Month: January 2004

this made me laugh really hard yesterday. Hee!

* * * I put too much perfume on this morning and now I’m sitting here with the stank rays shooting off me in every direction. I won’t be spending much time in public today – a run to the grocery store and then maybe the post office later – and thank god for that. I hate to be one of those women you can smell coming from three aisles away. I’m wearing Pleasures today, by the way. I bought a purse-sized solid version of it (it looks like a little lipstick!) when I was in Maine. I didn’t realize how concentrated it was, though, thus the stank rays. I smell good, though. Strong, but good. * * * If you didn’t read Fred’s entry from yesterday, you must go check it out now. There are some incredibly awesome pictures of the Bean. Let me point out that I’m the one who came up with the idea of pretending to yawn so that the Bean would get all yawn-y. That cat just cracks me up. * * * The spud came into the computer room the other night wanting help with a homework assignment. When Fred asked her what the assignment was, the spud seemed to enter another dimension, one where only about every third word was coming through. The child made NO sense at all. “And the thing and the teacher and the Greek gods and then the today?” she said. Fred struggled with her for a few more minutes and then turned to me. “Do you have any clue what she needs?” he asked, and I allowed as to how I was clueless. Finally, she came back downstairs with the sheet of paper detailing the assignment. “God LORD,” Fred said. “Why didn’t you just SAY that?” Please tell me that they start making more sense when they get older. * * * I was apparently under a cloud of Dumbassery this morning. I opened the back door to let the cats wander around in the yard because there were two squirrels hanging around the bird feeders, and Miz Poo, Spot, and the Bean were losing their little kitty minds. After I opened the back door, I went out into the shed and grabbed a garbage can to block the hole in the fence that Spanky went through the other day. And then I wandered off to eat breakfast. I got up every few minutes to check on them, and they were mostly wandering around by the bird feeders and paying the fence no mind. I got caught up in a conversation with Fred, finished eating my breakfast, and then went back to the door to check on them again. Spot and Spanky were sitting on the patio, but Miz Poo and the Bean were nowhere to be found. I went back into the house to see if they had gotten cold and were hanging out in the living room, but they were not in sight. I went back outside and walked around the yard, even stopping to look under the shed. Nothing. I went back in the house, checked every nook and cranny, hoping they’d been scared into the house by a particularly noisy truck or car driving by on the other side of the fence. Nada. I finally got a clue and shooed Spot and Spanky back into the house (Tubby was already in the house, hanging out at the top of the stairs) and shut the door so that they didn’t go missing as well. I grabbed a rattly toy and went back out into the yard, calling alternately for Miz Poo and the Bean (“Little kitty! Little kitty, come play!”), and looked under the shed again. Still nothing. I came back in the house, double-checked all the usual hiding places, and even checked the places they couldn’t possibly be, like under the sink and in the cabinets. I had just picked up the phone and turned it on, about to dial Fred’s phone number and cry at him about how I’d lost our favorite cats (he told me this morning that he thinks the Bean is his Miz Poo – that is, he feels about the Bean the way I feel about Miz Poo), when I heard a howling at the door. I opened it, and the Bean shot through the door, howling and chirruping the entire way. But still no Miz Poo. I checked all her hiding places for a third time and came up empty. I picked up the phone and called Fred. “I’ve lost Miz Poo!” I told him, and stepped out into the back yard. “What? Really?” he said. And then I saw a Poo-shaped cat on the other side of the fence – the BUSY ROAD side of the fence, and about ten feet down, behind the neighbor’s back yard. I ran over to the fence and called her name, and she chirped and meowed frantically at me. I walked along the fence, calling her name, and pulled the garbage can away from the gap in the fence Spanky had gone through the other day. She couldn’t even get her HEAD through the gap, let alone her body. I continued walking along the fence, calling her and looking to be sure she was following me. She did, stopping every few seconds to cringe and flatten against the ground when a car or truck drove by. Finally, we reached the other end of the yard, the part of the fence where the guy hit it with the car last September. When the fence guy came and replaced that part of the fence the following Monday, he left a gap between the bottom of the fence (or, I guess I should say, when the guy cartwheeled his car through the fence, he gouged a lot of the lawn that had been at the level of the bottom of the fence, thus causing a gap under the fence). I didn’t think Miz Poo would fit through the gap – and I didn’t know what I was going to do if she didn’t, but now that I think about that, that’s a stupid thing to worry about, because she got OUT there, didn’t she? There had to be a way for her to get back – but in that way that cats have of somehow collapsing in on themselves, she slipped through the gap, and then stopped and stared up at me, howling her fool head off. I’m such a big baby that I started getting all teary-eyed from the relief. I just KNOW that Miz Poo would never have considered going under that gap in the fence if that troublemaking bastardly Bean hadn’t done it first. Bastard. * * * My roses, a week later. Holding up well, and looking mighty gorgeous. From now on, these are my favorite flowers, Fred. And I understand Valentine’s Day is right around the corner… This is the tidal river which is next to The Muddy Rudder. This picture would have been a whole lot better if the sun had been out. I think this picture was around ’75, though I could be off by a year or three. Check out the fakey smile on my face. Even then I was perfecting the “Take the picture damnit” look. I can’t guarantee it, but I believe Randy got in trouble for – as my father claimed – blinking faster than usual so he’d be caught in a blink in the picture. He looks like he just got yelled at, doesn’t he? (That’s him on the left in the back row) And – hee! – look at Debbie, not even looking at the camera at ALL. Miz Poo on the “night vision” setting. ]]>

check it out – it’s all cat pictures, and some pretty damn good ones.

