Month: February 2004

blogrolling‘s bitch. I have a blogroll for everything. I have a blogroll for the blogs I check that are passworded or members-only, I have a blogroll for the blogs and journals I read that I have Change Detect-ed, I have a blogroll for the Go Fuck Yourself ‘burb, and I even have a blogroll so that I can change my links page over. I can’t help it, it’s just so cool! Also, I’m a dork.

* * * Pet store kitty pics are hither. Also, new movie of the week, starring the Bean and Miz Poo. We call it “Daddy, Don’t You Twirl That Fucking Toy So Fast.”
Mister Boogers and Miz Poo chase the feather toy. from Robyn Anderson on Vimeo. * * * Regarding “My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance” last night, I have to say that I was actually a little impressed by the way Randi’s Mom and Dad pulled together to be there for their little princess. I mean, while unhappy enough about the way it was happening, at least they were willing to suck it up and be there for her. That asshole of an older brother of hers on the other hand, with his Jake Busey-looking self, and the dead, flat, serial-killer eyes, what the FUCK? I mean, who on EARTH gives that much of a shit who their sibling marries? I can guarantee you that if I were in Randi’s place, my family might be puzzled and make fun of me and place bets on how long it’d last behind closed doors and toss a coin to see who has to be around to pick up the pieces when it all falls apart, but they’d have the class to pretend to be happy and attend my wedding and plaster big fake smiles on their faces while it was going on. I told Fred that if Randi and her family don’t end up getting the money, she should be sure to let that brother of hers know exactly whose fault it is. What a self-centered jackass. When the actress playing Steve’s mother said “Will there be any simpler appetizers (at the reception)? Steven likes Rice Krispy Treats and Hot Pockets…”, Fred turned to me and said “Steve sounds like our kind of people.” Heh. * * * Yesterday was not a good day to be the Bean. (On a side note, we are calling the Bean “Stumpy” and “the stump” more and more lately. This, after Fred wouldn’t let me name him “Stubby” because it would be “making fun of his handicap.” Hmph.) First, he was sleeping in the cat bed which sits on the table at the end of the couch. The cats like sleeping there, especially when the lamp is turned on, because it’s so warm and cozy. Anyway, I glanced over in his direction in time to see him sit up, turn around, yawn, lay down, and then stretch. The bed was a tad too close to the edge of the table and he stretched just a tad too exuberantly, and as I watched, he slid over the side of the table onto his stupid little head. I gasped, which startled Fred, who yelled “What???” from his position two feet away from me. I told him that the Bean fell off the table, and he got mad at me, as though I had gasped ON FUCKING PURPOSE GODDAMNIT IT PISSES ME OFF WHEN HE GETS MAD AT ME FOR SOMETHING I DO INVOLUNTARILY and then I snarled at him and stomped off, but not before checking on the stump, who was sitting on the floor, shaking his head and licking his paw, but was apparently okay. Last night at bedtime, Fred went upstairs and I finished reading my email and followed him, book in one hand and bottle of water in the other. I stepped on the top step, and as my foot went down with no small amount of weight behind it, the mayday horns went off in my head, and an instant later I realized that I was putting my foot down on something warm, furry, and purring. I flung myself onto the other leg, throwing my bottle of water in one direction and my book in the other. The foot I was now standing on slipped, and I skidded down three or four steps, yelling “DAMN IT!” at the top of my lungs. Fred came out of the bedroom, cats scattering in all directions, their tails bushed out and eyes wide and dark. “I’m okay, you need to check Stumpy!” I said. “I think I stepped on him hard! I don’t know where he went…” Where he went was in the master bedroom under the bed, where he was out of danger of having fat women tromp on him. It turned out he was okay, but he was pretty skittish for the rest of the evening, and he certainly kept his eye on me whenever I came near. Poor dumb Stumpy. * * * Not long before he went over the side, I believe. The spud took this picture not long after we got the stump. The earnest look on Tubby’s face just cracks me up. ]]>

Lost in Translation Saturday night, interested in seeing it because we’d heard so very many good things about it. Fifteen minutes in, Fred was ready to turn it off, but I wanted to see how it ended. All in all, I’d rate it an “eh”, but I don’t resent the time spent watching it. Clearly I possess not the depth and understanding of the human condition that would let me pretentiously wax poetic at length about the magic of the movie. Give me the beginning-middle-end kind of movie girl meets boy zany moments ensue they break up but end up together. Give me the zany girl meets boy meets another boy has a threesome dumps them both to “I choose me”. And christ almighty, if you’re going to ask me to join you on your hour and a half or two-hour (tour! A two-hour tour!) journey that is your movie, don’t fucking end it with one character whispering into the other character’s ear and not let me know what he said. Don’t keep secrets from the people who’ve paid money to watch your fucking movie; you end up coming across as self-impressed and smug and next time the option to watch a movie written and directed by you comes along, I’ll just pass on that, thanks. I WANT TO FUCKING KNOW WHAT HE SAID. (Also, something about Scarlett Johansson‘s face really REALLY bugs me, and I look longingly forward to the day when her It-Girl status is gone with the wind.)

