NAME ONE OF EMMY’S (future, as yet unborn) BABIES!
And here to see the spreadsheet
Aside from my main email address, I also have a second email address that consists of my first name and my second name at gmail, and there are Robyn Andersons all OVER the world who are under the impression that my email address is their email address, and they hand out that email address to, it seems, everyone they say hello to, because every so often I get an email address intended for someone who is not me but has my name. For one, someone in Australia let me know that they wouldn’t be attending Joe’s party. Which is probably a good thing, because I didn’t want to plan Joe’s party anyway, GOD.
Last Summer, I had this email exchange (I may have covered this here already, I don’t remember) :
They said: Hi, Robyn. Hey, we did SOME work on the burn pile yesterday (Sunday), but the heat was really beating us down. That, and I believe there’s more work there than meets the eye. We’ve moved some of it to the street, but we really didn’t make much of a dent. Perhaps we can discuss, again, the merits of moving the pile as opposed to burning it down and cleaning it up in the Fall.
What time would it be OK to cash the check today?
Thanks
I said: Dave, since the burn pile in my back field is still where it’s been since a tornado came through here at the end of April, I’m going to assume you’ve got the wrong email address. 🙂
He said: Wow. Sorry about that. How long have you had this e-mail address, because I could swear I used to be able to connect with MY Robyn Anderson at this address. And not everybody has a burn pile. It’s funny that you do, AND you spell your name the same way. 🙂
I said: Well, I’ve had it since 2004. Possibly there’s supposed to be a middle initial in there or something for your Robyn Anderson? I get a lot of emails meant for a lot of different Robyn Andersons, from Australia to Canada to points all over the US. There are more of us than you’d expect, I guess! 🙂
Some lady in Australia emailed to let me know that: Please find attached your service/inspection report. Should you have any queries regarding the attached please don’t hesitate to contact me.
Then yesterday, I got an email from someone with a link to online divorce in Illinois (though the email sender was emailing from Texas) and an email that consisted of There are quite a few of these. I also printed off all the information and forms you will need to proceed with the filing. C ya.
The emails have, at least, dropped off so that I maybe get a couple of them a month, so they’re not SUCH a big pain in the butt (though I did get an email to confirm a dental appointment for a Robyn Anderson elsewhere and I cancelled it OH YES I DID because I was in a bad mood at the moment and GODDAMN, really, you people don’t know your own damn email addresses?), and most of the time if it’s of a personal nature I’ll email the sender back to let them know they have the wrong email address because I’m nice like that.
I have a forwarder on that email address to forward emails to the main address that I use, or I’d only see the emails when it occurred to me to log in and check (which I never do), because at some point I thought it would be a super awesome idea to use that email address (instead of my main email address) to give to stores when I sign up for oh, whatever the fuck they call their special savings cards. You know, the ones you put on your keychain and they scan at checkout and you save like 5 cents per can of cat food or whatever (I have about 15 of those cards on my keychain, and the ONLY one I ever use is the one at Petsmart and it’s a pain in the ass to look through them all to find the Petsmart one, GRRR MY LIFE IS SO HARRRRRRRRRD), only then I forgot I was doing this (I have all these FABULOUS fucking ideas but I am too much an airhead to remember them from one minute to the next) and started giving stores my main email address, and oh. What a fucking mess.
I don’t know why I bothered with setting up the forwarder, though, all I get from that email address are emails I don’t particularly want (why does Jo-Ann Fabrics send me like 300 emails a month when I visit there almost never?), if I turned off the forwarder, I’d never have to see them.
BUT I MIGHT MISS SOMETHING IMPORTANT.
Gah.
Shut up, me.
Long story short (too late!), Illinois Robyn Anderson is getting divorced, I guess. Though I’m not sure why her friend in Texas is being so helpful. I should have asked.
I have to go for a mammogram this morning. I don’t want to, I seriously considered canceling it, but I have other errands that need to be done out in that general direction of Huntsville, and I need to just get it the hell done and over with. This will be my first mammogram where I’ll be sporting boobs that are firm and perky rather than like lemons in tube socks, so I expect that it’ll be pretty uncomfortable.
SO looking forward to it. Fun times!
Some quick TV talk:
Gossip Girl: I wish the writers would stop trying to force this stupid, loathsome COMPLETELY unbelievable story line wherein Blair has a thing for Dan. If Dan Humphries is not the most boring character on all of TV I don’t know who is. He cannot possibly pull off this scruffy artiste look he’s got going on, can’t we write him going over a mountain and dying a painful, permanent death, please?
