Author: Robyn

This bra and these panties were what they were wearing, to be exact. I think that I have, for sure, seen just about everything.

* * * Sunday night, Fred and I decided to watch Eight Below, which I’d gotten from Netflix last week, and which we took to Florida with us along with the laptop, with the idea that we might watch it down there. Not only did we not watch it, we never so much as took the laptop out of the case while we were there. So we started watching the movie, and it wasn’t bad, though I found myself flipping through magazines while simultaneously keeping an eye on what was going on. And then suddenly there was this part, with a dead whale that I won’t go into specifics about in case you haven’t seen the movie yet, that scared me so badly that I actually screamed out loud, and it scared Fred so badly that he ran in place in his spot on the couch. I swear, for a very brief few seconds, I thought that somehow everything had gone badly wrong, and the movie wasn’t actually a feel-good Hollywood tale of a man and his love for his dogs (that sounds dirty, doesn’t it?), but rather had somehow shifted into a horror movie, where very bad things were about to happen. It was the weirdest hyper-real instant of cognitive dissonance I have ever experienced in my life. It’s worth watching, just for that. Well, that and seeing Paul Walker shirtless a few times, anyway. * * * I was planning on sleeping in a little this morning, but right on the motherfucking dot of 5:30, I was awakened by a low growling sound. I sat up and saw Tommy sitting on the end of the bed, looking down, and I thought “Ah, fuck. Someone’s caught a bird and brought it in, and is warning the other cats to stay away from his toy.” Then I looked closer at Tommy and rubbed the back of his neck, and realized that he wasn’t wearing his collar. Which meant that Fred hadn’t finished working out and let the cats outside, which also meant that there was no way there was a bird or small animal in the house. So I put my earplugs back in and tried to go back to sleep. But of course I heard it again, and when it didn’t stop, I got up and looked under the bed to see if there was something going on under there. There were no cats under the bed, so I looked around, and noticed that Tommy, Sugarbutt, Spanky, and Spot were clustered at the top of the stairs, and Tommy had his tail puffed out. They were staring down at the bottom of the stairs, and I looked to see what they were looking at, and saw nothing. I headed downstairs and found a pile of white cat fur in the middle of the hallway, meaning that Spanky or Spot had gotten too close to someone – most likely Mister Boogers, who has turned into SUCH a crotchety old man in the past few years – and as a consequence gotten his ass kicked. I walked into the kitchen, and Mister Boogers was stalking back and forth, his stumpy little tail puffed out. As soon as he saw me, he stopped growling, and I spoke to him and petted him, and he seemed fine. I went out into the garage – scaring the bejesus out of Fred – and told him what was going on, and then came inside to check on Mister Boogers, who had fled the downstairs (“He’s fleein’ the interview!”). I went out back and saw immediately what the problem was – there’s a black and white cat who occasionally visits our back yard, and he freaks Mister Boogers out every time, because there’s an INTERLOPER in the BACK YARD, and even though Mister Boogers is, deep down, a great big wimpy wimp (I would call him a pussy, but that’s really too easy), he likes to act like he’s a badass, especially when he can’t actually GET to the interloper and instead can attack one of his brothers instead (of course, he’d never attack his SISTER, ’cause bitch is CRAYZEE). So I clapped my hands at the strange cat, who looked at me like “What the hell is YOUR problem, lady? I just wanted some water from the bird bath!”, then ran to the fence and looked at me again. Whereupon I clapped at him again, and he ran off. Since I was up already – THANK YOU MISTER BOOGERS, YOU FUCK – I got dressed and did all my morning crap. Then I took Fred to work, because we’re going for a hike tonight (expect an entry tomorrow about how much I hate him), and it’s easier to just pick him up from work and go for our hike than to have him come home, get me, and then go on our hike, since it’s on the other side of Huntsville. Now I need to go do some housework. Ugh. * * * “Beotch, it is TIME to clean the bird bath! Bawk!” Crotchety old man. “MY bird bath. MINE.” All of today’s uploaded pictures can be seen here. ]]>