* * * Also, I watched In the Cut Friday afternoon and clearly – snore – I am getting old and stodgy, because the dick-sucking at the beginning of the movie (’bout five minutes in, I’d guess, if you’re fast-fowarding to see it) was completely unnecessary, all I could think was “MUST WE SEE THE PENIS SLIDING IN AND OUT OF THE MOUTH?” I mean, what the fuck? It’s not like I’ve never seen porn before, but is it not possible to show that a blowjob is being performed without SEEING mouth and penis? It’s like the trend lately of showing someone vomiting by focusing lovingly on the vomit spewing out of the vomiter’s mouth, because OBVIOUSLY if we just heard the heaving noise and saw the person leaning over as if they were vomiting and heard the liquid hitting the ground we would be sitting there with huge question marks over our heads, and we would be saying “I don’t understand what’s going on. Why is he making that gagging noise? Why is he leaning over? What’s going ON? I’m so confused!”, clearly we MUST see every little bit of the vomit spewing forth from the mouth and the disgusted FUCK, how many times are we going to shoot this fucking scene? look on the actor’s face. And then later on in the movie when Mark Ruffalo and Meg Ryan (who should sue her plastic surgeon) are having sex and his face is right down there in her crotch, all I could think is “God in heaven, it just has to suck to shoot scenes like that. Because when you’re all writhing around with the moaning and shit, how can you NOT be thinking to yourself Mark Ruffalo’s face is two inches from my crotch AND I’M NOT ENJOYING IT.? It’s not even so much that it’s Meg “Sally” Ryan shooting explicit sex scenes, it’s WHY MUST THEY SHOW IT?? If I want to see explicit sex, I’ll download some porn, okay? Otherwise, just show some kissing and some nudity and fade to black, and when the next scene starts with both parties looking satisfied and smoking cigarettes, we will FIGURE IT OUT, I promise. Good lord. * * * So, because I know Fred won’t get mad at me for poking fun at him, remember when he sent me roses for my birthday and I loved and adored them? I called him after I received them, and I said “I LOVE these flowers. I want these very exact same flowers, these Confetti Roses, for Valentine’s Day! I love them!” And about a week before Valentine’s Day, I said “Valentine’s Day is next week. Do I need to remind you what I want?”, and he said “No, I remember!”, all huffy at the thought that he might have forgotten. I left the house to do some errands on Friday and when I came home there was a bouquet of flowers sitting in front of the door, and I opened the door to find these: Turns out that Fred had called the florist and said “Do you have something LIKE Confetti Roses, only not Confetti Roses?” Give the boy points for taking initiative (“Who wants the same roses two months in a row?” he said. Um, me?) and I’m not complaining because they really are pretty roses. Considering how often I got anything on Valentine’s Day from husband #1 (answer: never), I’m well aware of how lucky I am. My gift to him was a cake I baked with my own little hands. A lemon poppyseed cake. Not only did he love it, he also shared it with the spud and I. Whee! I couldn’t decide what to get the spud for Valentine’s Day. The traditional gift would be a small stuffed animal and some candy, but that child has SO FUCKING MANY stuffed animals that I was damned if I’d add to the huge-ass collection on her bed, strewn all over her floor, and stuffed in her closet. Finally, I printed out her wish list and took a trip to Target, where I bought Legally Blonde 2 on dvd, a card, and a couple of heart-shaped Snickers. Pretty good idea, I thought. * * * Tara! Is this your cute little baby cousin?: We didn’t actually watch The District, but I had made a note to myself to tape it so I could see your cousin (yes, I’m a dork). She is ADORABLE. Fred joked “I could have done an acting job as good as the one she’s doing!” Heh. Maybe he’ll go into acting next! That would be fun. Not! * * * Did y’all see Extreme Makeover: Home Edition last night? That was AWESOME. I can’t believe there’s only one episode of Sex and the City left. I think it’s pretty obvious which way they’re leaning toward ending it, if last night’s episode was any indication and they’re not fucking with us. * * * Man on a mission. The beast within. ]]>

this link. Y’all have GOT to check it out, this woman’s house is unbelievable. I’ve gone back and looked at the pictures three or four times and my mind just boggles. Absolutely amazing.

