Author: Robyn

reading: Catch me, by AJ Holt. Recently finished: My Losing Season, by Pat Conroy. I usually adore everything Pat Conroy writes, but this one I just didn’t care for. I don’t know if it’s ’cause I don’t give a damn about sports or what, but the book only about half held my interest the entire way through. Finished before that: The Wonder Spot, by Melissa Banks. Loved it!

* * * So yes, I took yesterday off. I was actually up early enough to pound out an entry, but I puttered around the house for long enough that after I took my shower and got dressed, I had about ten minutes to kill before I needed to leave the house, and thus! No entry for you! I left a little after 8, because I had a 9:00 appointment with the nutritionist in South Huntsville and GOD I hate driving to South Huntsville when it entails making the change from 565 to South Parkway, because other people have the utter nerve and gall to be driving on the same roads, and the instant you get onto the Parkway you have to move, like, three lanes to the left or you’ll be forced to exit. ANYhoo, I made it to the nutritionist’s office without any problems and spent a little while cooling my heels in the waiting room, then about ten minutes talking to him (basically, he looked over my last week’s worth of menu, told me I was doing great, asked about exercise, and told me to email or call if I have any questions. Also, he gave me the go-ahead to start adding raw vegetables back to my diet, woohoo! And I mean that “woohoo!” in a completely sincere and non-ironic way, which is a little sad, but whatEVERRRR.). Now, I had an appointment at noon on the same side of Huntsville, and I had thought that perhaps I’d park somewhere and do some walking – since I didn’t have time to exercise before I left the house – but in the end I decided not to, and so when I left the house I didn’t bother to bring my sneakers or iPod; after my appointment was over, it was so nice that I was really wishing I’d brought my stuff, but since I didn’t I decided to do a little shopping and then run home for a little while. I stopped by Sam’s to look at the big planters, decided that they were too expensive and I’d just use the broken-down planters we already had (I bought some Million Bells Petunias to put in planters on the front porch), and then went to Target for – what else? – kitty litter and toilet paper. I got home and had about 45 minutes to kill before I needed to leave, so I cleaned the kitchen and vacuumed the entire house, then did some of the spud’s laundry (out of the goodness of my own heart, and for which I received NO “thank you”, by the way) and then I ended up leaving the house about 5 minutes late. I got to my appointment – a consultation for laser hair removal – right on time. It turns out that since the hair on the majority of my face is so light (very blond, but very thick, damnit), they couldn’t do laser hair removal on my whole face, but since the hair on my upper lip is dark enough, they could do that. And since it’s my mustache that bothers me the most, I decided to go ahead and have it done. And apparently once you say “Let’s do it!”, they’re ready to do it right then and there. So she led me into a room with a recliner-type table, shaved the dark hair on my upper lip, put gel on it, gave me big, ugly glasses to put on, and began with the lasering. And it hurt like a motherfucker. I’ve always heard it said that it feels like being snapped with a rubber band, but to me it felt like someone was jabbing me with a needle. I can’t imagine if I’d ended up being able to have my entire face done – it would have driven me crazy, I’m sure. So I go back in six weeks for another treatment, and believe you me, I am NOT looking forward to it. Hopefully it’ll help, though. I’m still disappointed, though – I had hoped they’d be able to laser ALL the hair off my face, and sure it’s not as noticeable as if it were dark hair, but I always notice it, damnit. Maybe I’ll invest in an at-home waxing kit and teach myself how to wax the hair off my face. Now, THAT would be a clusterfuck, I’m sure. * * * One day last week the spud mentioned to me that she thought it was time for an eye checkup, because things on the blackboard at school were appearing kind of blurry to her. I asked her if she’d be interested in getting contacts, and at first she said no, but after talking to her boyfriend she changed her mind and decided she might want to get contacts. So I called and made the appointment for Monday after school. Monday came, and I picked her up at school and we dropped her stuff off at home, and then headed out for the eye appointment. It turns out that her eyes have changed a little bit in the last two years, but not much. The optometrist said he thought that maybe her eyes were starting to level off, and there probably wouldn’t be a lot of change in the future. Then he asked her if she was interested in contacts, and she hemmed and hawed and finally I said “Yes, she would.” So one of the women who works for the optometrist sat down with the spud and spent twenty minutes talking her through putting the contacts in. It took a long time for her to get the first contact in, and slightly less time to get the second one in, because several times once the contact was in, she’d blink immediately, and of course the contact would come back out. Once they were in, she had to take one of them out, and that took a while, as well. Then we went over to find a new pair of glasses for her and paid for those and the contacts (I got two boxes of contacts for her, which is a six-month supply), and we headed home. “Do you still sometimes blink when you put your contact in, and it falls out?” she asked, as I was driving toward home. “No, I’ve been wearing contacts for….” I did some mental calculations. “Twenty-five years, so I’m used to it.” And then I immediately fell over dead, because I am ANCIENT. How the hell is it possible that I can remember something that happened twenty-five years ago? I mean, I remember every detail of that optometrist’s office, and having him coach me through putting the contacts in and taking them out. And I remember sitting at the table with a mirror that night and not being able to get my contacts out and saying “WHYYYYYYYYYYY did I ever want contacts???” Hell, I remember the little heating unit I used to have, where I’d have to take my contacts out, rubbing cleaning solution on them, put them in the case, and then put the case in the heating unit. And nowadays, I just pop my contacts out, put them in solution, and take them out in the morning and put them in without having to rinse them or anything. It’s amazing how times change, ain’t it? * * * Tommy in motion. Sugarbutt, watching his brothers run around like little maniacs. Boogie in motion (pardon the blurriness). Tommy, hauling ass. Sugarbutt in motion. “WHAT are those crazy boys doing?” Tommy in motion. All of today’s uploaded pictures can be seen here. * * * Previously 2005: Did I really write a chapter about my sex life? Eek! What was I thinking? 2004: “YES! Yes, she’s sick! No, she’s not sleeping, she’s SICK, and SHE’S ABOUT TO DIE, NOW WOULD YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?!” 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: It wasn’t until I said “I think she’s messed up in the head” that something clicked for her.]]>