* * * Loved, loved, LOVED The Bachelorette last night. Not only do I like Meredith, but some of those guys – whoo! At the moment, my favorite is Rick, who very well could have grown up as a member of the Brady Bunch. A strong resemblance to Peter Brady, that one. And from the previews for the rest of the season, it looks like it’s going to be a gooooooood one. * * * It was warm out yesterday afternoon – around 60, I believe, whoo! – so I had the spud open the back door so the cats could explore the back yard. Thus far, the Bean hasn’t gone out into the actual yard all that much, since the feel of grass on his feet is a sensation he doesn’t care for. Yesterday, though, he ran around all over the lawn like his stumpy little tail was on fire. I went to the door to check on him at one point – I’m more than a little afraid that he’ll climb the fence, and I really and truly don’t want that to happen, because he’s just a dumb little dumbass, and he’ll either run out into the road and get his stupid ass run over, or he’ll go make an ass out of himself in one of the neighbors’ back yard, because he just has no fear – and he had started to climb the tree. “Stop that!” I yelled, running toward him and clapping my hands. “Get down from there!” I had visions of his stupid ass either climbing to the top of the tree and being unable to figure out how to get back down, or climbing up the tree and launching himself over the fence and into the busy road that runs along the other side of the fence. But he saw me and heard me yelling, and in a rare instance of good-kitty-ness, he got down and sniffed around the bottom of the tree. I came back inside to finish preparing dinner, vowing to keep an eye on that troublesome Bean. A few minutes later, I looked out the door and saw the Bean, Tubby, and Spanky sniffing around a gap in the fence. I thought it was a gap that was too small for any of them other than the Bean to get through (and I didn’t think the Bean would go that close to the fence due to the noisy traffic on the other side), but as I watched, Spanky slipped through the gap. “Hey!” I yelled, running across the yard. “Get back here!” The Bean and Tubby, scared to see The Momma running and yelling in their direction, ran away from the fence and through the open back door. Spanky’s head popped back through the gap. “Get your ass over here!” I yelled, and he slipped back through the gap and ran into the house. So I guess the back door will stay closed – despite the lovely weather – until someone gets that gap covered. Poor kitties. * * * Remember how back before Christmas break, the spud got asked out by a boy named Kelt0n? Well, it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. It appears that Kelt0n’s mother was fine with the idea of Kelt0n going out on a date with the spud, but his father didn’t think it was a good idea. I have no idea why his father didn’t think it’s a good idea – whether it’s because he thinks they’re too young, or he didn’t like the looks of the spud (“That girl looks like trouble, son!”), or because the spud is white and Kelt0n is black. Maybe Kelt0n got scared about going out with a girl and is lying about what his dad said. Who the hell knows? The spud doesn’t seem to be all that heart-broken over it; I have a suspicion that she was more excited about being asked to go out on a date than who the date was actually with. Ah well. This is just the beginning, I fear. I think that next time some boy asks the spud out on a date, I’ll just hunt him down with my rifle and shoot him like the dog all fifteen year-old boys are. (Except yours, of course.) * * * I went upstairs yesterday afternoon to vacuum the upstairs with my handy-dandy so-damn-cool Dyson vacuum, and as I approached the master bedroom, I saw Tubby laying on the end of the bed, and not two inches away from Tubby was a trail of barf down the side of the comforter, leading to a pile of barf on the floor. In front of the pile of barf was the Bean, who took advantage of the occasion to have himself a little snack. And, no. I didn’t stop him. * * * Here’s another shot of my dad when he was very very young. And this is what he looks like these days. This is what the parking lot at the mall looked like a few days before I left Maine. Crappy and slushy and wet and cold, but we shopped anyway! There’s a river that runs by the end of the street my parents live on. This picture would have come out a whole hell of a lot better if the sun had been shining, methinks. * * * Does it wuv it’s daddy? Why, yes. Yes, it does. ]]>

Deborah Knott books, by Margaret Maron. The Casey Jones series, by Katy Munger, and the Miss Julia books, by Ann B. Ross. Oh, and the Shakespeare’s books by Charlaine Harris. Oh, and looky – another not-yet-published book to add to my wishlist: the next in the Sookie Stackhouse series comes out in May. Lordy. So many books, so little time.

