly. Lawsy me, I do need a social life. We mostly talk about our pets, because we are all animal people and all have at least two fur-persons in our respective homes. Our representative from Italy (hereafter Mrs MMC) currently has way, way more than two, in two countries and at least three houses. Wow! Loads of stories, and despite English not being her first language, she can really tell a funny tale. But I can’t share them, because I wasn’t taking notes. Well, except for those two times I mentioned…

Mrs MMC and I share our homes with menfolk, along with the other animals. We have picked menfolk who are particularly good at letting animals manipulate them. If one of their cats miaows at her hubby he panics, trying to figure out what kitty wants: Do you want me to make you a sausage? Some take out? A curry?

My other note was about when they are at his parents’ house. Now, they feed a lot of local strays, and there are a lot of strays. Mrs MMC catches and has them vet checked and sterilised at her own expense, by the way. Thank you! Anyhow, there are always a rake of kitties outside on the back patio. When the parents aren’t home, Mr & Mrs MMC leave the door wide open and let the furry masses troop in and out as they please.

Right, maybe you had to be there.

Back to wine. Here’s iDJ’s temporary workstation last evening:

20111019-203410.jpg

Yes, my Halloween decor is over the top. Feic off. I love Halloween.

Please note he has the essentials: Plastic Halloween wine glass, Mac laptop, and a box-o-wine, all ready to hand. Blargh! Even if I could stand wine, I cannot imagine boxed wine decanted into plastic tastes good. Yes, dear, I know we’re broke (that is for when he reads this and gives out to me for making fun of cheapo wine in a cardboard bottle).

Ugh! Just now: I needed to check the internal temperature on my pork roast. I’m not allowed to bend over cuz of the bad back, so I got on my knees in front of the oven (I’m tall, this put me eye level with the meat thermometer). iDJ starts in right away about how he never sees me on my knees anymore. Like, as in prayer (we are atheist). I told him I was praying to the pork, then wished I never, ever, said that.

Back to wine. See, I hate it so much I can’t even be arsed to keep writing about it for 10 minutes! M’man was giving me stick about not liking wine, and pulled out his old standard, “One of these days. I’ll keep working on you.” This got him a glare of rage and a rant about how, at my age, I fucking well know what I like, and no amount of different colours or flavors of wine was ever going to convince me that wine is palatable.

He kept at me, and I finally shut him up by threatening him with the words that have been uttered many a time since blogs were invented – just not said by me.

“Don’t make me blog about this!”

Oct18

Miss Mildred Fierce has been Brushed!

Posted on by
Standard

Hi! I have a KIBIS “meeting” shortly, so no time for a long post today. However! I have, for your perusal, Miss Mildred Fierce!

20111018-192132.jpg

This gorgeous gal is someone I’ve never met, but she always has a kind word for everyone – unless you are a greedy government pig, then: Watch Out! She’s super smart and has more style and class than a room full of Siamese cats.

Oct17

NSFW

Posted on by
Standard

It seems tonight is a cat night.

I have photographic evidence of my boys, in flagrante delicto. Bad Cats, no one wants to see that!

So I’m gonna show it to you 🙂

20111017-212540.jpg

Poor Lokii, he just wants a nap. But noooOOOooo.

20111017-212902.jpg

Can gay cats use the ‘not tonight, I have a headache’ excuse? I feel bad for him, this isn’t his idea. But from the look on his little face, he doesn’t have a clue what is going on. Poor gormless kitty.

20111017-212733.jpg

Hey! Yes, YOU! You are sooo busted.

Oct17

Kitty ears warp space and time

Posted on by
Standard

iDJ never spent a lot of time with cats until I descended upon him from Americay with a Bengal. I also brought a big dog, and a big snake. But this is about cats.

I, on the other hand, have been around cats my whole life. My mom had a Siamese before she had kids. We picked up other cats over the years from family, friends, and the streets, but there was always a Meezer. I do a damn fine impression of a pissed-off cat, and I can read their body language as if they were talking. As Socks would say, I speak Cat.

One day, shortly after we were all settled in, iDJ turned to me and asked, “What’s that noise?”

“I didn’t hear anything. What did it sound like?”

“I don’t know. Kind of a flapping noise, maybe?”

As the sound wasn’t repeated, we forgot about it until a few days later.

“There it is again! What is that?”

“I got no clue, hon, I didn’t hear a thing.”

A few more days pass, and we are settled on the couch watching TV. Spot (the cat) gets up from my lap, stretches, and shakes himself.

iDJ jumps, startled. “That’s it! That’s the noise! Spotty made that noise!”

I stare at him blankly, then it hits me and I fall over laughing: cat ears. Cat ears make a very distinctive flappity-flappity noise when a cat shakes his head. I’d gotten so used to it, I didn’t even hear it anymore.

Of course, now that I do hear it again (sometimes) I always try to mimic the sound, so’s my man knows I heard it. That, and I really like doing sound effects. I sound like a 5-year-old boy playing with toy airplanes when I swoop anything through the air, because I cannot do any swooping without making a ‘swoosh’ noise.