It’s a Suggie in the Sug Cave! (And when Mister Boogers is in it, it’s a Boogie in the Boog Cave, and Tommy in the Tom Cave and Poo in the Poo Cave, etc.)]]>

List three celebrities you’d like to knock upside the head: 1) Chloe Sevigny. The MOST smackable face in all of Hollywood – although I will admit that I’m continuing to watch Big Love, which means I can apparently get past the smackability factor. 2) Bill Paxton. The second most smackable face in all of Hollywood – seeing the scene in Twister where he yells “We’re going innnnnnnnnn!” makes me grind my teeth. Someone in Hollywood’s got a wicked sense of humor, putting Chloe Sevigny and Bill Paxton in the same show. See above about how I continue to watch it, though. 3) Brad Pitt/ Angelina Jolie/ Tom Cruise/ Katie Holmes. I’m SO FUCKING TIRED of seeing their faces on the covers of magazines. SO TIRED. So they’re having babies. BIG FUCKING WHOOP. List three material possessions you’d hate to have to live without: 1) Books. 2) My digital camera. 3) BobPod. I wouldn’t be walking outside every day if I didn’t have podcasts to look forward to, and they just wouldn’t be the same without my cute little BobPod to play ’em for me.

* * * I forgot to mention that Fred and I went to the Space and Rocket Center and watched a couple of Imax movies on Saturday. I’ve never seen an Imax movie before, and the first one we watched – Fighter Pilot: Operation Red Flag – was really cool, even though it made me dizzy a few times in the beginning, because I really felt like I was on a plane, flying, and I had to close my eyes so I’d stop the dizziness. (Side note: When Fred and I got home, I said “That lead instructor, Rob Novotny, reminded me a lot of James Patrick Stuart.” Fred gave me A Look and shook his head, saying “I can’t believe you remembered his NAME.” “Well,” I said. “They kept showing his name tag, and it was bigger than your head. Of COURSE I noticed it.” Who wouldn’t remember the name of a cute, clean-cut military guy, fer godssakes? He was adorable, and he could probably come up with 20 ways to kill me using a ballpoint pen in ten seconds flat. I find that SEK-SAY.) In summation, Imax movies = very cool. Except for when they’re 20+ years old, like the second movie we saw, Hail Columbia! I liked the first one much better; I recommend it. * * *

You Are a Peacemaker Soul

You strive to please others and compromise anyway you can. War or conflict bothers you, and you would do anything to keep the peace. You are a good mediator and a true negotiator. Sometimes you do too much, trying so hard to make people happy. While you keep the peace, you tend to be secretly judgmental. You lose respect for people who don’t like to both give and take. On the flip side, you’ve got a great sense of humor and wit. You’re always diplomatic and able to give good advice. Souls you are most compatible with: Warrior Soul, Hunter Soul and Visionary Soul

I gotta say, I think this one hit the spot. I will almost always bend over backwards to avoid a confrontation, and conflicts bother the shit out of me (unless, of course, it’s a conflict between two people I barely know, and then I find it FASCINATING). If it’s a conflict between me and someone else, it stresses me OUT. I like my life to be conflict-free, thank you. * * * My parents are going to be here in a little less than three weeks. They were originally going to drive from Maine, but my father’s still not at 100% from having his gallbladder out – plus he’s started having MIGRAINES – and he found a coupon he could use for money off airline tickets, so they’re going to fly down. They’re arriving on the 20th, staying a few days, driving down to Tuscaloosa to meet with my father’s siblings and finish planning the big family reunion, then the reunion takes place on the 27th and then I guess there’s breakfast on the 28th, and then they’ll be back up here through the 3rd of June. I’ve already decided to drag my mother to the Unclaimed Baggage Center in Scottsboro, not that I guess there’ll be all that much dragging involved; I’m sure she’d be happy to check it out. Are you kidding? Shopping? She’s THERE. Anyway, I really need to start cleaning the house, because it desperately needs it, and I do try to not give her an excuse to go home and bitch about what a pigstye I live in, but if I do a massive cleaning now, I’ll just have to do it again the two days before they get here, so what’s the point? I should just do NO cleaning between now and two days before they arrive, and then do it all in one fell swoop. Hmm. Wonder if I could convince Fred to hire a professional cleaning service before the day they get here? * * * Speaking of flying and vacations and such, I finally signed onto Expedia Friday night to start getting plane tickets for the spud, who, this summer, will be visiting her grandparents in California, her father and his wife in Rhode Island, and then my parents. (You’re asking me, “What about her job?”, to which I respond that I told her she could talk to the manager and ask if she could have five weeks off, because she wants to spend time with her ailing grandfather (not my father, her paternal grandfather), and if they couldn’t give her five weeks off, she’d understand and give her two weeks notice. After all, all she’s working there for is to get experience, and she’ll have two full months of experience before she leaves, which will (I hope) help her get a job when she gets back. We’ll see. I don’t know, is it irresponsible of me to let her work a job for just a couple of months, then quit to travel? This is probably going to be the last year she’s going to be able to take so much time off in the summer, because next summer’s going to be the summer before she starts college, and she’s going to need to be working as much as she can. And it’s not like she’s planning on (I HOPE) making a career in the fast food industry. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.) So anyway, I got her tickets to fly to California, then from there to Rhode Island, and then I looked to see what was available for when I wanted to go to Maine, and I opened another window, signed on to Expedia from that window, and tried to match up her return flight from Maine to Alabama with MY return flight from Maine to Alabama, only when I tried to match up our return flights, hers ended up costing more than $600. And I tried it six ways to Sunday, and just couldn’t figure out a way to make it work that didn’t cost an arm and a leg. We were pretty tied down to having her come back on a certain day, because she has to pick up her schedule and pay fees and all that happy crap for school. Finally, I realized that – she being 17 – I could have her come back on Sunday, and then I could fly back on Monday. That way, I didn’t have to worry about matching up our return flights, I could get her the cheapest flight, and since I was staying an extra day, it actually cost me about $50 less. I’m glad I got it figured out, but MAN what a pain in the ass. I rue the day Independence Air went under. * * * It cracks me up, how incensed Sugarbutt gets when Tommy gets the upper hand. Especially when Sugarbutt STARTED IT. He swipes… he misses! Tommy The Evil Hellbeast prepares to rip out Sugarbutt’s throat. OH how they love the feather toy. * * * Previously 2005: …and then she smacks the shit out of him, and he closes his eyes and smacks blindly at her, never ever ever landing a single smack on the portly Poo. 2004: No entry. 2003: It appears that the mother of Crunchy, Chewy, and Cheesy had a hard-core craving for the Crunchy Gordita during her pregnancies, and thus (possibly when she wasn’t smoking crack with one hand and downing the hard liquor with the other, one assumes) named her children after it. 2002: We sure are some dish-using motherfuckers around here. 2001: As if the little bastard had said “Oh, can’t poo on Mom’s newspaper, don’t want to get it all nasty!” 2000: (Every entry won’t be a laundry list of my day, I promise. This not-working thing is still new to me!)]]>