Fudpucker’s for dinner. I don’t remember what Fred got, but I ended up with a burger without the bun, and a side salad. It wasn’t bad (though I should have just had grilled fish), and we got a 1/3 pound of shrimp to take back to the room with us, in case I got hungry later (and I did, and the shrimp was EXCELLENT). We also got t-shirts, and drove around for a little while before going back to the room. It was still light out, so we went out for a walk along the beach, where I snapped about a thousand pictures, and we looked for shells, but didn’t really find any. We were in bed fairly early again, and the next morning my eyes popped open at 5:30, and I got up and went to the bathroom, then sat out on the deck while Fred went for his morning walk. There were already people in the water (or maybe they were “still” in the water, rather than “already” in the water!), and I watched them, and the people walking by, and read a little. As soon as we saw the chair-and-umbrella guy setting up, we went down to the beach, dropped our stuff by one of the umbrellas, and headed out to the water. We ended up finding a bunch of shells, and a weird sea cucumber-looking thing, and Fred spotted a couple of HUGE blue crabs. I’ll let him tell that story, though. Again, we stayed on the beach for a few hours, headed back to the room and showered and dressed, and headed out for lunch. We ended up going to The Lucky Snapper (which is where we’d gone the first night), we had oysters, and I ended up trying blackened grouper for the first time. It was VERY good, and I ate more than I thought I was going to be able to. After we ate, we drove around Destin some more, looking for a store I’d seen advertised. We found the store, and I took one look and decided it was Not My Kind Of Place (ie, hoity-toity and expensive), and we went over to the grocery store to pick up a few things. We went back to the room, took a short nap, and went back out on the beach for an hour or so. I started feeling kind of motion sick from the rough waves, and went and sat under the umbrella while Fred dove for more shells. Eventually, we made our way back to the room, showered and dressed, and went to The Crab Trap for dinner. We had more oysters (we had a lot of oysters while we were there, but I didn’t feel like I had nearly enough), and I decided to try Amberjack, which I’d never had before. It was REALLY good; they’d spiced it up with some kind of grilling spices, and it reminded me a lot – taste wise and texture wise – of steak. We got half a pound of boiled shrimp to take back to the room (not as good as the shrimp from Fudrucker’s), and then hit a few more souvenir shops to pick up some stuff for Fred’s mom and stepfather, who’d fed the cats while we were gone. Back in the room, we watched TV while I bitched about how fucking cold I was, which just surprised Fred to no end. No matter than I was laying on a bed that the air conditioning was blowing directly at, no matter than I’ve lost 100 pounds in less than five months, no matter than I am ALWAYS FUCKING COLD, somehow it just amazes him that I could possibly be cold. Because HE isn’t cold, so why would I be? We watched TV, and I read a little, and we went out on the back deck to look at the beach and the people several times (I mostly did it so I could warm up), and we were in bed pretty early. We both slept in a little on Sunday morning. Fred wanted to leave exactly at 6:00, but I wanted to wait until I was a little bit awake, so we hung out for a couple of hours, watched people off the back deck, read, and showered and packed. By 8:00, we were ready to go, so we took one last look at the beach, loaded up the car, and headed out. All in all, a very good vacation and we enjoyed ourselves a great deal. I never really did get sunburned, though I think I got a little tan (a tan that’s already faded), and my skin reacted to the sun and ocean and sunblock by getting rashy and itchy AS ALWAYS. It took us almost 7 hours to get there on Thursday afternoon, following the directions Google Maps gave us. On the way home we went a different way, and it only took about 6 hours. Stupid Google Maps. Of course, I think that the fact that we drove home on a Sunday, which always has less traffic, helped us move a lot faster on the way home. Annnnnnd, that was our vacation: swimming, sunning, eating, and shopping. The perfect vacation, as far as I’m concerned! Now, for the thousands of pictures. The view from our seat at The Lucky Snapper. We’re thinking we might rent a WaveRunner next time we go to Florida. Toward the lower left of the picture, you can see a dolphin fin. This was the view from our hotel room deck the first morning. Tank tops in one of the stores. I HATE THESE FUCKING THINGS. I mean, seriously – “If you’re rich, I’m your bitch”?? If my child came home in one of these, I would KILL HER. More horrid tank tops. UGH. Man in the water, holding up his beer. We saw SO MANY guys doing this. It was funny, but SO trashy. Dorks, in our Ft. Walton t-shirts. The ocean, in the evening. More ocean. Anyone know what this is? I think it’s some kind of sea snail or sea slug; whatever it is, it’s alive. We found a ton of them on the beach. Sunset on the beach. People got married on the beach; this was the view from our hotel room. I had thought that I would send this top back to Junonia, since my upper arms were showing too much. But the day before we left, I said “Life is too freakin’ short to worry about what a bunch of strangers think about my upper arms”, and so I wore it. And it wasn’t bad. And don’t try to be all “Your arms don’t look that bad!”, because I have them behind me TO HIDE THEM and so y’all can’t see the full extent of the horror. Fully dorked out for the beach. The view from The Lucky Snapper, where we had lunch. Destin has a cat-only vet. How freakin’ cool is that?? This is Fred. Fred wasn’t too happy to see us, and he wasn’t much for being petted. He was a bit cranky, I guess you could say. On the bridge going from Destin to Ft. Walton Beach, there’s this sandbar, where all the boats and WaveRunners gather. We supposed that there must be some really good snorkeling there. Fred asked a waitress at the Lucky Snapper, and found that rather than being a really good place to snorkel, it’s called “Crab Island”, and people gather there to party. Hmph. A boat, seen from our hotel room. Heading out to fish, no doubt. While Fred was checking out, I spotted this lizard. All the Florida pictures can be seen here.

* * * Obviously thrilled to death to have Mommy and Daddy home again. * * * Previously 2005: Can I sue for emotional distress? 2004: No entry. 2003: I never said I had a long attention span. 2002: You can imagine the zany situations. 2001: No entry. 2000: Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.]]>

here.