A few days ago, iDJ walks into the room and tells me this: “Cats’ ears cause a rift in the space-time continuum whenever they shake their heads,” and he walks out.

Perhaps he had beer on board; in fact I’m sure of it, but I’m blaming this entirely on the fact that we are working our way though the Star Trek: the Next Generation box set.

Oct17

Bird has been Brushed!

Posted on by
Standard

Hi! I have another friend to introduce you to! This is Bird:

20111017-202121.jpg

She’s going through a patch so rough, she’s got cactus spines stuck in her jeans. I hoped I could cheer her up a bit, and apparently it worked!

On the technical side, I learned a lot with this one. I really like the new way I did hair, and using color to outline the lips and face instead of just black really worked.

Thank you for modelling for me!

Oct16

Spottie-Cat has been Brushed!

Posted on by
Standard

My project for the evening, Spot done in finger paints:

20111016-224319.jpg

I’m not thrilled. It appears that I’m pretty good at eyes. Those are definitely his eyes, I can see what he’s thinking. But the rest… I need more practice.

Oct16

The summer that wasn’t

Posted on by
Standard

2011 had the summer that wasn’t. It was nice in March and April, but by May it had all gone to shit. Cold, rain, high winds, no sunshine.

This was a triple bummer for me. First because I had told my dad to visit in May as that is usually our best month, even better than June-August. Was I wrong!

Second, because I am a sunshine addict and there isn’t much I like better than sitting or lying in the sun, reading or doing a stupid puzzle book.

Third is because one of the things I do like better than lazing in the sun is growing things.

When the year started out so well, I jumped right into starting seeds. I’d much rather start with a microscopic seed and care for it than buy something already started. I’m broke, duh, and a hundred count of seeds costs what two plants would cost. It is also an endless source of wonder for me that something so very tiny and dry can turn into a big plant, with nothing more than dirt, water, sun and a weekly fertiliser.

I’m also a pack rat, and keep seeds for years, and even decades, longer than I should.

Since I started so early, I figured I’d have a clear out of my seed cache and plant some of the really old ones. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

Oldest ones I had were from…1987. No, I’m not kidding. They were baby’s breath, and didn’t germinate. I wasn’t terribly surprised. I had them so long because I’m not a big fan of baby’s breath, and I have issues throwing things away – especially potentially living things. Oh well.

The next oldest were 9 or 10 years old. Back then, I had a house and a garden. I grew a lot of stuff, and saved the seeds from one crop to start the next year’s crop, which never happened as I didn’t have a place to grow things again until 2005. I’ve already used a lot of the cache over the years since I moved here. But, I still had: dill, oregano, columbine, pumpkins, miniature pumpkins, several kinds of ornamental gourds, and an envelope marked ‘butternut squash?’

The dill, columbine, and oregano were too old. I knew that, but dumped em all in dirt and hoped. Oh well.

The different varieties of gourds were another story. Some of them had dried mold on them, meaning I let the original fruit get a bit ooky before I took the seeds out. The mini pumpkins were in the original packet dated 1999. I didn’t think any of them had a chance, so I crammed them into seed trays, more seed than dirt.

And left them alone, as you do, in my little Aldi greenhouse, watering occasionally.

Well, the little bastards had tons of life left in them! I think the only ones that never grew were the large pumpkins. Everything else, wow! Dozens and dozens of plants!

Which was not good, because I have very limited space. But, I planted them out in containers, only for most of them to die in May when it got cold. But, still, I had plenty – and more shoots every day!

Until my little greenhouse blew over in the wind, dumping ALL of the seeds and seedlings into the grass. Oh, hell, now I had no idea what gourd was what.

After the clean up, they all were dubbed ‘mystery gourds’ and it became a bit more fun to watch them grow, and a bit more sad when they didn’t survive.

Then they bloomed, and some set fruit, but most of the fruit died on the vine. I should probably research why, but it probably would be a chemical cure and I’m not keen on those. Nor do I have money to spend on ‘free’ plants.

It’s now October, and I do still have a few vines alive. I’d brought most of them indoors last month when a hurricane was due to blow through, to save them from the winds. I didn’t take them back outside, because of my bad back, and all the indoor ones died. Still about half a dozen outside, though they no longer bloom.

The ones I brought in contained my entire crop, four whole gourds. One rotted, so I composted it. Here’s the rest, just in time for Halloween decorations:

20111016-190557.jpg

The tea light is there for scale. What a let down!

Oct15

How the hell old am I, again?

Posted on by
Standard

I’ve not been sleeping that well lately, and it seems just about everything and anything will wake me up: the wind, my bad back, the sound of a Bad Cat chewing up a dog’s toy downstairs.

This isn’t normal for me. It might take some time for me to fall asleep in bed, but once I’m out, I’m out. Thunderstorms, garbage trucks, insane neighbours shouting right outside my house at 3 am – I sleep through all of these things. I never wake up when iDJ comes to bed after me. I probably have conversations with him, but I am not awake.