new logo! This one created by the lovely and talented Gertie, and including all the kitties, which cracks me up. Thanks, Gertie!

* * * If you’re interested in seeing my progress pictures, you can see them over at OneFatBitchypoo. I actually did take a set of pictures in my underwear, but that’s for my (and Fred’s, obviously, since he took them!) eyes only. I’ve put up pictures of myself in my underwear before, back when I did Body for Life a few years ago, but I don’t think I’ll be doing that again anytime soon. The biggest shock to me wasn’t the difference in my size – though that was certainly nice to see – but how freakin’ TAN I’ve gotten over the past three months. I guess that’s what happens when you walk outside for half an hour to an hour several times a week, huh? * * * Bwah! take the virgin-whore dichotomy quiz.
and go to mewing.net. where we’re all studs. I do not, for the record, indiscriminately love all babies. They have to be related to me, or especially cute or funny. They have to EARN my love, is what I’m sayin’. Well, but, on the other hand, I also don’t automatically hate babies that I’m not related to or are ugly. I’m mostly neutral when it comes to babies I don’t know, unless they’re screaming in my ear or randomly puking on me from three feet away. (via Whitters) * * * There are very few songs where I know the entire song word for word. One of those songs is Friends in Low Places by Garth Brooks (shaddup, you), and the other is I’m on Fire, by Bruce Springsteen. Something about the way Bruce sings I’m on Fire makes me think of Elvis, so when I sing the song, I do it with an Elvis sneer. Anyway. I was laying on my bed the other morning after I’d exercised, trying to get up the energy to go take my shower and brush my teeth and all that VERY TIRING crap you have to do every day (well, you don’t GOTTA, but if you want to not drive people away with your stank and your rotting teeth, you probably should) and Tommy jumped up on the bed next to me and got an interested look on his face, as though he was thinking “Oh! Mom’s on the bed! Maybe she’ll scratch under this annoying and abusive electrical fence collar!”, so he waddled across the bed (seriously, folks, pictures don’t do justice to how tubby this cat is getting. Also, black is slimming.) and let me scratch his neck for a few minutes, then when he’d had enough he settled down on the piece of fleece blanket on the end of the bed (which is there specifically for cats, because god forbid the cats have to go further than three feet in any part of the house to find a comfy sleeping spot). He sat and gave me a Tommy Look o’ Love, and I sweet-talked him for a minute or two, then was struck with the compulsion to sing. “Hey little Tom, is yer Daddy home, did he go and leave you all alone, uhn-huhn, I got a bad desaaaaaaaahr, whoa-oh-oh, ahm on fire,” I sang, Elvis-ly. Tommy sat straight up and stared at me in alarm, horrified at the sounds emanating from my mouth, and then he turned around and flung himself off the end of the bed and ran away as fast as his little legs could carry him. And I didn’t see him again for hours and hours. Can’t say as I blame him. I couldn’t carry a tune if I had a bucket. * * * I spent a good part of the day Sunday getting caught up on all the Netflix movies I have in my possession. I didn’t expect to like any of them all that much, but I ended up liking ALL of them, surprisingly enough. Shopgirl, with Claire Danes and Steve Martin. It’s a quiet, kind of odd movie, just like the book. I liked it a little more than I liked the book, I think. In fact, I think it took me longer to watch the movie than it did to read the book. I recommend it. Match Point. Now, I’ve never EVER been much of a fan of Woody Allen – he creeps me out more than a little – and if I’d realized this was a Woody Allen movie I never would have put it on the Netflix queue, and once I started the movie and realized it was a Woody Allen movie, I decided I’d give it ten minutes to catch my interest. And surprisingly, it did. Another surprise, I’ve never been a Scarlett Johanssen fan – her face bugs me, and I’ve never thought she was much to look at – but I think that in this movie she was absolutely stunning and hot hot hot. My only gripe about the movie is that the opera soundtrack was too loud and overwhelmed the scenes it played over; I had a hard time concentrating on what was going on with the music blaring at me. An Unfinished Life. Jennifer Lopez, Robert Redford, Morgan Freeman. As Fred said (not that he watched it with me), any movie with Robert Redford and Morgan Freeman can’t be all bad. And it wasn’t, at all. I really liked the girl who played Griff (and no wonder she looked familiar – she was in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy). All in all, I enjoyed the movie, and I’ve gotta say it – I think Jennifer Lopez is underrated as an actress. * * * We’ve been working our way through Season 5 of CSI, and last week we were watching a show, and the victim was ready to be looked over by Dr. Robbins and one of the CSIs, I don’t remember which, and Dr. Robbins looked at the victim and said “Probably the most beautiful victim I’ve ever seen in here” and I was immediately creeped out. Fred couldn’t understand why, and I’m not sure I can explain it, but it’s surely got to do with the fact that should I die under suspicious circumstances and end up needing to be autopsied, I DON’T WANT THE CORONER RATING MY FUCKING LOOKS. I would much prefer it if the coroner quickly and efficiently did his (or her!) job, instead of standing over my bashed-in skull discussing my LOOKS. “Yeah, I’ve seen better, but I’ve seen worse. Flabby arms, legs… well, EVERYTHING, really, but you can see there’s muscle underneath! I’ll give her a 1.2 on the 10-scale because I’m feeling nice today.” And then, in the VERY NEXT show, the victim is laying on the autopsy table, and Dr. Robbins looks her over and says “Pretty girl,” and I had to yell “STOP IT!” at the TV, and it hasn’t happened again. CREEPY, man. Just creepy. * * * I canNOT even believe Miz Poo put up with this, but she did. I think maybe Tommy’s worming his way into her heart. Fred went to the flea market and came home with a new way to torture the cats. I should’ve been a cowcat I should’ve learned to rope and ride Wearing my six-shooter riding my pony on a cattle drive Stealing the young girlcat’s hearts Just like Gene and Roy Singing those campfire songs Oh I should’ve been a cowcat “I’m sitting in this bag until it goes away…” All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: Every time Madonna opens her self-important mouth these days, she just annoys the shit out of me. 2002: Thank god I vacuumed yesterday, so he won’t be eye-to-eye with a thousand rambling dust bunnies composed of cat fur. 2001: Who’s the dumbass now, huh? That’s right, me. 2000: I stood there and watched the bag go by, thinking to myself “How did he get it to keep going like that?” ]]>