* * * Goodness me, poor Bryan Lamb, dickless wonder. How difficult it must be to go through life with a microscopic penis. I guess the only way to deal with such emotional pain is to steal from others and then when confronted with it, bluster and threaten. I guess he has not only a microscopic penis, but lacks the balls to do the right thing. Asshole. * * * When I was in Maine, my father burned all the pictures he’d taken in November and December to a cd for me. When I got home I was looking through them, and realized that all the pictures he took while visiting my brother Tracy and his wife Kate where on the cd. At one point during the visit, they drove into Washington, DC, and there are about a million pictures of first my mother in front of a monument and then my father. I have no idea why that amuses me so much – maybe because they should have done what people always do when Fred is around and asked a stranger to take a picture of BOTH of them? Or, hey – Tracy and Kate were WITH them during the visit to DC, why not ask one of them to snap a picture? With my parents, who knows what the reasoning is. * * * Did I mention that I figured out how to use my father’s scanner while I was in Maine? I scanned a couple of my parents’ wedding pictures. I LOVE these pictures so much; they were so damn YOUNG. My mother’s slowly been clearing out my grandmother’s house (my uncle still lives there, but he told her “Just make sure you leave me the stove and the refrigerator. You can have anything else you want.”), and while I was in Maine, she stopped by my grandmother’s house and took a wedding picture of both my parents (which I haven’t scanned) and a copy of my mother in her wedding dress (above), and gave them to me. I’m going to frame them side-by-side and hang them in the hallway, I think. We have a wedding picture of Fred’s parents I’d love to frame and hang up, but I’m guessing that that would be a tad too weird, since they’re divorced and remarried to other people. I’m not sure if wedding pictures of them to their second spouses even exist; I haven’t seen any, if they do. * * * Last non-cat picture of the day, I promise. The library in downtown Lisb0n Falls, where I spent many an hour as a teenager. Every time I see a book by Rona Jaffe, I think of this place. * * * Spot, hanging out on the table next to the couch. (Taken using the “Night vision” setting”) Closer… Cloooooooser… And right after this picture, he jumped down and ran away. Poor Spot, his Momma’s so damn mean to him. ]]>

now’s your chance. The price isn’t going any lower, and once the book is sold out, it’s gone for good – there’ll be no reprint. Also, you can have it sent via Priority Mail ($6, 2 – 3 days) or Media Mail ($2, slow boat to China (can take up to 30 days, but doesn’t usually)). We’re a full-service company, yes we are. That, or we just want to get rid of the rest of the damn things. The loan we took out to pay for the publication of the book is now paid off, and all we want to do is get our house back, with no stacks of books taking up place in the library. The cats will probably be pretty pissed that they’ll no longer be able to get up on top of the bookcase, though. Perhaps I can convince Fred to build them a little staircase… (Probably not)

* * * So, I had my annual visit to the gynecologist yesterday. I had actually been looking forward to this instead of dreading it as I usually do, because Seasonale became available in October (November?), and ever since I started seeing blurbs about it in magazines a few years ago, I’ve been seriously looking forward to getting me some o’ that. I mean, having your period four times a year instead of twelve – does that rock, or what? I asked my gynecologist about it, and she was happy to prescribe it (which is a dumb thing to say, I guess – what’s she going to do, refuse? Oh, wait. We’re in Alabama. I wouldn’t be surprised if gynecologists regularly refused to prescribe birth control). PLUS, she had a free sample for me! And not ONLY did I get a free sample: (That’s three months of birth control right there!) But the sample came in the cutest little canvas bag! (That information about Seasonale on the side is a sticker that peels off) Cute, no? I love it! I was so excited that I actually called Fred and squealed excitedly in his ear about it. He suggested that I get a life. Bastard. * * * So. I have something a wee bit embarrassing to admit. I’ll just say it straight out, and then if you are horrified you can shake your head and then quietly delete me from your bookmarks folder and unsubscribe from my notify list. But don’t send me an email telling me what a lame old lady I am and make me cry, okay? Because then surely the only thing that would ease the pain of being so very lame would be to adopt another cat, and then Fred would divorce me, and then I’d be homeless with six cats (make that five; I’ll leave Tubby with Fred) and I’d have to come live with you, and none of us want that, because you really don’t want to see me first thing in the morning. Mm’kay? Okay, here goes. Now I’m going to tell you: I bought the CD by Bob “Bachelor Bob” Guiney. And I like it. A lot. Especially “Girlfriend”. Let us go forth and speak of this no more. * * * Oh! New The Bachelorette premieres Wednesday, starring the woman I hoped Bob (I understand he has a CD out. Of course, I’d know nothing about that…) would end up with, Meredith! Meredith’s nothing at all like Trista (whom I love, but MAN the baby-talk has got to go), and it’s going to be fun seeing her with her pick of guys. It’s interesting, is it not, that there have been four Bachelors and none of them ended up in marriage, whereas there’s been (so far) one Bachelorette and that did result in a marriage? I’m so disappointed that Andrew and Jen broke up, though. Maybe if we all hope really hard, they’ll get back together… (Yep. Working real hard on getting that life.) * * * I got these baskets when I was in Maine. The idea is for me to put my cross-stitch stuff in them and put the smaller one on the bigger one. But you know how Miz Poo is when you put something on the floor… Also, the Bean is rather fond of meowing at the bigger basket until we open it. Then he climbs in and waits for us to close the lid. Then he lays in there for five minutes or so, at which point he begins meowing for someone to let him out. He’s such a goof. ]]>

The Gender Genie. I decided to give it a try, and cut and pasted my entry from the 7th. Results? I’m male. Wouldn’t it be funny if the Gender Genie said that Fred was female? I thought to myself. I went to a random entry of his, pasted the text in the little box, and hit “submit.” Male. I called Fred and told him that according to The Gender Genie, I’m male. “I knew I was gay!” Fred said. Later, he called me back. “I put four different entries from your journal in The Gender Genie, and it always comes back male. Then I did four of mine, and it said I was male, too. So I put four of Nance‘s in, and it came back female. Same with Jane.” I need to go crack open a beer, watch the game, scratch my balls, and think about what this means.