* * * I spent a good part of yesterday running around doing errands and getting stuff to take to Florida with us. For one, I needed bottled water from Sam’s. For another, I stopped by Wal-Mart to pick up a couple of foam noodles to use in the water – except that the bastards didn’t have any, can you believe that?! – and water shoes for Fred. Then I swung by Hobby Lobby to see if they carry Q-Snap Frames, which I spotted on Patty’s diary a few weeks ago and have been trying to find ever since (they’re available on eBay, but I wanted them faster than that – however, if I’d just ordered them from eBay instead of waiting ’til I made it to Michael’s and then to Hobby Lobby, I’d have had them long before now!). Hobby Lobby does, in fact, carry them, so I grabbed a couple, and now I’m looking forward to getting back to cross-stitching…. one of these days! Anyway, Fred’s going to stop at the Wal-Mart by his work tonight or tomorrow and see if they have foam noodles, and if they don’t, we’ll get some in Florida. Surely they’ll have foam noodles down there. We’re pretty much set to leave Thursday morning, bright and early. Fred wants to get on the road by 8ish, so I think I’m going to get up at 5:30 and walk beforehand, so I’ll really only be missing one day of walking. I am VERY excited about going to Florida – we’re staying in Fort Walton – and very excited about the sunset cruise we’re going on. Hopefully I’ll get a ton of good pictures to share with y’all when we get back. I can’t believe it’s been four years since we were there last! * * * From my comments: Would you consider sharing the brand of bizap-o-doom fencing that you use? My two kitties (almost a year old) have discovered the joy of running out into the backyard….aaaarrrgh. Of course, my one wicked William gets into scraps with heaven knows what, so two vet visits for shoelace drains and $600.00 later, we’re putting in a static fence. You seem to have success with the brand you’ve used, so I’d like to consider purchasing that brand. This is the one we bought and are using. It only came with one collar and I think you can order additional collars from that company, but we found the ones for Tommy and Sugarbutt on eBay for quite a bit less. (I swear, one of these days I’m going to get my butt in gear and put up a “recommended” page so y’all will be able to find out this information easier!) * * * What did Fred’s parents say when they came over? When his dad and stepmother came over on Saturday, they both said “You look good!” and Fred’s stepmother said that she liked my hair. Then when they were leaving, they both told me again that I looked good. I think they were pretty surprised at how much of a change there was, but they didn’t make a huge fuss, which was fine with me, ’cause I always feel a little dorky if someone makes a big fuss while I’m standing there. Yesterday afternoon his mother and stepfather came over (they’re feeding the cats while we’re in Florida), and both said how good I looked, and what a big difference there was. His mother checks out my Flickr page every few days, so she’d seen some recent pictures of me, so I don’t think it came as a huge shock to her, but she did tell me several times that I was looking good, and I think I blushed and said “Thank you” and changed the subject. Heh. (By the way, none of them had seen me since Christmas Eve.) * * * Did anyone else notice that the Sugg-Man not only matches the cabinetry, but also the grout around the tile? Do you always pick your cats to match your decor? 🙂 But of COURSE. The discerning decorator always considers that cats are decor accessories as well as beloved, spoiled-rotten pets and takes into account the decor of their home before adopting said animals. Maybe in the next house, we’ll paint the walls to match the cats. One room with black walls, one with orange walls, one with black and white, one with blue/gray, one with orange and white, and one with tortoiseshell colors. * * * Ummm we all apparently learn something new every day, and I am over three years Post Op and SWEAR I have never heard we are not supposed to chew gum. Why? I know we aren’t supposed to eat celery due to the intestinal blockage issues from the strings, but gum? I was told by the woman who runs the coordination center for my surgeon that we aren’t supposed to chew gum, because if you swallow it, it can get stuck in your pouch and you might have to be opened up to have the gum removed. Now, I’ve NEVER accidentally swallowed gum in my entire life (though of course I’ve done it on purpose in the past), so this particular rule I’ve chosen to ignore. So far, I’ve had no problems! * * * Ok, in all your catting about, heh, have you ever come across a polydactyl or 6 toed kitty? If so, freak of nature, or the cutest thing with huge feet you’ve ever seen? If you ever come across one, I’m on the search. I lurve me a 6 toe kitty. Inquiring minds want to know. I’ve come across several polydactyl kitties, and I think they’re freaky, but in a cute way. They almost look like they’re walking around with snowshoes on the end of their legs. And of course, that just means there are more kitty toes to play with, which can never be a bad thing. * * * Why can’t you eat chicken? I know when I was having gall bladder issues- before I knew I was having gall bladder issues- anytime that I ate chicken I would be in AGONY. I went to the Dr after a 4 hour attack and he said “don’t eat fat.” So now, 8 yrs after having the frigging thing (the gall bladder that is) ripped out of my body I still can’t process fatty foods that well. It doesn’t stop me from eating them but now I intimately familiar with every bathroom between here and east timbuktu. Fun times. Chicken – boneless, skinless chicken breasts, which is about all we used to eat around here – doesn’t sit well in my pouch because it has a tendency to be very dry, and it makes my pouch hurt (and eventually makes me throw up). I’ve actually, in the past few weeks, given chicken thighs a try and they’ve gone down pretty well. They’re dark meat, thus moister than chicken breasts, and I haven’t had any problems with them. If I tried fried chicken, my guess is that it would go down okay, but since the surgery I malabsorb fat, and I don’t know how that works for other WLS patients, but with me it means that whatever particularly fatty food I eat goes directly through me and I have to run for the bathroom. * * * Does Mz. Poo like water?? I have had 2 tortoise shell cats and they have both been bathroom inhabitants. Both would sit on the edge of the tub and wait til the water was drained and immediately jump in and roll around. Very strange. She likes to drink bathtub water, and she likes to go into the shower to slurp up the shower water, but she doesn’t like to actually get wet – though once when she was a baby, she jumped into the shower with me, and the horror of getting soaked has apparently stayed with her, because she hasn’t tried it again. Sugarbutt, Tommy, and Mister Boogers LOVE to go outside right after it rains and roll around in the wet grass, though. Weird cats. * * * I can barely get my 3 cats to be in the same room with one another…. I wanna know what your secret is. I wish we had a secret – I’d write a book about it and make millions! Not all the cats like each other, but Boogie, Tommy, and Sugarbutt are special friends, and every once in a while Miz Poo and Tommy will play fight. I don’t know how it is that they’re not mortal enemies, but they aren’t, and I’m really glad they’re friends (most of the time). * * * Have you read the John Dunning books about the Denver bookscout? They are mysteries. There’s a new one out that is quite good. I have not, but I just put Booked to Die on my wish list, and if I like that, I’ll see about getting the rest of the series! I’m always on the lookout for good books. * * * Are you liking I Thought My Father Was God? It was one of the last father’s day books I bought for my dad, and he really enjoyed it. I liked it quite a bit, and I was sad when it ended. Maybe one of these days they’ll put out a followup! Do you ever watch Project Runway? Are you looking forward to season 3? I’ve never watched Project Runway, but my friend Liz does, and she loves to tell me about what’s going on. Maybe one of these years I’ll get around to checking it out! I have become addicted to reading your blog at work to make the time go by. How many blogs do you try to read every day? I’m at 4 but it’s steadily growing. It really varies as to how many blogs and journals I get around to checking out every day. Some days I read a ton – my links list is here – and some days I only get a chance to check out ten or so. Which kind of sounds like a lot, doesn’t it?! It doesn’t seem like that many, though! * * * Just out of curiosity, how far is it to get to all these places you hike? The hikes themselves tend to be between three and four miles (except for our Monday hikes, which are one or two miles), and it takes about half an hour to get to the other side of Huntsville on Wednesdays and Fridays, to get to Montesano mountain, or the Land Trust, which is where we do most of our hiking. * * * Here’s a question for you. Have you ever gone out looking to see if Spud has a myspace page? Recently, I discovered that a friend of mine’s daughter has one and while it’s not all kee-razy, (1) I still wonder if Mom knows it’s out there and (2) if I should tell. So, being somewhat computer savvy, do you ever check around for Spud online? Oh, the spud does have a myspace page. I don’t remember if she sent me the link or I stumbled across it… No, she must have sent me the link, because I doubt I would have found it on my own. She also has a xanga site, which I check every few days. I also check the comments people leave for her, and will occasionally check out her friends’ sites. Partly because I’m nosy and partly because it doesn’t hurt to keep an eye on the people she’s associating with. She’s still my BAYBEE, y’know. As far as whether to tell your friend about her daughter’s myspace page… I have to say, I’d probably mention it to her if I were you. Unless your friend is a controlling nut who would freak out about it, and then I’d say don’t! * * * Sleeping Suggie, up close. Sleeping Poo. Seriously. Have you EVER seen such a happy sleeping kitty? My brother once said that Mister Boogers always looks slightly sinister. I’d say he’s got a point! All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: “If I can make four percoset get me high for the next year, you just might.” 2004: (Don’t lecture me, I KNOW. I swear I’ll wear sunscreen from now on okay, MOTHER?) 2003: No entry. 2002: Hell. O. Dolly. God in heaven, they were SO DAMN GOOD. 2001: Plus I’m taking this newfangled thing they call “pen and paper.” 2000: No entry.]]>