Smart and Sassy is no more. Now I won’t have to wake up Sunday mornings and think “Oh, shit! I have to answer Smart and Sassy questions before I do anything else!”

* * * Thanks, you guys, for your honeymoon suggestions. At this point we’re leaning toward Hawaii, but I’m sure we’ll spend the next two years dithering about it before we make a decision! We did consider Australia and New Zealand (especially since that’s where the Amazing Race-ers were the other night, and Fred said “We’d just go there to listen to them talk!” and I said “Yeah, we’d say ‘No, we don’t need anything… but could you just keep talking to us?'”), and I actually suggested saving up to go there for our 15th or 20th anniversary, which we might do. I definitely want to visit Australia AND New Zealand someday, along with Scotland and Greece and just about every single country in existence, really. (Well, except Iraq and Iran and that area of the world. At least for the time being.) So many choices, so little time… * * * So last week, I think it was, I put a picture of Mister Boogers up on Flickr, and as I usually do, I put a note on the picture that explained that the collar he was wearing was an electric fence collar. A few days after I posted the picture, I got a comment on the picture from a complete stranger, saying: i think this is cruel to animals! I toyed with the idea of responding with Well, luckily you don’t get a vote in my life, dumbfuck, but instead opted to say: Crueler than letting them wander the neighborhood at will to be mauled by a dog or run over by a car? I heard nothing else for a week, and figured I wouldn’t. But then I logged into Flickr this morning and found another comment responding to mine: what kind of neighborhood do you live in? My cats won’t get anything like this! Of course the only possible response was: A neighborhood where there are dogs hanging out in their back yards and don’t take kindly to cats dropping in, and a neighborhood where cars tend to drive down the streets. You don’t live in a neighborhood with dogs and cars? I didn’t actually CALL him a dumbass, but I hope he got that it was implied. * * * My GOD was yesterday a busy day for me. I started it by dropping the spud off at school on my way to the pet store (I was covering for the usual Thursday morning person). I spent an hour at the pet store, cleaning cages, scooping litter boxes, and loving on kitties, and by the time I left there I was dripping with sweat. (62.5 pounds lost since my surgery almost 3 months ago, and I’m still dripping with sweat when I leave the pet store. I wonder if it’s something that will always make me sweat?) I left there and drove home. As soon as I got home I went upstairs to empty out the litter box (something I’d put off for longer than I should have, AS USUAL), and I kid you not – the INSTANT I got the lid put back on top of the litter box, Tommy ran in and shat it up. Little bastard. I dragged the dirty litter down to the garage (the dirty litter in a garbage bag, I mean. I wasn’t carrying handfuls of it down the stairs or anything) and the dirty litter boxes out into the back yard, where I filled them with soapy water and let them sit. I got my sneakers on and went for my 3.9-mile walk (which takes me almost an hour and 15 minutes – I have short ‘n stubby legs), and at one point while I was listening to a Keith and the Girl podcast, I laughed out loud, and I don’t even want to know what the people in the cars passing me by thought of me. My god, those people crack me up – and now that Chemda’s touring in Europe and they’re not doing the podcasts as often, I can go back and upload some of the old ones I haven’t listened to yet. When I got back from my walk, I went out back and scrubbed down the dirty litter boxes (golly, I wonder why our back yard isn’t as green as it could be?) and rinsed them out, then scrubbed down the bird bath and refilled it, and THEN scrubbed out the water dish we have sitting on the back patio and refilled it, because GOD FORBID our cats should have to come INSIDE the house if they get thirsty. Then I came back inside and went upstairs to take a shower and do some laundry. Outside the laundry room I was greeted by a ball of poo (not Poo, though. Actual POOP.) sitting there on the carpet with a piece of grass sticking out the top. Apparently one of the cats had used the litter box and jumped out to find that he (or she) had a hanger-on, and remedied the situation by dragging his (or her) ass along the carpet. I love my cats, but sometimes I really HATE MY FUCKING CATS too. I cleaned that mess up and commenced with the showering and laundry-ing. I was standing in front of the TV watching QVC (shut UP, we apparently lost power for a short time while I was on my walk, and when I turned the TV on, it was already tuned to QVC.) when my sister called. I talked to her for about half an hour, then got dressed and ran downstairs, grabbed the deposit I needed