* * * I have no idea on earth how it can possibly take the spud so long to do a job that it takes me 5 – 7 minutes to do, but every night she’s in there wandering around for 45 minutes to an hour, and every single night she’s forgotten something important like, ohhhhhhhhhh, wiping down the counters or taking out the trash or PUTTING THE FUCKING WINDEX BACK UNDER THE CUPBOARD FROM WHENCE SHE GOT IT. Molasses runs in her veins, I swear to god. Every fucking night. * * * You snooze, you loose – Nance has claimed the “You gotta be shittin’ me” blog idea for herself. Woot! * * * William Hung (“She bang! She bang!”) has a page devoted to him. If you missed his audition, you’ve GOTTA check it out, folks. * * * So I used to have four framed pictures hanging on the wall in the downstairs bathroom. Three of them were pictures of Maine that I bought while I was in Maine a few summers ago, and one was a picture of a waterfall in Gatlinburg that I bought while we were – obviously – in Gatlinburg a few years ago. It was a pain in the ass always making sure that they were straight, because if you brushed them even slightly they’d go all askew, and life’s just too damn short to spend ten minutes a day straightening the friggin’ pictures hanging in the BATHROOM. One day I was at Target and happened to be looking for a picture frame, when I came across a frame that I really liked, a black frame with a mat that had two 4×6 cutouts, and I thought to myself that I could buy the frame, put a couple of pictures that I had taken in it, and replace the troublesome 4 frames with one frame that would showcase pictures I had actually taken myself, because god knows I have 63,000 pictures of the beach in Maine and waterfalls in Gatlinburg. So I bought it, and had a couple of pictures printed out, and voila! Top picture, Laurel Falls near Gatlinburg, bottom picture, Popham Beach in Maine. (I would have taken a picture of it hanging on the wall, but with the glare from the light, you wouldn’t have been able to tell what the pictures were) I’m such an artiste. * * * 1. Are you superstitious? Not really, but I don’t believe in borrowing trouble, so I don’t go out of my way to walk under ladders or cross the paths of black cats on Friday the 13th. I also have no desire to spend the night in a haunted house or BRING POSSIBLY HAUNTED OBJECTS INTO MY HOUSE. 2. What extremes have you heard of someone going to in the name of superstition? Those baseball players who have the weird rituals, where they wear the same underwear for six days straight without washing because last time they won a game they’d done the same thing are pretty extreme. 3. Believer or not, what’s your favorite superstition? Oh, “step on a crack, break your mother’s back”, I guess. Even now, I’ll sometimes go out of my way not to step on a crack, because I don’t want Debbie to be stuck caring for my broken-backed mother. Heh. 4. Do you believe in luck? If yes, do you have a lucky number/article of clothing/ritual? I believe you make your own luck for the most part, but also that it tends to even out in the end. I also believe that what some people see as bad luck, others see as an opportunity. When god closes a door, he opens a window – that’s Jane‘s favorite saying. I think you should all email her and remind her of that. 5. Do you believe in astrology? Why or why not? Ehhhh, I don’t think so, but who the hell knows? * * * The Bean sure does love laying under the lamp in the living room. Spanky, looking worried and confused. You can’t tell in this picture, but he has several drops of water on his nose. The boy cannot drink water without splashing half a gallon of it up on his nose. Sunset from the back yard. It’d be prettier without the wires, methinks. ]]>

SURVIVOR SPOILERS BELOW – READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! Oh maaaaaaan. I’m no fan of Jenna Morasco, but I was crying right along with her last night (no one cries alone when I’m around!) and I felt SO bad for her, poor girl. I don’t know that that was necessarily “The most shocking 15 minutes of Survivor“, though. I knew immediately that the tribe with the Robs and Alicia (I can never remember tribe names!) was going to win the reward challenge and the Rupert/ Ethan/ Jerri/ Jenna tribe weren’t going to win a damn thing. I love Rupert, but he needs to ease back on the control freakishness. Bah-ston Rob can make fun of Alicia all he’d like, but the white rocks MADE the look of their new shelter. Hmph.]]>

here. If you’re part of the ‘burb, please change your links to reflect the new location – journals and blogs are listed alphabetically by name. I ended up taking down about 100 listings because they hadn’t been updated in months (sometimes more than a year!) or didn’t have a GFY link on their main or links page. If you’re supposed to be on the list and you’ve been removed, be sure you’ve updated at least once in the last two months and have a GFY graphic or text link somewhere on your main or links page, and email me to rejoin. I so rarely make the arbitrary deadlines I set for myself that I’m pleased as punch to have made this one.