flat part” of the trail? IT LOOKS UPHILL TO ME. This must mean we’re about to start on the “short uphill climb” any minute now, right, you fucker? Being “short“, I’m sure it’s three miles straight up the side of a cliff.” “Bessie,” Fred said, “I swear it’s just a short climb, and then we’ll be back at the car.” “Save your breath,” I said, gasping for air. “I don’t believe a word you say, you lying liar.” Not long after, we reach the end of the trail, which ended at a small playground. “Oh,” Fred said as an afterthought. “There’ll be one more very short climb to get to the parking lot.” “I hate you,” I said. “I know you do.”

* * * Someone asked for a comparison picture of Fred and I from when we went to Florida in 1997, next to the one I posted yesterday. Since I am such a sweet, accommodating soul, here you go, Shayne! Yeah, I’d say there’s a slight difference! * * * On our drive home from the hike yesterday, we passed a chipmunk sitting on the curb. Just sitting there, hanging out, taking in the lovely evening sun. It was all I could do not to jump out of the car, grab him up, and squeeze him to death. Chipmunks are just the damn cutest, aren’t they? * * * Did I mention that I VOLUNTARILY got up out of bed at 5:20 yesterday morning so I could do my 4(.16!) mile walk before I went to the pet store yesterday? Because if I wait and go when I get home from the pet store, it’s usually around 9:00, and it has usually started to get hot out. So I got up, went for my walk, got home, changed into regular clothes, and went to the pet store. I stopped at the grocery store on the way home, and was home before 9:00. I’m sure that when Fred walked into the bedroom at 5:30 and saw me up and dressed, he thought “Who are you, and WHAT have you done with my slacker wife?” * * * Last Friday, the spud and I went to Ruby Tuesday for lunch, and then we went over to Kohl’s, because I wanted to see what they had in the way of jeans, because I am ALL about the jeans these days. I ended up buying a pair of denim capris (which I LOVE), and three men’s polo shirts in size XLT (extra-large tall). Tall, because I like my shirts to be long enough to cover my gut. The shirts were less than $10 each, and the capris were (I think) $15. I also wandered over to the underwear section and found that the Barely There panties were on sale for $4.20 each. They’re regularly more than $7, so I dug through the racks and bought six pair of them. I LOVE THEM. They’re amazingly comfortable, and my new favorite underwear, which means they’ll probably discontinue them in three… two… one… Discontinued! Every single time I find underwear that I like (I HATE the underwear with the elastic band around the waist that digs in and hurts by the end of the day) they discontinue it about ten seconds later. I think an underwear respresentative must be following me around and reporting back to the Panty Commission when I discover panties I like. So yesterday I had a couple of things to return at Kohl’s, and I thought I’d see if the panties were still on sale, and whether I could find another pair of denim capris. The capris were hard as hell to find – they had every size BUT mine – but I finally did find a pair. Then I went back to the underwear section and realized that the reason the Barely There panties were on sale is because that particular style was being discontinued. I spent half an hour digging through the racks, and bought almost every pair they had in my size (I didn’t buy the white ones that were in my size, ’cause I don’t like white underwear. Why? Fuck if I know.). I think, for the most part, I’m all set for clothes for now. Of course, in a couple of months when everything I bought is too big for me, I’ll probably be kicking myself. But for now, I’m STYLIN’. * * * Someone asked in my comments yesterday (and if you asked a question in yesterday’s comments, you might want to go back and check them, ’cause I answered a lot of comments IN the comments) what we’re going to do with the spud gone. The answer, of course, is almost exactly what we’d do if the spud were here. Being that she’s 17, she spends a lot of time on her computer and out with her friends, so we don’t see her a whole lot these days, anyway. While she’s gone, though, we can wander around naked and not have to worry about getting caught. And yet? There hasn’t been a lot of naked wandering in the past few days. Something we should, perhaps, remedy. * * * I love it when I get the cats looking dorky. He is so very, very bad, with his blue and pink SoftPaws. All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: “Spot caught a copperhead!” 2004: No entry. 2003: Poor Gram. 2002: Oh, quit with the gasps of horror. 2001: Lynn is very very nice, but as I’ve mentioned, she doesn’t appreciate the beauty of silence. 2000: I was giving out dirty looks left and right, let me tell you.]]>