to make and the shopping list I made, and was out the door. My first stop was the credit union, where I was told that the insurance check (from the insurance company, paying for the repairs on E’gar) couldn’t be deposited because it was made out to “Fred And3rson”, but I’d endorsed it “Fredrick L. And3rson”, and insurance companies are apparently sticklers for exact endorsements. I thought about taking the check (when she sent it back out to me), signing it the correct way, and sending it back in, but I try not to be quite THAT obvious about my constant forgery of Fred’s signature, so I decided to stop on the way home and deposit it. Then I headed off to Sam’s, where I bought only a few things – Snuggle liquid fabric softener in the “Oh my GOD, NOTHING needs to be THAT soft!” size and garbage bags – that weren’t on my three-item (bottled water, paper towels, shrimp) list. I actually left Sam’s without spending $100 – I think that’s the first time EVER. Let me digress for a moment to say that I was THISCLOSE to going on a shooting spree during my trip through the Sam’s parking lot. What the FUCK is up with people who just MOSEY the fuck along in the parking lot when a car is trying to get past them? JESUS CHRIST, PEOPLE, GET OUT OF THE FUCKING MIDDLE OF THE LANE! MOVE OVER TO THE SIDE, YOU ANNOYING-ASS MOTHERFUCKERS! And THEN I get inside and need to go into the frozen foods section to get my shrimp, and every person over the age of 78 was crowded into the frozen foods section, crowded around the women who were giving out samples of whatever they were giving out, and just fucking STANDING IN MY WAY. I don’t give a shit if the old people visit Sam’s every day for lunch, but MUST THEY stand right the fuck in the way? ARGH. So I left Sam’s and went to Target, where I bought some shorts, a bunch of socks, and underwear in a size smaller than the too-big underwear I’ve been wearing for the last month. I don’t know if y’all have this issue, but when MY underwear is too big, it tries to solve the issue by crawling up my ass, and I spend all my time in public trying to find a hiding place where I can wedgie-pick without horrifying the people around me. I went through the shoe section, trying on shoes, because suddenly my shoes are too big for me, and I was trying to determine what size I should be wearing. I actually got a pair of size-8 canvas slide-on shoes on my feet (I’ve been a 9 wide for years), but when I tried on non-canvassy shoes, it was clear that 8 was too small. I think I may have gone from a 9 wide to a regular 9, but I’ll require time in a shoe store to determine that for sure. I left Target and went over to the pet store, where I bought nail clippers for the cats (our other ones have mysteriously vanished), and a sifting tray to replace the one we already have and which has a big crack down the side of it and needs to be replaced. (It’s too bad you can’t just buy the sifting tray, because I don’t need the other parts to the litter box). By this time it was the middle of the afternoon, and as I swore under my breath at the woman standing in my way as I headed out of the pet store, I realized I hadn’t eaten a single damn thing all day. Luckily, I was right across the street from a smoothie store, and one for which I actually had a $1-off coupon. Someone at my WLS support meeting on Saturday recommended the smoothies at this place, so I decided to get a low-carb smoothie and give it a try. Naturally, I realized once I’d ordered the smoothie that I’d left the $1-off coupon at home OF COURSE. I paid for the smoothie and headed out the door. I took one sip and realized I didn’t like the smoothie at ALL (but then had to take a second sip to confirm that, of course), and ended up tossing it when I got home. THEN I realized that I’d forgotten to go to the bank, so I ate lunch (which put me in a much better mood, no surprise there) and then went back out to the bank. Where I sat in line for what seemed like forever (luckily I’d brought a book with me), and by the time I got home, it was only a few minutes before Fred was pulling into the driveway. God. Just thinking about yesterday makes me feel like I need a NAP. * * * By the way, E’gar is home and running just fine. I sure did miss him! * * * “Would anyone notice if I gnawed off her pointer finger so she couldn’t flash that fucking thing at me anymore?” * * * Previously 2005: KIND OF LIKE HERPES. 2004: The mind boggles, does it not? 2003: Sam’s! Whoo! 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: Ah, the intrigues of 11 year old girls…]]>

reading: Blood Memory, by Greg Iles. Finished recently: Dancing in the Dark, by Mary Jane Clark. Pretty good book, but I think the ending was a wee bit predictable – at least, I figured it out beforehand, and I don’t generally do that very often, so probably to your more discerning reader it was even more obvious. I enjoyed it, though – Mary Jane Clark books read very, very fast.