* * * I believe that I mentioned yesterday or the day before that the DVR box had reached complete failure and all we could do was use the remote to change channels. We couldn’t even get the guide to come up, let alone record anything. The guy who came out Sunday was supposed to have a box with him but didn’t, and said someone would be out “Monday or Tuesday” with one. When no one showed up Monday, Fred called the service center and discovered that someone was scheduled to come to the house Tuesday between 5 and 8 pm. Which wouldn’t ordinarily be a problem except that the spud’s band had to play at a PTA meeting that night and we wouldn’t be home for at least part of that time. Fred rescheduled for Wednesday between 11 and 2, and so I was showered and presentable by 10, in case the cable guy showed up early. I waited and waited and waited, doing various and sundry chores around the house, reading on the couch, flipping channels in the living room. I thought about eating lunch at 1, but I knew that sure as anything the moment I sat down to eat lunch he’d show up. When he still hadn’t shown up by 2:15, I ate lunch quickly, and as I was finishing, he showed up. Do you suppose he had a DVR box on his truck? Why, no. No he did not. He told me that due to the high demand for the boxes only a few people were allowed to carry them on their trucks, and that furthermore, they (the cable guys and gals) weren’t allowed to have DVR boxes at home. This apparently bothered him a great deal, the not being allowed to have a DVR box (due to the high demand), because he went on to tell me that very same thing at least four times before the day was over. Sounds like corporate logic, to me – cable guys having to service DVRs when they don’t know anything at all about them. So he fiddle-farted around (as my mother would say), and got the box to FAIL and reboot for him, and after it rebooted the first time, it promptly rebooted itself twice more for no apparent reason, leading him to say “Well, let me check to be sure the signal’s coming through…”. The signal was coming through just fine (“Fives across the board”, whatever that means) and he spent ten minutes or so calling around to his boss and other cable guys in the area. It was determined that the closest cable guy with a box was on his way back to the office, and he’d meet the other cable guy (Tom) back at my house in about 45 minutes. Tom had two more jobs to do, so he decided he’d go do one of them and be back at the house in half an hour or 45 minutes. He left and I sat down at my desk to chat with Nance and my sister. It had been maybe ten minutes when I looked out the window and saw two cable vans coming down the street. I said goodbye to Nance and Debbie, and waited for them to come to the door. Ten minutes later, Tom finally knocked on the door, holding a DVR box. He went right into the living room and hooked it up, and we stood and watched, waiting for it to boot up and show us the magic. And waited and waited and waited. The box would half-boot, then flash “HDDF”, click, and turn off to start the whole shebang (“she bang! she bang!”) all over again. Tom called one guy, then another, then his boss, then a network specialist, and it was determined – guess what?! – the box was bad. Finally – FINALLY – Fred got home from work, and I introduced him to Tom and left the whole mess in his lap. Fred commented that if the third box didn’t work, we’d get a regular cable box from Tom and buy a damn TiVo. Tom didn’t seem to think that that was a bad idea at all. He located someone who was willing to bring another box to the house and left to do one of the other jobs he had lined up. Long story short – too late! – the third box works, and we have the magic of DVR in our house. I did manage to make the box freeze up and reboot last night, but it rebooted quickly and we didn’t have any problems after that. Thus far I’ve taped two episodes of The Newlyweds, an episode of Roseanne (I’m sorry, I just love that damn show to death), and this morning’s Ellen Degeneres Show. I was going to tape The O.C. last night but apparently you can only tape two shows at one time if you’re playing back a third, and I was more interested in taping The Newlyweds and watching The Bachelorette. I am LOVING the DVR. Just so you know. * * * The Bachelorette: Am I the only one who saw the look of frozen horror on Meredith’s face when Lanny’s Momma was talking about how she’d expect that Meredith would be a good christian girl and submit to her husband the way the bible said she should? Is anyone surprised that Lanny didn’t make it through to the next round? Because had it been ME, I would have held up my hand when Lanny’s Momma was going on and on and said “Yeah, I’m thinking this won’t work out. Lanny, you’re the hottest thing in jeans, but your Momma just got your ass kicked out. Buh-bye!”, and I would have run like hell. Did you notice the dead eyes on Lanny’s brother’s wife? When she said “Miz Lawrence likes to be involved in her sons’ lives”? Lordy. I’m sorry, but Lanny’s Momma creeped me out. Oh, and Ian! Am I the only one who laughed out loud when he said to his brother “I’ve never been emotional like this…”? Ha! American Idol: Can I call it, or can I call it? Glad to see Diana and Fantasia go on, but Fantasia sounds so very much like Macy Gray that it’s almost distracting. I did like that cute like Marque and that cute little Matthew, though. Survivor: Tonight! Whoo! * * * What the kitties are doing this very moment: Spot’s hanging out by the window in the master bedroom, watching traffic go by. Spanky, snoozing in the cat bed on the big bed. Miz Poo, trying to decide whether or not to smack that Bean. ]]>