And then, Fred turned to me and said “The hiking is about to get hard, but remember – it’ll only last about a quarter of a mile.” “Oh, really,” I snapped, because I’d JUST been thinking “This trail has its difficult spots, but overall, not a bad hike!” “A quarter of a mile,” I said. “Is that ALL?” A quarter of a mile is VERY VERY LONG if you’re doing a hard trail, let me tell you. Maybe not for you experienced hikers, but for people who really prefer to sit on their asses on the couch, it’s hell. And I have my doubts as to whether or not the hard part was only a quarter of a mile, because it went on and on and on and ON, and I had to keep stopping and bending over to gasp some air into my lungs, while Fred just kept on going like a fucking mountain goat. I said “I hate you” many, many times on this hike, let me tell you. At one point, Fred said “We just have a little further!”, and I gasped “First of all, I HATE YOU. Second of all, I can see the top of this hill. Is that where it ends, or does it go on?” and he said “Uh. Well, no, it goes on a little more.” And then I killed him. No, actually, what I did was growl “GIVE ME THE CAMERA”, and he did. Then I said “Get your ass back down the hill to the last tree I can see from here, so I can take a picture and show all my readers how HATEFUL you are.” And he did, and I did.

The picture does NOT do the hill justice. It was WAY FUCKING HILLIER than it appears in that picture, believe you me. And after I’d taken the picture, do you know what the hateful bastard did? He RAN back up the hill, and he was NOT even breathing hard when he got back to me. He is a hateful, evil motherfucker. We finally finally FINALLY got to O’Shaughnessy Point, where there are benches for resting upon, and the path from there to the parking lot is nice and flat and easy (it’s the same path I went on to get back to the car last Saturday when Fred and I split up to meet back at the parking lot), and so we sat on a bench while I caught my breath and drank some water. Fred: “What hill?” Robyn: “I hate you.” We split up again so Fred could go on a hard hike and I could take the easy path back to the parking lot. It took most of the way back to the parking lot before I felt like I had finally caught my breath and could breathe easily. So on the way home, I said to Fred “That was NOT a step above last week’s hike. That was like TEN STEPS above last week’s hike!” and then we had to have a discussion about what hike we’d done last Wednesday, because he couldn’t remember. Sunday morning I woke up, and my ass muscles were VERY sore. Which is good, because that means I worked out some new muscles, I guess. Tonight we’re supposed to go for an “easy” hike. Which probably means it’ll be ten miles straight uphill the entire way. I hate that fucker. Good thing for him he’s so damn cute, is all I have to say. * * * When we got home from hiking, rather than taking a shower and a long nap, I had to finish cleaning the house in preparation for Fred’s parents’ visit. The thing that most needed cleaning was the hardwood floors in the entryway, hallway, and dining room. The last time I mopped them, I used a vinegar and hot water solution, and the floors looked HORRIBLE. I did some looking around online, and found that rather than using a wet mop, what I should have done was used a barely damp mop. Some more research, and I found a cleaning solution recipe for hardwood floors, and I decided to give it a try. The cleaning solution is water, ammonia, rubbing alcohol, and a bit of dishwashing liquid. It was strikingly similar to the recipe for the solution I use in spray bottles for cleaning the kitchen, the litter box, and basically whatever else needs to be sprayed and wiped down. The recipe is here. When I was at Target last week, I bought a handful of microfiber cleaning rags, and so I got down on my hands and knees, sprayed the floor with the cleaning solution, and then wiped it up with microfiber cloths. I’m not crazy about getting down on my hands and knees to clean, so when it came time to do the dining room floor, I got my Swiffer out, and put the microfiber cloths in the Swiffer. And it worked like a CHARM. My floors haven’t looked this good in quite some time. They’re shiny, streak- and smudge-free, and even the cats with their wet little paws haven’t made the floors look bad in the past two days. It’s a cleaning miracle! * * * The spud left for California yesterday morning. She got there with no problems at all, and she’ll be spending the next few weeks in California, then fly to Rhode Island to spend time with her father and his wife. The house is oddly quiet. * * * Currently reading: Holidays on Ice, by David Sedaris. Recently finished: The Husband, by Dean Koontz. I think this is the first time in my life I’ve finished a Dean Koontz book in one day. Usually it takes several days of reading, since his books tend to be so long, but this one was a fast read – and I really, really liked it a lot. * * * I fail to see how this could possibly be comfortable. “What?” “Duh?” Go be petted, or run and hide? Run and hide, or be petted? SUCH a dilemma. All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: Then, I stopped and thought about it, which hurt a little. 2002: I was an errand-running fool today. 2001: You always know you’re going to have a nice, clean system the next day if you’ve eaten you a big ol’ helpin’ of okra. 2000: Oh, that’s right. That was my bright idea.]]>

here.

