Over at Dinosaurs Can’t Eat Pizza, Nance and I made Sugar-Free Monkey Bread this week. And last week we made crock pot pork chops. Go check it out! (Spoiler: one of those recipes was awesome, the other one not so much.)
Awww, my poor, neglected Bitchypoo blog. I still wuv you, but first I was preparing to go on vacation and then I was on vacation and then I was back from vacation, and apparently it takes twice as much time to get the house back in order as I was gone. So I’ve been doing laundry and cleaning and doing all the annoying little tasks that I didn’t do before I left because I like to do this thing starting about a week before I go on vacation where I say “Oh, I can take care of that when I get back…”
Stupid pre-vacation Robyn, you lazy whore.
I have approximately 1 million pictures from my trip to Maine. I still haven’t sifted through them, but I’ll include a few that are pretty much my favorite at the end of the entry so y’all can awwww, and then Thursday over at Love & Hisses I’ll post all the ones I want to share. Warning: there are a LOT. And yes, you bossy bitches, I will include some picture of the spud and I.
The trip was a quick one this time. Mostly, I wanted to see the baby (well, and everyone else, of course), and originally I’d planned to go back in August because Brian and Emily were talking about getting married then, and I was all about that. They ultimately decided to get married in a very very very small ceremony in June, and then at some point they’ll do a big wedding. Between the baby and Brian working 43 jobs and the house, planning a wedding would have been the straw that broke the camel’s back.
(Yes, I said THE HOUSE. They’re buying a house! This is a big big year for those kids!)
It was a really relaxing vacation. The spud came up from Rhode Island for a few days, and we hung around the house, had a family gathering one night so everyone could see the baby. There was shopping, of course, though I didn’t buy much this time around.
So yes, it was a good vacation. Made even better by the fact that when I flew home, I got bumped up to First Class for the first leg of my flight. That is the first time that’s ever happened to me, I’ve never flown First Class before. If it didn’t cost one million dollars for First Class tickets, I’d fly like that every time. I had a cup of Diet Coke in my hand before the door to the plane shut, and that flight attendant kept ’em coming. THEY EVEN GET SNACKS IN FIRST CLASS! Dude. Seriously, I could live like that. There was like three feet between me and the guy sitting next to me.
Don’t I have any readers who work for US Air and can make that happen for me on the regular? (I am mostly kidding because that’s probably against company policy and I’d have to claim on my taxes as income or some shit like that.)(Psst! Just between you and me, I’d TOTALLY accept any future bumpings up to First Class if you wanted to work some magic.)(I’m kidding!)(No I’m not.)
Unfortunately, the second leg of my flight was filled with people who made me want to clang them upside the head with my iPod. I mean, FOR GOD’S SAKE people, if I can hear you when I’m wearing noise-canceling headphones AND have my iPod almost at top volume, you are PONTIFICATING TOO GODDAMN LOUDLY and need to shut your fucking face. I need to see my trashy TV and try to figure out what the holy fuck Blair and Dan are doing in a relationship WITH EACH OTHER.
Reagan National is one shitty little airport, whether you’re going on vacation or going home, and I have LIT’rally written myself a note that says “For the love of christ, do not fly through Reagan National EVER EVER EVER AGAIN” and hung it near my desk (where it will undoubtedly be ignored and I will totally end up flying through that airport again next time). For the number of people I saw wandering around that terminal GETTING THE FUCK IN MY WAY both times I went through, it needs to be at the VERY least twice the size it is, if not three times. Fred said “Have they canceled your flight?” (because I was flying in the afternoon/ evening rather than first thing in the morning, and twice in recent memory that has bitten me in the ass and required me to spend the night at the airport, though it was Dulles both times). I told him that if they’d canceled my flight, I was going to leave and rent a car to drive home. I was NOT spending the night in that airport.
Reagan National and Newark: on my Do Not Fly list.
(On the up side, they had a Five Guys, although I don’t know who those five guys think they’re kidding with their so-called “little cheeseburger.” I couldn’t eat the whole thing, and I am not some frail and fragile flower. We have Five Guys(‘s?) around here, but I never eat there unless I’m traveling. It’s a thing.)
The Portland airport, on the other hand, is now about twice as big as it was the last time I flew to Maine. It’s absolutely AWESOME. And if they ever finish construction on the damn Huntsville airport, that’ll be awesome as well.
On one of my flights, as we were deplaning, I waited my turn to step out into the aisle. If you’ve never flown before, you might not know that when people leave the plane, it’s an orderly process wherein the plane empties from front to back. EVERYONE KNOWS THIS, but in this case, I was standing there in front of my seat (hunched over in front of my seat in a half-standing position, I should say) waiting for the aisle to clear enough that I could step out, when the row of douchebags sitting behind me hustled into the aisle and right by my seat. If they’d been able to read my mind, I tell you what – there would have been an Incident. Fuckers.
Alexander at 10 days old, with his wonderful parents.
Previously
2011: Fucking Robyn Andersons. They’re all pains in the ass, if you ask me.
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: Getting ready for surgery.
2007: They’d surely have fabulous gay parties and invite their fabulous gay friends and give my inner Mrs. Kravitz something to spy on.
2006: I’m READY FOR SUMMER, THANK YOU.
2005: I like cats. They’re good to eat.
2004: No entry.
2003: We’re some calendar-loving motherfuckers, that’s right.
2002: Kitty meeting.
2001: So… I guess we could probably sell your shithole…
2000: It sounds like there’s a lot to do in Gatlinburg, so it should be fun.