* * * Yesterday, in and amongst a bunch of errand-running, I got a chance to sit down and watch a little TV. I was in the mood to watch TV since it was pouring outside and a kind of cool, so it was perfect weather to sit on the couch under the lap quilt and a cat or two and clear off the DVR some. I watched what ended up being a very interesting episode of Oprah (lately, I delete more episodes of Oprah than I watch, because it seems like Dr. Robin Smith is on there ALL the freakin’ time. Now, I LIKE Dr. Robin Smith, but she does go on and on sometimes, so even though I like her – I do! – I find myself saying “Okay, Dr. Robin Smith, we get the idea, she’s trying to fill her hole ( ::juvenile snicker:: ) with food or THINGS or men or whatever, can we MOVE ON?”) entitled Class in America. And the more I watched people talk about how they look at someone and decide, due to their bad teeth or cheap clothing or weight that they’re “lower class”, the more interested I got. Because anyone who looked at Fred and I out in public would never in ten million years guess that we have the yearly income that we have. We drive inexpensive cars, we wear fairly inexpensive clothes, I don’t carry a Louis Vuitton bag or wear expensive jewelry (or ANY jewelry, for that matter), and he doesn’t wear Armani suits. The only thing that might give away our income is the frequency with which we update our electronics (more frequent than the average person, I’d guess) and the house we live in – and we actually live in a house that we had no problem at all getting a mortgage on, because we would have been approved for a house almost twice the price of this one. And next year we’ll be selling this house and hopefully buying an even less expensive one, because we’d rather have a smaller house that we own after 10 years than a big, expensive house we have to pay on for 30 years. We have pretty inexpensive hobbies – books and movies, and the kayaks we bought are a one-time purchase – and we put away a lot of money every month toward retirement and our future. And I love the fact that if someone looked at me while I was wandering through the mall or whatever, they’d have no idea that I’m married to a man who brings in the amount of money he brings in, that they might look at me and disregard me as being “lower class”, because I think that gives me an advantage. Because I don’t need Betty Sue in the mall to be impressed by me, and thus I don’t need to dress like I want to impress (and not having a life where I NEED to impress strangers is a blessing, as far as I’m concerned, as is having a personality that is uninterested in whether strangers are impressed by me and my stuff) and not having to live up to expectations from other people is freeing. If you gave me $10,000 right now and told me to spend it however I wanted, I’d probably buy a new laptop (much smaller than the one we have), clear off my Amazon wish list, and then I’d have one hell of a time trying to figure out what else to buy – well, except I’d probably be all “More cats!” and Fred would have to threaten to divorce me. The older I get, the more importance I – we both – place on being able to take care of ourselves when we’re old and decrepit. Would I like to have one of those really cool phones you can send and receive email on, or one of those iPods with a video screen so I could watch TV shows and videos? Well, of COURSE I would, because they’re badass and cool – but I don’t need them, because I’m hardly ever that far from home. (If anyone would like to offer me a job wherein you pay me a lot of money and I do a lot of traveling, necessitating the purchase of said cool stuff, just say the word. I have no skillz, but I’m a quick learner!) The kicker about this whole thing is that I fully realize that the only reason I’m in a comfortable financial situation at this point is because I happened to fall in love with a man who is brilliant and extremely good at what he does, and what he does is very specialized and there are people out there who realize how good he is at what he does and are willing to pay him well for it. It’s just circumstance that I’m in this position, and I realize how lucky I am (though Oprah says there’s no such thing as “luck”, it’s just… something meeting opportunity? What the hell does she say? I don’t remember!) and you’d better believe I feel plenty guilty from time to time at the fact that I stumbled into a comfortable life. I don’t guess I really know what my point is, here. Maybe that next time you look at someone and disregard them as being in a lower class than you are, the truth might amaze you. * * * And speaking of money and all that, we finally decided it was time to take all the change from our big-ass 5-gallon water bottle (remember, the one we’ve been tossing our change into for the past 6 years or so?), turn it in, and send it off to our account at Emigrant Direct, so that instead of just sitting there in the water bottle until it’s time to go on our 10th anniversary trip, the change could be earning some interest. I know and you know that you want to know how much that change ended up being. Ready for this? $1600. Worth of change. That Fred had to cart into the credit union and put in the change machine. And which is now earning interest along with the money we send away every payday to the same account, so that in two years when we’re ready for the honeymoon we never had, we are going to be ALL SET. The only thing we need to do now is decide where exactly the hell we want to go. We were going to go to the Bahamas, because Fred wanted to stay at the Atlantis, but then he looked at room prices and found that they are incredibly expensive. So we talked about San Juan, and we talked about Hawaii (the only down side being the plane ride) and we talked about the Grand Caymans, and we talked about the Virgin Islands (very expensive, apparently), and we talked about taking a 7-day cruise that would hit the Virgin Islands, among other places, but I don’t know yet exactly what we’re going to do. I guess we don’t have to decide just yet, since we have another couple of years. Beach vacation, pretty (warm) water, and if there are mountains for Fred to climb, so much the better – where should we go? I know you have suggestions, leave ’em in the comments! * * * This is your brain on drugs. * * * Previously 2005: Spot let out a sad, drawn-out demon-from-hell sound. 2004: Meme-licious. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: I live to please you, my beloved readers.]]>

Tuesday Three (a day late). List three movies you could watch over and over again: 1) When Harry Met Sally. 2) O Brother, Where Art Thou? 3) Braveheart List three things you’d like to do before you die: 1) Bungee jump. 2) Sky dive. 3) Zorb. List three people who have helped influence who you are today: 1) My parents. 2) My siblings. 3) Fred and the Spud.