* * * So, my favorite kind of pen ever is the Bic Clic Stic pen – NOT the Bic Stic, but the Bic CLIC Stic so that you don’t have to fool around with caps – and they’re hard as hell to find. I mean, Staples does carry them, but they carry the kind with the soft part where your fingers go so that you don’t end up with a permanent indention in your finger and I just can’t stand the pens with the soft part, they drive me nuts. You can find the Bic Clic Stic online, but they only seem to be available at promotional places, where you have pens personalized and then give them away to promote your company or cause. And while I think it would be cool to have a bunch of yellow pens with “Meh!” on them in black letters to send out to y’all and keep a bunch for me, you have to order at least 150 pens at most of those places, at 90 cents apiece, and can you imagine the speed at which Fred would kill me if I did something like that? So, no. No yellow pens with “Meh!” on them in black ink for us, folks. But I do keep my eyes peeled when I’m at the doctor’s office, because where do doctor’s offices get their pens? That’s right, from drug reps. And where do drug reps get their pens? That’s right, from companies that specialize in promotional items. Thus when I’m at the doctor’s office, I check out the pens they have sitting out in cups for patients to use to fill out forms or write checks or whatever. If there’s a Bic Clic Stic in that cup I so-very-casually reach out and grab it, then write out the check and when I’m done writing out the check I rip the check out of the checkbook and so-very-casually stick the pen in my wallet and put the whole kit and caboodle in my purse. And I do it while looking so very absentminded that if the front-desk/ receptionist chick were to say “Uh, that’s OUR pen, you sticky-fingered whore!”, I could easily put on a fake embarrassed face and say “Oh goodness, I’m so sorry!”, pull it out of my purse, and put it back in my cup. But that has never happened, and you know why? Because the people who work at the doctor’s office don’t give a good goddamn that I have taken their purple-and-white Levaquin� pen (for instance), because they have 63,000 other pens stuck away for the moment when someone says “Hey, the pen cup is empty! Hand me some pens, would you?”, and they fill the pen cup up and say to each other “I sure wish the patients would steal pens at a quicker pace, because we’re running out of room. Damn drug reps!” So anyway, a few weeks ago I went to the doctor’s office, and while I was there, I spotted a Bic Clic Stic pen, and I stole it – that’s right, folks, I plain-as-the-nose-on-your-face STOLE IT, and I should be locked up and the key should be tossed right OUT the damn window! – and then when I had to go back a few days later I spotted ANOTHER Bic Clic Stic pen, and I STOLE THAT ONE TOO, and the other night when Fred and I were laying in bed, I TOLD him that I had stolen the pens, and he was as horrified as if I had suggested that he stay up until 10:00. He was HORRIFIED, he was AGHAST, he could not believe that I would have the utter gall to STEAL a cheap plastic PEN from his beloved Dr. Judy, and none of my insistences that it was OKAY, that they EXPECTED people to steal pens, and that the doctor’s office didn’t PAY for the damn pens anyway, nothing I could say soothed his horror. I half-expected to wake up the next morning to find him gone, the hangers on his side of the closet swinging empty, but he seems to have repressed the horror of finding out that his wife STEALS cheap pens, so y’all don’t remind him, okay?

* * * American Idol: I really liked Diana (the first girl, in the pink and white) and Fantasia (the last girl) and hope they make it through to the next round. I also kind of liked Katie, but her song choice reminded me an awful lot of Ryan Starr singing that Frim-Fram Sauce song. I liked Marque because he is just the MOST adorable thing ever, but I have a feeling he won’t be making it through to the next round. I wanted to like Matthew, but his song did nothing for me. My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance: I am just really NOT liking Randi’s mother or her sister – hell, I’m not crazy about any of her siblings. The actors playing Steve’s family are just cracking me up, though. The Bachelorette: Tonight! Whee! * * * Ever since I bought this pillow, Miz Poo spends ALL day curled up on it, occasionally coming over to settle down between me and the keyboard to get a belly rub, then she goes back to her pillow. Have I mentioned that I LURVE this kitty? * * *]]>