(I have a lifetime history of talking in my sleep. When my sis and I shared a bedroom I got out of bed and lay down on the floor one night. She asked me what was wrong. I told her that the sums were bothering me. She asked what ‘sums’ were. I told her that a sum is the sound a unicorn makes. She told me to go back to bed, and I did. Of course, this is all hearsay, I don’t remember this. But now you know what sound a unicorn makes. Apparently they like math.)

I’m particularly annoyed because Bad Cat has started eating the new Carrot dog toy. The toy honks, but he’s not honking it at 5am. Just eating it. I have no idea how I can hear that in my sleep from upstairs, but I can.

(Either of my boys can be Bad Cat. In this case, it’s the Siamese. He eats fabric and dog kibble, the other one eats plants and plastic. Sigh.)

One night I tried sleeping in the spare room, because the bedroom windows were making funny noises (probably noises quite similar to a cat eating a dog toy that is as big as he is), and iDJ was still up and on my couch.

I tossed and turned for hours, and finally was well and truly asleep – for a bit. I woke up, and it was quiet, and warm, and comfortable – until I turned over and extreme pain shot through my face.

I had a massive zit on my cheek. It was talking to me, in an Irish accent. Let me illustrate:

20111015-215419.jpg

It hurt enough to wake me all the way up and keep me awake, thinking. Thinking things like, ‘I’m bloody 40, when is this shit going to stop!?!? Why am I having more skin issues now than I did as a teenager? What the hell is wrong with me? Skin is too dry to not use face cream, but too zitty to allow me use it without a break out… aauggh!’

Ok, I confess. This entire post was thought of right there and then, at 5:30 in the morning, with very little sleep, and it turns out to be nothing but a long-winded excuse to draw a picture. I never, ever, said that the things I think about at ‘oh-dark-thirty’ are logical, or funny. I got nuthin, here.

But look! I drew a picture of a zit on my face saying ‘how’rya!’

Oct14

Auntie E’s Socks update

Posted on by
Standard

Yay, it’s Hangover Friday, which nearly always follows Oirish Tirsday!

Obviously I’m not going to recount every minute of the several hours Socks and I spent on the phone. But, this is where I’m chronicling my view of Socks’ journey into motherhood, so off we go!

First off, just for you, Socks – ask him!

I’ve not laughed so much or so hard on the phone with my girl for a while, for obvious reasons. But this time I nearly peed myself, and I had to take notes. They don’t make much sense, now, but I’m not pregnant and so can drink all the rum n Pepsi I want. At least I can read my own handwriting for a change.

So! Socks hasn’t been to the obstetrician yet. They want her to wait until she’s a bit further along, and will listen for a heartbeat and do an ultrasound then. This is scheduled for next Thurs, so waiting for the next phone date will be stressful for me. Do I need to say that it is much more stressful for her? At this point, the positive pregnancy results are all from home based pregnancy tests.

A lot of them.

Because she’s been peeing on a stick every damn morning for a week, just for something to do! Just to see the line get darker every day. I find this hilarious. My mental-picture-generator is in overdrive with this one. I see the garbage can in her potty overflowing with empty boxes and used tests. I also wonder if she’s saving them? How tempting, for someone like me who saves sentimental stuff. How horrifying, for someone like her hubby, Bear, who had to ask her to move the DRY pee-test from the side of the bathroom sink as it was freaking him out.

Wow, is he in for a wake up call! What if it’s a boy, and has the skillz to pee straight up, into daddy’s eye, during a diaper change? Ok, don’t even tell Bear that this is quite possible.

My other good note is a direct quote, “I love my life, and I want to fuck up every aspect of it.” it would take too long to explain the context, but I love that sentiment so much.

She’s also got some loot from family and friends: a high chair and crib, both too old to be sold due to modern health and safety laws. Still okay to be gifted, though, and the numerous babies who survived these dangerous, well-loved and well-made, wooden items can attest that they aren’t bits of furniture that are actively out to murder babies. We also agree that anyone stupid enough to let a baby’s arm or leg get trapped in the bars of a fold-down crib railing probably shouldn’t be procreating in the first place. I think it’s great she’s got heirloom items that will suit her style, personality and height (sorry, had to!) so well.

We’re also trying not to worry about the fact she isn’t barfing yet. Apparently, you only start doing the morning technicolor yawn after so many weeks of being preggers. But, as she says, she’s a pukey person. Hey, I didn’t say that, she did! Anyhow, being prone to yarking in general, and not yarking yet, is slightly concerning. Not everyone barfs, but it seems her family all did. The female ones. When they were pregnant. I felt the need to clarify that because my mental picture factory is playing again: everyone gathered round the table for a holiday feast, each with a bucket-in festive colors!-by their side. Oops, grandad lost his dentures, better get the tongs!

Well, if Socks wasn’t puking before, she probably is now.

Sorry, grandad.