* * * So yesterday when Fred got home from work, I tried on some clothes for him and asked his opinion on various things. For one, I found some cotton pants that were marked way down, and I needed his opinion on whether they were too tight on me in the thigh region. He said they looked fine to him, but pointed out that they were way too long, which I knew. I’m going to wash them and see if they shrink any, length-wise, and if they don’t, I’m going to take them to be hemmed. Surely they won’t charge much money to hem four pairs of pants, right? Then I tried on the swim shorts and top I bought from Junonia to wear in Florida next week. The shorts looked okay, but the top – a rash guard with short sleeves – fit in a way that made me uncomfortable. DON’T ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME, DAMNIT! See, I have got ultra flabby upper arms. And while some women are comfortable showing their flabby upper arms to the world – and good for them! You go, girls! – I am just NOT comfortable doing that. And if it makes me uncomfortable, will I be comfortable on the beaches of Florida, feeling like everyone’s staring at my flabulous arms? NO I WILL NOT. So I ended up deciding to send the top back, keep the shorts, and wear a CoolMax shirt with the shorts. I SEE YOU ROLLING YOUR EYES, AND SHADDUP. Then I tried on a pair of pants I’d gotten at Target earlier in the week, a pair of what were labelled “Capris”, but I think of capris as ending right below the knee, and these looked more like highwater pants than what I thought of as capris, so I tried them on and asked Fred if they looked dorky. He said they didn’t, but they also didn’t really look like my kind of style (ha! Like I HAVE a “style”!). However, since I only bought them to wear hiking (or maybe this fall when it starts cooling down, if they still fit – which I hope they don’t!), I guess I’ll keep them. I’d provide pictures for y’all, but I’m afraid you’d start thinking I’m an attention whore who canNOT get enough compliments, and I SWEAR I’m not! So then I put the clothes I’d been wearing back on, and Fred looked disapprovingly at the polo shirt I was wearing and said “That shirt is WAY too big for you.” Which it is, because it’s a 5X, and it came from a Big & Tall Men’s store, and according to their size charts I’m now in a size L, so yeah. Too big, too long. He went into the closet, got one of his own polo shirts, and told me to try it on. When I did, he proclaimed that it fit perfectly, and I should start wearing his old polo shirts from now on. Except – DON’T ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME, DAMNIT! It felt too tight to me through the stomach. The middle stomach. Where a lovely roll of fat resides, and which – to me – appeared to be standing up and waving hello in this shirt that purportedly “fit” me. So I told Fred maybe I’d be comfortable wearing it in ten or fifteen pounds, and told him not to get rid of it. And that was pretty much the excitement for yesterday – finding out that I can ALMOST fit into one of Fred’s shirts. The day I weigh less than him AND can easily wear one of his shirts? There will be a par-TAY. * * * Meme, seen over on MySpace. ONE. Spell your name without vowels: rbyn ndrsn TWO. Are you single? Nope. THREE. How many pair of jeans do you own? One – shortly to be three, when the jeans I won off eBay get here. FOUR. What color do you wear most? Yellow. FIVE. Least favorite color? Uh… puke green, I guess. SIX. Last song you heard? No one can find the rewind button, girl. So cradle your head in your hands And breathe… just breathe, Oh breathe, just breathe SEVEN. Where do you wish you were? On the beach in Florida! EIGHT. Are you happy with your life right now? Very much so. NINE. Anyone ever said you resemble a celebrity? Years ago someone told me I looked like Mama Cass (gee, thanks), and I’ve also been told Rosie O’Donnell. Neither of whom I particularly want to look like – I’d prefer to hear Ashley Judd. TEN. What is your favorite time in school? I always really liked the part where it was over. ELEVEN Do you shop at stores like Hollister, Abercrombie & Fitch, and AE? I… do not even know what those are. Sex toy stores? Ha! Kidding! Clothes stores, right? Uh… right? TWELVE. How do you make money? I sponge off my sugar daddy. THIRTEEN. Best friend of same sex as you? My sistah! FOURTEEN. When do/did you start Summer Break? My life is a summer break! FIFTEEN Are you missing someone right now? Actually, no. SIXTEEN. One word to describe you: “Sassy” (says Fred) SEVENTEEN. Favorite pair of shoes: These: EIGHTEEN. Do you own big sunglasses? Yeah, they’re pretty big. NINETEEN. What would you rather be doing right now? Sitting on the beach in Florida! TWENTY. What should you be doing right now? Uh… actually, there’s nothing pressing. I need to do some laundry, but I got the most important stuff done this morning (cleaning out the bird bath, filling the bird feeders, and putting out peanuts for the squirrels). TWENTY-ONE. Do you have a crush on anyone? I might have a tiny crush on Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson. * * * Currently reading: Motion to Suppress, by Perri O’Shaughnessy. Recently finished: Breaking Clean, by Judy Blunt. It ended up being a lot better than I thought it was going to be at the beginning, and I enjoyed it. Reading about all the work ranch wives do is guaranteed to make you feel like a lazy-ass slug. * * * Anatomy of a Snooze (Starring Tom Cullen M-O-O-N) * * * Previously 2005: This is the story of how my husband is a fucker. 2004: As you can imagine, I’m in a REALLY good mood. 2003: After much persuasion, he confessed that he’d seen the movie ratings poster on the wall and thought there was going to be a movie about the ratings system. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: When I think about the incredibly stupid things I did as a teen, it makes me cringe.]]>

this again in my life (warning: link will make you cry. Hard.) (Link from Whitters)