* * * Around 1:30 Tuesday morning I was woken from a very deep sleep by someone knocking on my bedroom door, or calling to me or in some way waking me up. I flailed around to get free of the kitty blanket I was under (Mister Boogers pinning me down on one side, Miz Poo on the other, and Sugarbutt somewhere in the middle), and took my earplug out. I saw the spud standing in the doorway, looking at me. “I think I might be getting an ear infection,” she said. “Oh, does your ear hurt?” I said stupidly. “Yes,” she said, wisely opting not to say something smartass to me, like Fred would have in her place. “Okay,” I said, and had to stop and think for a moment. “Go take a couple of aspirin, and I’ll call the doctor’s office in the morning and get an appointment.” “Okay,” she said. “Don’t go to school,” I said, figuring I’d probably be able to get an appointment for her pretty early in the morning. “Okay,” she said again, and went back to bed. It took me forever to get back to sleep – perhaps due to the fact that Sugarbutt spent the next hour kneading and licking my neck – and I slept fitfully for the rest of the night. When I got up around 8, I knocked on the spud’s door and asked her if her ear still hurt. She stared off into space and pushed on her ear a few times. “A little,” she said. “Okay, I’m going to go call the doctor’s office,” I said. “Should I go ahead and take my shower?” she asked. “Yeah, and get ready to go,” I said, envisioning that they might give me an appointment in the next hour. I called the doctor’s office, told them I needed the next possible appointment, and found that they didn’t have anything available until 1:45. I took that, and figured the spud could just hang out and catch up on her sleep – she didn’t get much sleep last weekend, between working and the prom and the seeing of the boyfriend – but when I told her they couldn’t fit her in ’til 1:45, she got upset. “I’m going to miss all that school?!” she said, aghast. (Which only confirmed my belief that she’s an alien child. Because what child, given the choice, wouldn’t be THRILLED to miss a day of school?) “Well, I can drop you off at school and pick you up at 1:30 for your appointment,” I offered, but the look on her face made it clear that that was not an appealing thought. “I’m going to miss my Spanish test!” she said. “Well, then you’ll make it up tomorrow,” I said. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back in a while.” I was putting my sneakers on when she came out into the garage and asked if I could take her to school and pick her up later for her appointment. I could, and I did. So we got to the appointment on time, and they called her back to the examining room right on time, and I sat in the waiting room and waited. And waited. And waited. When it had been a little more than an hour, the spud came out and told me that she had strep throat. Strep throat! I had no idea, though in retrospect I realized that her voice was kind of husky. But according to the nurse practitioner, her throat was very red and her ear – the one that hurt – was kind of red. In fact, they had to flush the wax out of her ears, and she apparently got a lecture about using q-tips in her ears. Poor spud. She doesn’t have to miss any more school, though, and I guess that’s a good thing! * * * Y’all KNOW how much I love my DVR, right? Well, I still love it, only it has this weird habit that is rapidly getting all over my nerves. Two minutes before it’s about to start taping something, a little box pops up and it says “In two minutes (whatever) will start taping.” It stays there for about ten seconds, and then disappears. So the other night we were watching something – I don’t remember what – and the box popped up. “In two minutes, So NoTORIous will start taping,” it read. Fred opened his mouth. “SHUT. UP,” I said. So, in essence, the fucking DVR TATTLED on me. Why didn’t it just SAY “Hey, Fred, want to know what stupid fucking thing your wife is taping NOW?”? Because he ALWAYS has to know what’s taping. He sees the red light on the DVR and says “What are you taping NOW?” Now, if I might ask, what bidness is it of HIS? It’s not like I make him watch all the stuff I watch – no, I watch most of the crap I tape on my own, during the day, while he’s at work, so he won’t whine about how Dr. Phil’s voice is making his head hurt. But still, “What are you taping NOW?” he says. “I don’t KNOW,” I always say, because (a) I usually don’t remember; the magic of the DVR is that you can SET IT and FORGET IT and (b) If I answer with “The Real Housewives of Orange County” or whatever, he will mock me and then I’ll have to swear at him, and it is oh-so-tiring to come up with new and inventive swears all the time. Stupid tattletale DVR. * * * A few weeks ago I realized we were running low on checks, and so I went to ChecksInTheMail.com, which is where I’d ordered the last batch from. I was going to go with the plain, boring safety blue checks we already had, but I got to looking around and, well… What’s better than a Sugarbutt on a check? That’s right – NOTHIN’! (I got return address labels, too, while I was at it!) * * * “Ah, zees lahf. Eet ees so hard. So hard to be a tubby Tommy in zees lahf.” * * * Previously 2005: E’gar goes into the shop. 2004: I must be mumbling or something today. Everyone I’ve spoken to has looked at me like I’m speaking French and they can’t understand what the hell I’m saying. 2003: No entry. 2002: Blah blah blah. 2001: No entry. 2000: “Um… you mean, she lies on your butt to muffle your farts?” he ventured.]]>

People Envy Your Compassion

You have a kind heart and an unusual empathy for all living creatures. You tend to absorb others’ happiness and pain.
People envy your compassion, and more importantly, the connections it helps you build. And compassionate as you are, you feel for them. * * *

You Should Be a Film Writer

You don’t just create compelling stories, you see them as clearly as a movie in your mind. You have a knack for details and dialogue. You can really make a character come to life. Chances are, you enjoy creating all types of stories. The joy is in the storytelling. And nothing would please you more than millions of people seeing your story on the big screen!