* * * Nance emailed me a head’s up at the end of last week regarding something in US Magazine, and when I got the latest issue on Saturday, I looked, and sure enough, there it was. Don’t see the offending body part? Go here for a closeup. Apparently they’re having a fit over at US – this is what Nance forwarded to me: January 8, 2004 — LOOK closely on page 72 of Us Weekly and you’ll see a body part that isn’t supposed to be showing. A story about the second season of “Top Model,” a reality show hosted by Tyra Banks, is illustrated with a photo of a redhead in body paint accompanied by a blond male model on one knee. His raised leg is supposed to conceal his nether regions, but something is dangling into view. The Us editors are furious with UPN, which provided the photo. A network rep said, “It’s been busy around here and apparently someone took their eye off the ball.” “Eye off the ball”! Hee! * * * Did I mention that when I was in Maine, we went to the movies FIVE different times? It rocked, because Fred isn’t a big fan of going to the movies, so I got to see all the ones I’ve been wanting to see: Cheaper By the Dozen – predictable, but any movie with the ultra-adorable Tom Welling in it is worth the price of admission. Elf – the perfect role for Will Ferrell, and some really funny scenes. Something’s Gotta Give – some funny scenes, but it dragged a lot; I think my mother slept through the first half of it. I was pretty disappointed, because I wanted to see that more than anything, and it wasn’t nearly as funny as I’d hoped. Cold Mountain – this is the movie I wanted to see least, and I loved it more than any of the others. Who could have known that Renee Zellweiger could be so funny? We were in a crappy little theater, every seat was taken, it’s a 2 1/2 hour movie, and still I loved it. That says something, right there. Mona Lisa Smile – which I liked more than I expected. I’m not a big Julia Roberts fan, but she’s definitely got charm. I did want to slap the hell out of Kirsten Dunst, though. And that Maggie Gyllenhaal is the coolest chick ever, ain’t she? * * * I know I mentioned that I was getting a Dyson vaccum due to an unexpected bonus that Fred got around Christmas. I ordered it through Amazon (free shipping!), and it arrived while I was still in Maine. At first I told Fred he wasn’t allowed to touch it, because he wouldn’t let me bring the new camera to Maine with me, but then I relented and asked him to take it out of the box and put it together before I got home. Sunday, he vacuumed the entire house with our old vacuum cleaner. Monday, he took the Dyson out of the box, put it together, and vacuumed the house again. He actually saved what he vacuumed up to show me, because he was so impressed with how much there was. There was a huge amount of stuff – mostly cat hair – and when I vacuumed on Tuesday, I got a huge amount of dust and cat hair, too. I cannot say it enough – I LOVE this vacuum! LOVE IT. Love the color, love the great suction, love the way you can see what’s whirling around in the canister, love the attachments, love the long hose (I can just barely reach the top of the stairs, with the body of the vacuum at the bottom). LOVE IT. I went out into the garage and vacuumed the rugs out there, which were coated with pieces of dried-up leaves the wind blows into the garage every time we open the door. The Dyson sucked those up without even blinking. Two thumbs up to the Dyson, at least so far! I also went into the spud’s room, which rarely gets vacuumed (the spud appears to be as careful and conscientious a housekeeper as her momma), and filled up the canister. I was both impressed and icked out, because the spud’s room is very small. Clearly I need to yell at her to vacuum her room more than once every six months. * * * This year, my sister made her Christmas present to me, and I LOVE it. It took her some ungodly amount of time to finish and it’s beautiful, and did I mention that I LOVE it? My sister sure does rock. * * * Da Bean sure does love his daddy. Have you ever seen a more content kitty? (This picture was taken using the “night vision” setting on our new camera) ]]>

Woman objects to carrying coffin photo of crash victim. Tough shit, is what I say. Maybe she should have thought twice before drinking and driving, thus causing the death of an innocent man and putting his pregnant wife in a coma. If I were that judge, she’d sure as shit be serving more than 30 days in jail. Grrrr. (Fred said, “They should have provided a picture of him at the scene of the accident for her to carry.” Amen.)