Lindsey yesterday, saying that the “You’re shitting me, right?” look on her cat’s face was my favorite of all the cat pictures she sent (good way to get on my good side, folks. Send me cute ‘n funny pictures of your cats. I’m not even close to kidding. I love the kitties!), and I said “Someone needs to create a blog named You’ve gotta be shittin’ me!” That phrase always makes me laugh, because Fred had never heard it before I moved in with him (he heard it plenty AFTERward though, believe you me). The summer I was supposed to drive to Harrisburg, PA to hand the spud over to my sister (who would then take the spud back to Maine with her), I was almost there when my cell phone rang and I found out that my sister’s car had broken down right outside of New Yawk City. I called Fred and asked him to call my father while I found a place to stop, and when I found a place to stop, I called him back. “I know where you got ‘You gotta be shittin’ me’ from!” he said, that apparently being what my father said when Fred told him what was going on. Heh. They say it on The Shield all the time though, so apparently my father didn’t coin the phrase. Anyway, I think someone out there should start up a blog named “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me” and then post links to things that make them aghast and horrified. Actually, I told Fred that someone should start up a slam book-type blog called “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me” and then post rude things about other people. He said “That wouldn’t be very nice!” Heh. Nooooooo it wouldn’t. Mo made clam chowder and didn’t make any for me? You’ve GOTTA be shittin’ me! (Yeah, okay, that was lame. Bite me.) It’d be all fun and games ’til someone posted something like “Robyn thinks she looks good in that shirt? YOU’VE GOTTA BE SHITTIN’ ME! Have you seen the size of her ass?”, and then the fun would be OVAH.

* * * Did someone from Oswego, NY send me something? I got an envelope from the post office today letting me know that a big brown envelope addressed to me, from Oswego, NY had been found, empty. There’s a return address but no name, and there are very few of you who have my actual home address, so I can’t think of what it might be. I suppose as a last resort, I could send a letter to the address and ask, huh? * * * I thought briefly that the DVR had fixed itself yesterday. We turned it on, and the guide was present and accounted for. I set it to tape The Newlyweds on Wednesday night (shaddup), and then went to scroll down the list to see if there was anything interesting on later that night, and it froze up, flashed “Fail” on the box, and then rebooted itself. This happened twice, leading me to the decision to leave it the fuck alone, and then it spontaneously rebooted itself for no apparent reason. Damn you, DVR! I WANT to love you, but you’re toying with my emotions! * * * There’s some excitement with my parents. My father may have the chance to go to Hawaii for three months for work. When he told my mother, she told him she’d quit her job and go with him. She’s been a bit unhappy with her job lately and is probably looking for a reason to quit. I don’t think my father was expecting my mother to say she’d quit and go with him (“And you can come visit us there this summer!” my mother said to me); I’m sure he thought she’d visit for a few weeks, but would mostly stay home to hold down the fort. I got the distinct feeling that he’s kind of hoping the whole Hawaii thing doesn’t happen. We won’t know one way or the other for a little while, I guess, and if he does go, it’ll be starting the end of April. It would be cool to fly to Hawaii and visit for a week or so, but even if it doesn’t happen, I’ve made Fred promise me that we could go to Hawaii for our 10th anniversary. That gives us 4 1/2 years to save up for a kick-ass vacation. Now it’s just a matter of holding him to it… * * * Pet store kitties are here. * * * I have no And3rson kitty pictures for you today, but here! Look at this picture of Popham Beach and think about the fact that summer is FOREVER away. Grrr. ]]>

proof that there was no wardrobe snafu involved in that whole Jan3t Jacks0n b00bie brouhaha. Yeah, I know you’re sick of hearing about it, but how could I not share the link? Also, if it’s true that she was uninvited from the Grammys and Justin wasn’t, that really pisses me off.