Revenge: I’m starting to catch up, finally (watching it on my iPod), and I have two things to say: (1) Emily VanCamp (Emily Thorne) is supposed to be badass and threatening and hell-bent on vengeance, but dear, dear girl, you sweet little muffin, you are about as scary as a marauding pack of cotton balls. You make me giggle at the beginning of every show when you lisp about your father dying “an innothent man.” (2) Is there any actress in all of Hollywood more wooden than Madeleine Stowe? I think not. Oh, and bonus (3) Connor Paolo (Declan Whozits)’s fakey Massachusetts accent gets all OVER my nerves. That said, I’m enjoying the show quite a bit.
Speaking of actresses, I read somewhere (in a gossip magazine, so take it with a grain of salt) that Angelina Jolie refuses to even acknowledge the existence of George Clooney’s current girlfriend (Stacey something?), and that it doesn’t matter to George Clooney because he finds Angelina Jolie a pain in the ass and doesn’t care what she thinks. The idea that Angelina Jolie might be a pain in the ass does not surprise me one teeny tiny little bit.
Everett has gone off to Petsmart, hopefully to be adopted so fast it makes our heads spin. He howled and howled and howllllllled all the way there, and then when I put him in the cage with Lucy, he hissed at her, hissed at me, and hissed at the employee walking by on the other side of the glass.
Drama queen.
Lucy was okay; when I walked in, she meowed and ran over to the door of her cage and slithered through when I opened it to put Everett inside. She purred when I picked her up and nuzzled her behind the ear, and she was okay with going back into the cage.
Sally, on the other hand, was sitting in front of her litter box (basically, as far from the door of her cage as she could get), and wouldn’t come to me no matter how much I sweet-talked her. I finally had to take the litter box out to reach her, and then I petted her and scratched her under the chin and she purred for me, but wouldn’t come over to me, so I didn’t push it.
I worry about her – I really thought that being in a cage by herself would bring her out of her shell, but it doesn’t appear to be doing that. I hope that she calms down and relaxes a little – I hate the thought of her being there, unadopted. You can’t really blame people for not wanting to adopt a cat who won’t show the slightest bit of affection. I did put a note on her description saying that she’s scared in new situations and once she warms up she’s a total sweetheart. Hopefully someone will come along who’s willing to give her a chance.
I’d love to make her a permanent resident – I’d love to make all three of them permanent residents, really – but I’m not kidding when I say that we’re over capacity on the permanent residents. It’s tough to see them go, and I hate to see them sitting there, but I have to have faith that the right people will come along and fall in love with them.
Everett, flirting with da bird.
And getting a bit too close to Miz Poo, who was aghast.
She reached out to smack him, but he was too fast for her, and was keeping his eye on da bird.
Then he went and sat in the box.
A lot.
All day Sunday, he carried this green sparkle ball around, keening as though he’d killed something and deserved praise.
Such a cutie pie.
I have to say, I think he went off to Petsmart just in time. Yesterday morning when I came downstairs, I found him sitting in the back yard at the bottom of the steps, looking around. At eight months old, he’d finally figured out the cat door.
No babies for Emmy yet. Every time I leave the house for longer than a few minutes, I rush up to the foster room to see if she’s birthed those babies yet. She yawns at me and says “What babies?”
She is absolutely packed full of kittens, that one. You can’t tell so clearly when she’s laying in her basket or hanging out in her kennel, but yesterday she flopped down on the floor, and I could see the writhing mass of kittens moving and kicking in her belly. I spotted what was, without a doubt, a kitten foot moving across her side. It is so cool and so weird to watch (and to feel).
I can’t wait to meet those babies. ANY DAY NOW, EMMY.
“Just hanging out on my shelf. No babies here!”
(We were doing the slow-blink love-eyes at each other.)
“I am not pregnant. I am just full-figured.”
Stinkerbelle, atop her pantry. Going by the look on her face, I suspect she was looking at Tommy.
Previously
2011: Behold, I continue to live!
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: Damn those cats and their Snackin’ Time.
2007: Who knew that Hellcats enjoy ripping eyeballs from your face and then batting them around the room?
2006: Yeah, one of those days.
2005: So sue me.
2004: Always.
2003: What keeps me sane.
2002: No entry.
2001: Plants.
2000: Translation: I’m going to get a gown that will cover your fat ass.