* * * So, I did a lot of shopping while I was in Maine, did I mention? I got lots of cool stuff (love those sales!), and since I took pictures or scanned a lot of it, guess what the rest of this entry is going to be about? You lucky readers! Debbie bought this for me in Spencer’s. Can’t IMAGINE why she thought it would be perfect for me… There’s this very cool store in Freeport called Cool as a Moose. They have funny t-shirts, funny magnets, and lots of funny postcards. I got to looking at the magnets, saw one with my astrological sign, read what it had to say, and laughed my ass off. I bought not only the one with my sign on it, but Fred’s and the spud’s as well. I’m a Capricorn. Fred’s a Gemini. The spud’s a Scorpio. Also, I had to pick this one up. I’m not sure why I think it’s so funny, but I do. Happy Bunny! This is a reusable window cling. It cracks me up. Another reusable window cling. A mint container. Hee! I dumped out the crappy peppermint mints and refilled it with cinnamon altoids. A notebook for my purse. Another window cling. I don’t know, y’all. I went a little crazy with the Happy Bunny stuff. Magnet. Magnet. One of my favorites. By the way, you can get Happy Bunny magnets and tons of other Happy Bunny stuff at Blackjackinc.com. I think I need an air freshener for my Jeep. So, in Bath there is a store called Reny’s. It’s a little discount store, and you never know what you’ll find there – my mother found a huge basket for something like six bucks, and she jumped on it and carried it around, worried that someone would try to take it from her. I was looking around, and I thought I saw some cat paraphernalia, so I went closer. “Oh,” I said. “this looks like it will be kind of cute…” And then I turned it and looked at its eyes. Eeek! FUCKING creepy! Ick! Ew! ::scream::! And then I looked to my left, and almost screamed. Creepiest fucking thing EVER. So naturally I bought them. I’ll probably to have to give them away, though. They creep me out, just being in the house. ::shudder::]]>

I got some absolutely gorgeous roses from Fred. He called the local florist and ordered yellow roses, but the florist talked him into ordering Confetti Roses instead. They’re gorgeous, aren’t they? Fred picked up some General Tso’s and egg rolls for dinner, and then we had a cake from P3ggy Ann’s Bak3ry for dessert, so all was good. Two thumbs up to my 36th birthday!

* * * My parents really go all out for Christmas every year. They have tons of decorations – ornaments that have been around for longer than I have – and I took a bunch of pictures while I was up there. My mother collects Santas, and last year (maybe the year before) I sent her a Thomas Kinkade Santa to add to her collection. I remember these little elves from when I was small. I loved, for some reason, to tuck their legs under their arms, it was always a high point of decorating for Christmas for me. My mother has a whole light-up village on her mantel. It’s much cooler in person. There are electric candles in all the windows in the front of the house. This ceramic tree lights up. I came thisclose to buying a tree like this when we were in Gatlinburg last Fall. I wish I had. More Santas, on the built-in bookcase. And even more Santas. The village on the mantel, again. The tree. Which looked much prettier in person. I didn’t even come close to getting pictures of all their decorations. Not only do they decorate the inside of their house, they also put lights on the bushes in the front, and a tree as well. Putting up and taking down the decorations is a multi-day affair for them – when the spud and I left on Tuesday, they’d finally gotten all the decorations put away, and only the tree was left to de-ornament and put away.]]>

Happy birthday to me!

* * * Lord god a’mighty. I read 170 books in 2003. 170! That’s, like, .465753424 books a day! I am the reading champeen, I am. If you take into account all the magazines I read, along with the fact that I very rarely read during the day, well, the mind just boggles! I’m a reading fool, is what I am. * * * Can you think of anything that sucks more than being let go over the phone? Someone give Jane a job that pays a million dollars a year so she doesn’t have to do any of that pesky and stressful interviewing. And one where she’s required to do nothing but chat online, and make one phone call a week. Maybe two during busy times. Hey. Give me one of those, too, while you’re at it. * * * While in Maine, I got to scan a bunch of pictures from my mom’s photo albums, and since today is The Day of My Birth, I’ll share the pictures that are of me. Debbie, too, since she was always horning in on my photo opportunities and looking all cute and everything. Brat. Not a clue how old we are here. 3 and 1? Surely right around there, anyway. That’s me on the left, Deb on the right. Again, no idea how old I was. Do I look like a happy kid, or what? I’m not sure what’s going on here. If we were looking at the camera I’d say this was a professional portrait, but since we’re looking off to the side and beaming, who knows? Me on the left, Deb on the right. Let’s see. I have braces and I’m pretty sure we were stationed in Guam so I would have been, oh, 7 or 8? Thereabouts? And Deb (on the left) would have been 5 or 6. My 7th or 8th birthday. I’m holding my favorite birthday gift that year, Suzy. Suzy got pregnant later that year and gave birth to my favorite cat ever, Charlie. Then she went to live on a farm. Or so my parents claimed… Didn’t know I was trained in the martial arts, did you? (I took judo lessons for MAYBE a month) Didn’t know I was a cheerleader either, did you? The team we cheered for, the Saints, sucked. I don’t think they ever won a game. That’s Deb on the left, me on the right. Me at the age of 10. I read in one of the many magazines I read even back then that when you wrote to a star, they liked it if you enclosed a picture. Somehow I doubt that this is the kind of picture they were hoping for. I loved that shirt I was wearing, because it had bird names all over it, and somewhere it said “Robin”. I was the shiznit in my home-made t-shirt, yes I was. There goes Debbie, stealing the show with her cute self. Bitch. We popped into a photo booth-type-thing at the movie theater one night and had our picture taken. It was kinda fun, actually. * * * Okay, it’s my birthday, so I’m going to slap that up and call it an entry. Don’t forget to leave a comment letting me know how you celebrated! I think I’m going to go crawl back into bed with a book for a few hours. Unless the bathroom (which hasn’t been cleaned in WAY too long) calls too loudly, in which case I might break out the cleaning supplies. Don’t count on it, though. (Bonnie‘s already changed her journal. Hee!) Have a good one, folks! A year ago: Happy, happy birthday to me! Two: Oh… is it my birthday? Why, I had completely forgotten… Three: Happy birthday to me! Four: Incredibly enough, it was my birthday!]]>