* * * I was reading journals this morning while putting off going upstairs to clean the litter box, and this made me laugh out loud: I just typed “Massachusetts,” which always makes me think of Anthony Heald playing a judge on The Practice. He spits out the word “Massachusetts” as though it were shit marinated in vinegar. I totally remember watching that episode with Fred and how hard we laughed every time he said “Massachusetts.” Glad to see I’m not the only one who remembers! I haven’t watched The Practice regularly in about two years, though I caught a few episodes last year. I thought I might take it up again since we got the DVR last week, but we’ve been having problems with the damn thing and I’m not willing to go through the effort of finding a blank tape and setting the VCR, so I guess that’ll have to wait. Speaking of the DVR, I did what Texas Peach suggested in my comments on Friday (disconnect the power plug in the back for 5 minutes, plug it back in and let it cycle through) and when I turned it back on, the guide was back up and I taped the 20/20 about rich kids that night, but the next morning the guide was gone again. Fred called the cable company, they had him do a few things and then decided it was a problem with the box. They told him someone would be here between 11 and 2 on Sunday (I had no idea cable guys had to work on the weekend!) with a new box. The guy showed up, but hadn’t brought a box with him. He did some stuff outside trying to figure it out, but nothing. He left, after telling Fred that “someone will be out with a new box on Tuesday or Wednesday.” Hey, thanks for narrowing it down, guy. Grrr. * * * I don’t believe I mentioned that the Bean has tapeworms. This would explain, I suppose, why that fat, round little belly he developed not long after we adopted him went away so quickly, and he stayed skinny despite his tendency to eat everything in sight. Naturally we’ll have to have all the other cats checked out. I’m pretty sure at least one of the vet’s kids is being put through college by us personally. (Though in the interest of full disclosure I don’t know that he has kids, or that they’re in college) After we found out that the Bean had tapeworms, I joked to Fred that I needed to get me one o’ them. Fred said “Oh, good idea. You should lick his ass!” Ugh. Then I made the mistake of mentioning that I had read somewhere that if you put a bowl of warm milk under your butt, the tapeworm would smell it and crawl out. Fred laughed until he almost passed out. But it turns out that although I had the wrong end, I really had read the idea somewhere. From Bridget Jones’s Diary: Saturday 22 April 8st 7, cigarettes, 0, alcohol units, 0, calories 1800. Today is an historic and joyous day. After eighteen years of trying to get down to 8st 7 I have finally achieved it. It is no trick of the scales, but confirmed by jeans. I am thin. There is no reliable explanation. I have been to the gym twice in the last week, but that, though rare, is not freakish. I have eaten normally. It is a miracle. Rang Tom, who said maybe I have a tapeworm. The way to get rid of it, he said, is to hold a bowl of warm milk and a pencil in front of my mouth. (Tapeworms love warm milk, apparently. They love it.) Open my mouth. Then, when the worm’s head appears, wrap it carefully round the pencil. ‘Listen’, I told him, ‘this tapeworm is staying.’ I love my new tapeworm. Not only am I thin, but I no longer want to smoke or glug wine (p105). You just never know what’s going to stick in your mind, do you? * * * I can’t believe there are only two episodes of Sex and the City left. Wah! And only six episodes of Friends. Double wah! (For the record, I think Carrie should end up with Petrovsky and not Big, because he’s been straightforward and honest with her from the beginning, and he clearly wants to be with her. He’s not as much fun as Big, but he definitely has a certain charm. But then, I’ve always had a crush on Baryshnikov, ever since I took ballet lessons as a kid (this is where Fred would start singing the opening bars of “No Rain“.)) My pain is only slightly assuaged by the fact that The Sopranos premieres on March 7th, and The Shield on March 9th. * * * We have this toy, a stick with feathers attached at one end, that Miz Poo seems to have adopted. She carries the damn thing around with her, from one end of the house to the other, making a very loud keening sound the entire time. She’ll walk into the room with it in her mouth, making that noise, then drop it on the floor and look expectantly at us. I have no idea what she wants us to do, but cries of “Aren’t you a smart Poo!” just leave her staring at us blankly. Maybe she wants us to pick up the toy and admire it – we’ve taken to calling it her “baby.” * * * A few years ago I put up a picture of the church in downtown Lisb0n Falls that has been converted into a house. It’s been fixed up some since then. I still think it’s the coolest thing ever, to have a former church as a house. And the crappy house on Goddard Street where Debbie and the kids and I lived together for a few years. It’s the gold building, and it doesn’t look like time has improved the condition any. A sunset in Portland. I noticed that the sunsets in Maine tend to have more gold and yellows, whereas the ones we see from our back yard have more pinks. I wonder what the difference is? More pollution? The Bean plays shy. Spanky checks out the situation. My dad took this picture of Gizmo when they were visiting Tracy and Kate last Fall. Awwww, love the kitty! ]]>

Survivor last night on The Early Show. Then I decided to set up to tape The Ellen Degeneres Show, and decided while I was at it, I’d set up to tape ALL of them, and then the DVR locked up and I couldn’t get it to do anything, and instead of waiting to see if it would un-lock itself, I thought “Hey! I’ll just turn it off and then back on! It works with my computer!”, and so I turned it off and back on, and now? Now I’m getting “No data” at the bottom of the screen now and I can’t record anything, goddamnit. Just call me a fuckwad.