* * * A couple of people emailed me, and also one or two of you left comments yesterday and today reminding me not to invest too much money in jeans or any clothes, since I’ll be shrinking out of them. Oh trust me, I know! The jeans in yesterday’s picture were a gift from Awesome! Reader! Bobbie! (who rocks), and with someone’s advice I bid on jeans over on eBay. I ended up with two pair of Old Navy jeans for $13 and a lot of Lane Bryant jeans (and capris) for $20. Once I’ve shrunk out of them, I’ll find a good home for them. And I think the smaller I get, the better luck I’ll have with finding my size in the thrift stores around here. Hopefully, anyway! * * * I went this morning to have my hair cut and colored. I mentioned previously that I was going to go shorter and lighter (to which Fred responded “You’re going to come home with a platinum blond crew cut, aren’t you?” Heh.), but when I told my HairChick that I wanted to go lighter, she suggested going with highlights. And since I am as malleable as Play-Dough, I agreed, and I’ve gotta say – I like it! The highlights probably aren’t noticeable to anyone but me, but I don’t care. I notice ’em, and I like ’em! (Don’t expect to see my hair styled like this ever again, since I don’t go for the whole styling thing, really. Spray in some gel, blow the top partly dry, and that’s about it!) * * * I didn’t sleep worth a shit last night. First of all, Fred and I went on a three mile hike last night, and by the time we went to bed, I was dead on my feet. So I didn’t even try to stay up and read after he went to bed, just went immediately to bed myself. And do you suppose I could fall asleep? Of COURSE not. I must have tossed and turned for an hour or more before I finally drifted off to sleep. Then I kept waking up, because my legs and hips were aching like hell (due to the hike), and every time I woke up, Sugarbutt came bouncing up on the bed to knead on me (he’s a strong little fucker) and licklickLICK my neck. Finally, I made like a turtle (pulling my shoulders up so he couldn’t get to my neck), and he’d settle down next to me. And I’d juuuuuuust about fall back to sleep, when he’d decide that his paw needed to be on my face, or his nose needed to be on my cheek, or he needed to hook his neck over my head. Which is cute and all, except for the tenth time it happens, and all you freakin’ want to do is SLEEP, only your legs and hips ache so badly that you can’t find a comfortable position. At one point Sugarbutt was kneading and licking, Tommy was rubbing his nose on my hand, hoping for a pet, Miz Poo was sitting on the pillow right by my head, cleaning herself, and Mister Boogers was curled up in the crook of my knee, growling at me if I dared to so much as move, and I said “Oh you have fucking GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!”, and I grabbed the can of compressed air and they all immediately scattered. For about two minutes, when the whole game started over again. Add to that that I needed to get up at 6:00 to get my (4 mile!) walk in before I had my hair appointment*, and I kept waking up thinking I’d overslept, and it just wasn’t a good night for me. Not to mention that I woke up three separate times with my tongue COMPLETELY DRY. Not just a bit dry, not just “Oh, I should drink some water.” No, completely DRY TO THE TOUCH. This is something I’ve dealt with ever since surgery, and it can’t be a dehydration thing, since I drank 4 liters of water yesterday and a couple of Diet Snapples. I’m sure it’s because I sleep with my mouth open, but I’ve always slept with my mouth open, and if anyone has any suggestions, feel free to leave ’em in the comments, because a dry tongue? A very gross feeling. *6:00: Wake up. 6:00 – 6:30: Putter around the house, use the bathroom, put contacts in, take morning medication, get dressed, make bed, clean out litter box, check email, put sunblock on, put socks and shoes on, get BobPod, leave the house. 6:30 – just before 7:45 (I’ve knocked about five minutes off my 4.16 mile walk! Woot!): Walk. 7:45 – 8:15: Fuck around in front of the computer, answer email, get water, goof off. 8:15 – 8:45: Shower, fold laundry, read a little bit. 8:45: Wake up spud, leave for hair appointment. In case you were wondering why I’d need to get up so early for a 9:00 appointment. * * * Speaking of that hike last night, as Fred described it to me, it was one mile going downhill, one mile going uphill, and one mile flat. Now, I know I’ve told y’all that I am so very NOT crazy about the uphill stuff, but may I say? It really wasn’t that bad. Fred asked me to rate the hike on a scale of 1 to 10, and I decided it was a 5 (though my first thought was that it was a 4, really). I mean, there was uphill stuff and I sweated a lot and breathed awfully hard sometimes, but how many times did I ask to stop and rest? ONCE. Just once, and just because I thought I was going to pass out. I finally had to lay down the law for future hikes with Fred, though, because he tends – when we’re going uphill – to turn to me every minute and say “Do you need to stop?”, because he doesn’t know the two fundamental rules of Robyn Hiking, which are (1) If I stop, I’m not going to want to start again, and (2) If we stop, it just takes that much longer to get to the fucking top of the fucking hill. This hike wasn’t bad because while there were uphill parts, they mostly had plateaus for a little bit after each hill, which allowed me to catch my breath. I wish I’d taken a camera with me, because Fred actually SWEATED this time. Of course, I was soaked in sweat and he just had the slightest film of sweat, but still. Sweat! * * * I got this Father’s Day card for Fred’s father. It cracks me UP. * * * “What the hell was I going to do? Why’d I come in here? Did one of the boys need a bitch-slap? I just don’t REMEMBER.” * * * Previously 2005: Due to Poop Watch version 2.0, there is no entry for today. 2004: Damn weather! 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: It’s the wild monkey sex, I must confess. 2000: “It’s NOT a cult, Mom!”]]>

And then I realized that that shirt doesn’t so much “fit” as “is two sizes too big and looks like I’m wearing a pajama shirt with a pair of jeans, what a dork.” Time to put the shirt on the giveaway pile, I s’pose. So anyway, that’s a picture of ME wearing JEANS, which is an amazing thing. Did I mention that awesome reader Bobbie rocks? Because she DOES. Even Sugarbutt was amazed that I was wearing jeans. Hell, even the spud noticed! Today, jeans. Tomorrow, miniskirts slit up to HERE. (NO, not really. I don’t got the legs for miniskirts.)