How to celebrate Robyn’s birthday (which is tomorrow, so get crackin’) (This idea totally stolen from Mopie) 1. Rename your journal “Bitchypoo” (just for the day). 2. Call your child – or husband, if you don’t have a child – “Spud” all day long. Or call your favorite pet (doesn’t have to be a cat) Miz Poo for the day. Follow your pet around and croon “Mizzzz Poooooo” until it gets annoyed and runs away with its ears laid back. 3. During a semi-important meeting or phone call say “I don’t know. What does Robyn think of that?” 4. Wear something yellow (that being my favorite color). 5. When your husband/ significant other/ cat farts for the 53rd time in 10 minutes, narrow your eyes at him/ her/ it and say “You’repissin’meoff.” 6. Change your computer wallpaper to a picture of me. I highly recommend this one, unless it would frighten other family members. You could also use a picture of one of our cats. 7. Call your significant other “Ya fuckin’ idiot” out of the blue, for no particular reason. 8. Postpone cleaning the house for another week. 9. Eat a whoopie pie. 10. Take a bath using bath melts, bath fizzies, or bubble bath, and spend the rest of the day making people smell you. 11. Perform a random act of kindness. 12. Adopt a cat. 13. Apropos of nothing, tell someone (a perfect stranger, coworker, spouse, child, anyone!) “It’s Robyn’s birthday today. She’s 36, but she doesn’t look a day over 19!” (A harmless little birthday lie never hurt no one.) And don’t forget to leave a comment telling me what you did! * * * Hey, Kat has started up a cool new forum. All the cool kids are posting there, check it out! 🙂 * * * Stories from my visit to Maine: Story 1: My grandmother, as I may or may not have mentioned, is in an assisted living home. She’s down to skin and bones, 91 pounds, and has stomach cancer (which is slowed by medication), broke her hip last year (which still causes her pain), and has a sore on her tailbone that just doesn’t want to heal. She’s not comfortable staying in one position for long periods of time, and needs help moving from a prone position to sitting, and sometimes she just wants to get up and walk around with her walker. Sometimes she seems to understand what’s going on, and sometimes she doesn’t. She’s 85 years old. My grandmother and I were never particularly close. She’s a very stoic New England type, and although she’s not terribly demonstrative, I’ve always known that she loves us. She’s also always been proud, and it’s difficult to see that she needs help to and in the bathroom (though she’s also pragmatic – if it embarrassed her in the past to have to ask for help, she seems to realize that you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do and gotten over it). In the past, it’s been hard to come up with topics of conversation with her, and as she’s gotten older, it hasn’t become any easier. Unlike Christopher, I can “do” small-talk, but when the person you’re trying to small-talk with may or may not understand what you’re trying to say, it can be hard. My mother and I spent a couple of hours with my grandmother on Sunday, sitting and talking to her, sitting with her while she ate lunch. After I commented on the bird feeders outside her window and asked if she got many birds at the feeders (and she looked at me as if I were an idiot and said “Yes, we get birds year-round.”) and commented on the HUGE gray squirrel sitting under one of the feeders (I swear to god, it was the size of the Bean), I was having a hard time coming up with something to talk about. My mother pretty much filled in the (long, lingering) gaps. Monday, we decided to go back for another visit, bringing the spud with us. This time as we were sitting around not saying much, my mother decided to go down the hallway and get a cup of ginger ale for my grandmother. She invited the spud to go with her. My grandmother turned from her position on the bed and looked at me. I cast desperately around in my mind for something to say. “Did you hear they landed on Mars?” I asked, since I’d been hearing about it all day. “Mars?” she said, and she sounded as though she wasn’t quite sure where Mars might be located. “Yeah,” I went on, glancing at the TV, which was tuned to CNN. “They landed on Mars, and they’re taking pictures of the planet. Just think, maybe the spud’s great-great grandchildren will LIVE on Mars!” I turned expectantly to see her reaction. Laying on her bed, my grandmother was PRETENDING TO BE ASLEEP. PRETENDING TO BE ASLEEP SO I’D SHUT THE FUCK UP. So I shut the fuck up. Our family, Christmas. I’m not sure what year this is, maybe ’81 or ’82? That’s Gram, with the white hair standing between her two hunky grandsons and their frightening 80s hair. (Kate, hee! Tracy’s hair! Randy’s hair too, for that matter. And my GLASSES. How was I able to hold my head up with those huge fuckers weighing down my face?) The spud, my mother (a particularly good picture of her, I think. The spud always looks good), and Gram. Story 2: Liz turned 36 at the end of December. Since I was in town and it was her birthday, I told her I’d take her out to dinner. She had to work that day, so she called me on her way home from work to let me know she’d be ready to leave around 6:00. Then she asked if it would be okay to visit her mother, who is in a nursing home, on the way. The nursing home is in Lewiston and we were going to Portland for dinner, so it’s not really “on the way”, and also her mother has never ever liked me, but what am I going to say? Of course I said it was fine. So we went into Lewiston to see her mom, who is blind and not doing well. She fell a few weeks ago and bruised her ribs and she’s now in a temporary nursing home until a permanent one can be found for her (at least, I think that’s how it works). “Hi!” I said brightly after Liz told her I was there. “How are you feeling?” Liz’s mom told us she wasn’t doing well, wasn’t feeling well, was expecting the doctor to stop by. “Well,” I said. “You LOOK good!”, which she liked hearing. We stayed about ten minutes and then headed out to dinner. As we were on the turnpike heading for Maine, Liz said “I’ve lined up a couple of hot dates for us!” and laughed. It turns out that she’d invited a couple of friends she knows through work to meet us for dinner because one of them was going to do some “psychic healing” on her legs. (She’s been having very painful leg pains and tingling for the past few weeks. It worsens and lessens, but hasn’t gone away completely, and the doctors haven’t figured it out yet.) What was I going to say? Whine “Oh, Liiiiiiiiiz, I don’t want a couple of STRANGERS to eat dinner with us, I thought it would be just US, hanging out and talking about old times!”? Of course I said “Okay, that’s fine.” A few minutes later, she said “When are we going to England, Rob? We’ve gotta go!” She went to London a few years ago, getting a great deal through the college she was attending, and has been saying ever since that she wanted to go back, and me with her. I should say that I have no burning desire to visit England (sorry, those of you from England – nothing against you, but when I think of places I really want to go, Scotland and Australia and New Zealand top the list), but it would be cool, and she really wanted to go, so why not? “We should just set a date and start saving!” I said. “When do you want to go? Spring of 2005?” We decided that that was a good time to plan for and talked about looking online when the time was closer to see what kind of package deals we could get. We got to the restaurant – South of the Border (by the way, when I told Fred we went to eat at South of the Border, he assumed we meant south of the Canadian border. Hee!), were seated, and then Liz’s friends showed up. They were nice, one of them gay as the day was long and funny as hell, eyeing up all the cute guys who walked by. The other was a 23 (24?) year-old computer geek who gave Liz the puppydog eyes a couple of times through dinner. “So Mike,” she said to the computer geek. “Are we still going to England next year?” “Yeah!” he said. Liz pointed at me. “Robyn’s going with us, too!” The fuck? I DON’T WANT TO TRAVEL TO ENGLAND AND HAVE TO HANG OUT WITH SOME (perfectly nice, but still!) STRANGE BOY! Grrr. * * * Look! It’s the one light in Lisbon Falls! (If you go straight and follow the road around and go across the bridge, then go right, you’ll be in Durham, where Stephen King grew up!) While shopping at the Maine Mall in Portland, I glanced over at the calendars, which were on sale, 50% off. Bachelor Lobstermen of Maine 2004 caught my eye, and I picked the calendar up, expecting to see some shirtless hunks. When I flipped to January and saw a 16 year-old and 12 year-old, I knew I had to buy it. So I did. Go read more about this calendar (and there’s one featuring women, too!) here. * * * “Brian, get on the ride and act like you’re scared!” “Like you’re going to cry, Brian!” “Act like that snow is REALLY heavy, Brian!” (God, please let this child never get sick of hamming it up for the camera!)]]>