* * * You know, there’s a certain time of the month when a gal is a bit – shall we say – gassier than at other times of the month. If she’s eaten pizza on top of it being a naturally gassy time of the month, then the gas that is produced is so toxic that it’s almost visible. For some reason, it is often at bedtime that said gal most often produces said gas, and at “that” time of the month the husband of this completely fictional woman is sometimes forced to run to his own bedroom to defend his nose hairs from being singed off by the stank produced. But just because the husband of Fictional Woman is tired at 9:30 does not mean that Fictional Woman is tired as well, and perhaps she likes to lay in bed with cats arranged on the bed around her while she reads, occasionally bleeding the valve. The cats, interestingly, are not repelled by the gas, instead they are fascinated and will occasionally sit up and sniff wildly at the clouds of stank wafting gently by their noses. The fictional child of Fictional Woman often likes to come to the door of Fictional Woman’s bedroom to say goodnight. At “that” time of the month, Fictional Child has been known to stop at the door and make a face. Fictional Woman looks up from her book. “What?” “Do you smell that?” Fictional Child says as a cloud of stank floats out the door. Fictional Woman knows of what Fictional Child is speaking, but believes she can brazen it out. “No, what?” she says. “It smells like…” Fictional Child sniffs wildly at the air, resembling the wildly sniffing cats more than a little. “POOP!” “Oh,” Fictional Woman says. “Fred’s been a little gassy tonight.” And then Fictional Woman and Fictional Child share an Isn’t he DISGUSTING? look, and bid each other goodnight. * * * Did you know that squirrels (at least here in the South), when given peanuts, don’t go store them in hollows of trees? That they actually bury them in the YARD? It’s the coolest thing, I swear. We buy peanuts and put them in the back yard under the bird feeders, and yesterday a squirrel spent a good hour burying them in various places in the yard. It was neat to see him start digging a hole and then pick up the peanut, measure the size with his mouth and front paws, and dig some more, put the peanut in the hole, and bury it. Squirrels are awfully neat. (At least that’s my opinion until one gets in the house…) * * * We watched Extreme Makeover last night, and it was awesome. It was a couple who (I think this is what I heard) met at Overeater’s Anonymous and had each lost over 100 pounds. They both went in for some major surgery and didn’t see each other for 7 weeks, until their WEDDING DAY. They looked amazing, especially him. She didn’t look half bad, either – but then, I thought she looked fine before, so what do I know? I felt sorry for them during the time apart, though – they were obviously both pretty miserable. That just had to suck. * * * 1. What’s the most daring thing you’ve ever done? Packed up my eight year-old daughter and moved to Alabama to live with a man I’d known for only a few months and spent less than two weeks with in person. Crazy! 2. What one thing would you like to try that your mother/friend/significant other would never approve of? Fred’s pretty adventurous, I can’t think of anything I’d want to try he wouldn’t be willing to let me try. Heh. 3. On a scale of 1-10, what’s your risk factor? (1=never take risks, 10=it’s a lifestyle) Probably between a 1 and a 2. 4. What’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you as a result of being bold/risky? The moving-to-Alabama thing worked out really damn well, I’d say. 5. … and what’s the worst? Um. The fact that I live in Alabama, maybe? It’s worth it, though. * * * Another series of really good cat pictures, taken by Fred. Fred giggles like a little girl every time he gets one of these really good pictures, by the way. Big cat in the little bed… ]]>

SURVIVOR SPOILERS BELOW, SKIP IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN LAST NIGHT’S SHOW YET! It sucks ASS that Rudy got voted off last night, but I wasn’t surprised. I knew that the way he was limping around that if his tribe went to Tribal Council, he’d be the one gone. I was surprised to see Jerri crying, though. Fred still hates Jerri and Shii Ann. Not one to forgive and forget, that one. I’m so glad they blur Rich’s ass when he runs around naked, by the way. That’s for sure a sight America doesn’t need to see. He’s definitely same ol’ Rich! GO Rupert, with the catching of the fish! I loved the look on Ethan’s face when Rupert walked up with the fish after he (Ethan) had been fishing and had no luck. When Ethan said at Tribal Council, “And then we caught the fish…”, I turned to Fred and said “What’s this “we”, Kemosabe?” Heh. Damn I love that show. Edited to add: Jenna L.? VERY annoying. Very, very. Edited again to add: I told Fred that if the tribes couldn’t figure out how to make fire, the producers would end up stepping in to help out, and I guarantee you, that’s what that reward challenge was about.]]>