* * * Last night I was a poker widow AND an empty nester for the evening. Fred went to a poker game after work, and the spud went over to her friend’s house, and thus I was left alone from about 3:00 ’til 7:30. And ohhhhhhhh the plans I had! I was going to wait and eat dinner late (at 6:30) instead of at the 4:30 that Fred prefers! I could watch whatever I wanted on TV, and I could take an early evening bath if I wanted, and I wouldn’t have to answer to NO ONE. What’d I end up doing? Watching a couple of episodes of “How I Met Your Mother”, eating dinner late (woohoo! PAR-TAY!), and reading on the couch in front of the TV, which was tuned to VH-1 Country. Do I know how to live large, or what? * * * This morning after I talked to my mother for a little while, I was checking my messages, when Fred called. “If you want to see something cute, you need to come to the office,” he said. So I did. And BOY were they cute. One of Fred’s employees was sitting in his office, and saw these three little ducks go wandering by, no Momma in sight. He went out and looked for the mother duck, didn’t see her anywhere, and so grabbed up the babies. He lives on quite a bit of land with ponds on the property, so he’s going to take them home and raise them. He estimates that they’re about four days old, and says they’re mallards. They are UNBEARABLY cute. I picked one up and held it, and it cheeped at me and was so frightened that it vibrated. I know it’d be a bad idea, but I can’t help wishing like hell we could have one as a pet! (Luckily, calmer minds will prevail on this one.) * * * Suggie and Toms are uncertain how they feel about The Momma in jeans. They ARE certain that they’d like a pet duck, though. All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2005: It took me a minute to get it. Duh. 2004: Have I mentioned that I have a big ol’ crush on Roland? Yeah. There’s me, being geeky again… 2003: Still no Fancypants. 2002: Well, did you feel the earth crack open? 2001: I guess not everyone is as much a wimp as I. 2000: I feel like I spent all day running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off and got nothing accomplished. ]]>

Tuesday Three. List three things you’ve drank today yesterday (since it’s still pretty early for me): 1) Water 2) Diet Snapple Pink Lemonade (not sure if I like it or not) 3) Diet Snapple Lime Green Tea List three things you’ve eaten today yesterday: 1) Boiled shrimp. 2) Roasted asparagus. 3) String cheese. List three talents you wish you had: 1) I wish I had zero fear of speaking in public (is that a talent?). 2) I wish I could play any kind of musical instrument. 3) I wish I could sing.

* * * Fred and I went for another hike yesterday, this one here in Madison on Rainbow Mountain. I had to yell at him on Sunday because every single day since I brought up the idea of hiking together a few days a week, he’s brought it up CONSTANTLY. “Let’s go for a hike around Rainbow!” he likes to say, right after I’ve eaten and have had to make 63 trips to the bathroom. “Let’s go up the Waterline trail!” he likes to say, when I’m in the middle of having a relaxing day. “Let’s go for a hike around Rainbow!” he likes to say, when I’m in the middle of doing housework. Finally, Sunday afternoon, when he tried the “Let’s go for a hike around Rainbow!” for the zillionth time, I let him have. “Would you SHUT THE FUCK UP about hiking?!” I yelled. “Just because I suggested we start hiking together doesn’t mean I want you harassing the fucking shit out of me sixteen fucking times a day! If you don’t knock it off, I’m never going hiking with you again and you can climb goddamn Mt. Katahdin on your OWN!” I might possibly have been PMSing. So yesterday when he got home from work and we were laying on the bed talking, he said “Are you in a good mood?” I groaned. “WHYYYYYYYYYYY? What do you have to tell me?” “I’d like to suggest, in the most non-harassing way possible, that we go for a hike after dinner.” I thought about it, took a mental inventory of how I felt, and said “Maybe. Ask me after dinner.” Obviously – since I already said we went for a hike yesterday – I decided I was up for it. On the way to the mountain, Fred started asking me about what kind of hike I wanted to go on. “Do you want to go downhill and then flat and then uphill at the end? Do you want to go downhill and then uphill and then flat at the end? Do you want to go uphill and then downhill and then uphill again and then a little bit flat and then uphill again?” “Goddamn!” I said. “I don’t want uphill at the end, otherwise I don’t care!” “We’ll go on the downhill, then uphill, then flat at the end, so you can cool down a little.” He is such a fucking liar. We went on the downhill, this is true. And then we went uphill, also true. And then it was flat for about three feet, and then it was uphill almost the entire way back to the car. “I guess this isn’t as flat as I thought,” he said. “No,” I said, gasping and panting for air. “Some people might even call it UPHILL.” It took us 45 minutes to do a mile of hiking. This does not bode well for our three-mile hike on Wednesday. And at the end? I was dripping with sweat, and he had not a single drop of sweat anywhere on him. I hate him. * * * When we got home, we settled in front of our computers, me to check my mail and Fred to call about a couple of houses we’d seen in a “Homes and Land” magazine. I glanced toward the front door and saw Miz Poo and Mister Boogers sitting there. “How odd,” I thought. “They never sit there like that. What’s going on?” And I leaned forward and saw that, under the table in the corner by the stairs, was a bird, just calmly standing there. And the cats were calmly standing there watching it. “Hang up the phone,” I said to Fred. “We’ve got a bird.” Fred told me to go get him some gloves, and once he put them on (hot pink gloves I keep under the sink for cleaning, which looked quite SMASHING on him, if I do say so) he reached under the table and picked up the bird, who didn’t fight or squawk or resist in any way. (I like the picture of Tubby, Patron Saint of Bird-Killing Cats, hanging in the background) Fred walked the bird to the back door, went out into the back yard, held out his hand, and the bird flew off. It was the calmest bird experience we’ve ever had. I bet that the bird’s refusal to fight or fly frantically around the house is what saved his life. Anyone know what kind of bird that is? * * * The happiest kitty in the! whole! world! The old grouch, curled up and sleeping. * * * Previously 2005: Gives a whole new meaning to the term of endearment “Shithead”, doesn’t it? 2004: No entry. 2003: Still no Fancypants. 2002: What the FUCK is going on with Meg Ryan’s hair?! 2001: House hunting. 2000: Any way you slice it, it’s going to be one hell of a long drive.]]>