Go Fuck Yourself ‘burb page and you’re not listed, you’ll need to send again. If you emailed me and I haven’t replied, send again. If you have a journal that I read, please send me an email summarizing everything that happened in your life in the last ten days. (I’m kidding on that last one.) A normal person would download a different email client. Of course, I’m not normal, and so I’ve downloaded Eudora yet again. When I’m whining about losing my email yet again in the future, you have my full permission to call me a dumbass. So, the spud and I left Portland yesterday at 9:35. We almost didn’t make it to the plane, because we were sitting by gate number 5, since it said over the gate that the flight leaving at 9:35 would be leaving from that gate. After getting a blueberry scone and orange juice from the Starbucks stand (did you know that Starbucks doesn’t serve soda? What the hell is up with that??), the spud and I sat and ate and read, and then I looked at the clock on my phone and realized that it was 9:20. “Hm,” I said. “Odd that they haven’t begun boarding yet. Wait here, spud. I’m going to go to the bathroom before we have to board.” I walked to the bathroom, did my business, and on my way out I happened to glance at Gate 6. Where they were boarding. Over Gate 6 was a board with our flight number. “Is this flight (whatever) to Cincinnati?” I asked the agent at the gate. “It sure is, we’re doing final boarding. Are you on this flight?” “Yeah. Hold on, let me get my daughter and my stuff!” I said, ran over to where the spud was playing on her gameboy, grabbed her, gave our tickets to the gate agent, and headed down the jetway. We were the last ones on the plane, and we’d barely gotten to our seats when they shut the door and we were on our way. What I hate most about flying is how incredibly fucking boring it is. It’s especially boring when you’re trapped on a plane for two and half hours and don’t have anything to drink other than what the flight attendant provides. (Note to self: Bring a bottle of water next time) We ended up landing in Cincinnati (I swear that doesn’t look like it’s spelled right) about fifteen minutes late due to some headwinds (I think) which caused the plane to fly slower or something. I don’t know, I can hardly understand the damn pilot when he mumbles over the loudspeaker, all I know is we landed 15 minutes late. Oh, I thought. That’s okay, because we had a 45 minute layover, anyway. We won’t have a chance to look around in the gift shops or anything, but we still have half an hour to get to our gate. Shouldn’t be too bad, our flight doesn’t leave ’til 12:53. Hm. Maybe I should double-check that. Yeah, I’m mighty fucking glad that I double-checked, because my flight wasn’t leaving at 12:53. It was leaving at 12:35. And we had to get from the B terminal to the C terminal. AND we were way back in row 30, and the plane was fucking PACKED. So I stood and sighed and rolled my eyes and just generally acted like a big asshole, waiting for the people in rows 1 – 29 to get their carry-on luggage (have I mentioned how much I hate the fuckers with their carry-on luggage? Except for you, my dear sweet readers. I love you despite the carry-on luggage. Unless you’re in my way, in which case I hate you.) and get their asses moving and out of my way. We hauled ass down terminal B (naturally, we were at the far end), waited impatiently to get on the bus to terminal C, and almost knocked everyone over on our way to our gate. We were almost there when three STUPID-ASS BITCHES who worked in Starbucks and were walking across the hallway (for lack of a better word) stopped dead in their tracks, making us veer around them. “Omigod!” one of them exclaimed. “Do you think so??” “OMIGOD!” I said to the spud in my best Valley Girl voice. “Do you think we could stand RIGHT in the way and make people miss their flight? Because that would be so RAD! That would be the ultimate in cool! We could make them miss their flight, and then they’d have to spend another three hours in this shitty fucking airport!” Yes, I’m an asshole. But the spud thought it was funny as hell. As we ran up to our gate, the gate agent looked expectantly at us. “Huntsville, Alabama?” she asked. “Yes!” I handed our tickets to her. “They’ve already shut the door, but I’ll call out to them to reopen it. Hurry!” She pointed the way. We walked up the steps (it was one of those tiny planes) and the flight attendant said “Please be sure your cell phone is turned off, blahblah whatever-flight-attendants-say!” We sat and caught our breath. “There’s no WAY our luggage made it onto the plane,” I said conversationally to the spud. And I was right. It didn’t make it onto the plane, and Fred had to circle around the airport several times while we discussed with the baggage claim chick where our luggage might be (on the 3:35 flight, being the answer) and where we wanted the luggage delivered. So while I hate you damn people with all the carry-on luggage, I’m certainly starting to understand. Next time I’m going to carry a bag that contains all my contact stuff, my glasses, my thyroid medication (and the spud’s), and my birth control pill. Oh, and a change of underwear. And I’ll be sure to store my bag in the overhead bin and take my time getting it out, yes indeedy. Oh, and our luggage was here before 7 last night with no problem. Yay, delivery people!

* * * It was a little disconcerting to see members of the National Guard (at least, I think that’s who they were) walking around the Huntsville airport with rifles slung over their shoulders. They were everywhere, and when they glanced our way, I actually felt guilty, as if I were a terrorist-in-training. Heh. * * * I thought I was getting a cold while I was in Maine – I had a sore throat and was a little congested, but after a day I felt better (my mother swore it was due to the vitamin C she ordered me to take; could be, I suppose). But this morning I woke up feeling like crap, and sounding (and feeling) like I had a frog in my throat. Either it’ll go away tonight while I’m sleeping, or it’ll turn into something nasty. I can HARDLY WAIT to find out which it is. We did an incredible amount of shopping while I was in Maine. Debbie, the spud and I wandered into Deb in the Maine Mall, and found some truly hilarious stuff with that obnoxious little bunny on it. I bought some magnets, and this morning I scanned one and put it up on my front page. Cracks me up every time I look at it. * * * I have no pictures of our kitties today – I haven’t had a chance, between trying to restore some kind of order to the house, and processing book orders – but I do have some kitty pics, anyway. My sister’s friend Christine cut my mother’s hair and cut the spud’s hair and put highlights in (it looks great – I’ll have to get a picture) at her house Saturday night. She has two cats, and I got a couple of pictures. This is me, holding one of them. Just call me the cat whisperer. Their names are Cleo and Porsche, but I have no idea which is which. They’re only 6 months old, and I think they’re going to be big cats. ]]>