Yeah, I don’t know about that second one. * * * I talked to my brother on the phone for a while last evening. He was driving to Annapolis, MD (he lives in Maryland, at least for the next few weeks) to spend the night, because he’d never been there and wanted to visit the town while he was still living close enough to drive to it. He had me absolutely drooling to visit it, because he kept saying what a pretty little town it is. And I thought “There are no pretty little towns in ALABAMA, damnit!” But, you know what, I bet there are. Surely there are pretty little towns I could visit and spend the day on Main Street poking through little shops, aren’t there? Then I remembered that Fred and I, back when we used to drive to Hartselle once a month to get our free-range chickens (the dead kind, meant for eating. Not the live kind meant for raising. In case you were wondering.) talked about spending the night at the cute little bed and breakfast we passed every time we drove into Hartselle, and then spending the next morning walking down Main Street (I don’t know that it was actually named Main Street, but it had a very Main Street feel to it) and checking out the antique shops. I’ll have to see if I can convince him to do that one weekend this summer, in and amongst the kayaking and the hiking and the day trip to Ocoee and the possible trip to Florida. So, Alabamans – what pretty little towns should I visit, and what’s good to do there? I think I’m going to try to actually get out and see some of this state, since I haven’t seen much of it so far in the 9 1/2 years I’ve lived here. * * * I have a Gilmore Girls DVD I’ve had for a couple of weeks, and haven’t watched any of it yet, and I also have that cheesy looking Jennifer Lopez/ Robert Redford movie that I think I’ve had for over a week and haven’t watched yet, either. There are several Dr. Phil and Oprah episodes cluttering up the DVR, along with the pilot episode of What About Brian? and last week’s The Real Housewives of Orange County as well. I was going to sit down Sunday afternoon (Fred’s shoulder was hurting, so we didn’t go kayaking as we’d planned to) and get some serious tv-watching done, but I just had NO desire to sit in front of the TV all afternoon. Lately I haven’t wanted to sit in front of the TV or the computer all that much, so on Sunday I ended up just sitting in the recliner and reading. I think I need to find myself a hobby. Maybe something to get me out of the house. Good lord… maybe I need… a JOB? Nah. That’s just crazy talk! * * * My E’gar is currently in the shop having his behind fixed. It took several days to get the parts ordered for him, and then we had to wait for the guy who hit my poor E’gar to mosey in to his insurance company and file a report (or somethin’), and then we waited for the check to come from the insurance company, and finally we got the check and the parts came in all at once, and so yesterday we dropped E’gar off and went to rent a car for me to drive for a few days, at the insurance company’s expense. By the way, here’s a shot of E’gar’s behind, if you missed it: And the story of what happened to his poor behind. So anyway, as we pulled into the car rental place I saw a couple of Camrys and hoped I’d get one of those. But alas, it was not to be; I ended up with a Dodge Stratus. I do not care for the Dodge Stratus, only because (a) I feel like I have to practically get on my hands and knees to get into the car, it’s so much lower than my E’gar, and (b) I feel like the top of the car is resting directly on my head when I’m sitting in the driver’s seat. Also, (c) I feel like I can’t see as clearly out the front and sides, because the windows are smaller than E’gar’s. With E’gar, I barely have to bend down to get in the car, there’s tons of head room, and plenty of window room as well. Poor E’gar. I’ve barely had him more than a year, and this is the SECOND time he’s been in the body shop. I just love him to death, though. (Oh, and PS: We actually haven’t had any trouble with the insurance company at all. Things went pretty smoothly.) * * * A belly rub is a religious experience for Our Tommy. Doesn’t he look like he’s seeing God? “Run, Jack Bauer! Run!” Mister Boogers hates President Logan, but he’s got a soft spot for Martha Logan. Aaron, too. All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: Friday sucked ass for the following reasons 2004: No entry. 2003: I am apparently married to a 100 year-old man. 2002: “Your air gap floopy.” 2001: And thought about putting my motherfucking fist through my motherfucking monitor because my motherfucking internet access has been going down every 9.8 seconds. 2000: “There’s no Easter bunny, there’s no tooth fairy, and Bruce Willis is DEAD, he’s DEAD, DEAD!”]]>

* * * I see by my reading list that I’ve only read 10 books this month. That’s a verrrrry low number for me; guess I’ll need to spend less time in front of the TV and more time reading this week to at least bring it up into before the end of the month. The reason I’ve read so few books this month is because two of them were Greg Iles books, and those things take me for-freakin’-ever to finish. Luckily, they’re usually pretty good. Currently reading: Dancing in the Dark, by Mary Jane Clark (Poet! Knowit!). The Footprints of God, by Greg Iles. Not bad, not my favorite of his. Dragged on a bit at the end. The Colorado Kid, by Stephen King. Pretty good, but the end was a bummer. Lost in the Forest, by Sue Miller. Pretty good, but a certain part of the book gave me the willies. No pun intended. Dearly Devoted Dexter, by Jeff Lindsay. I find the idea of Dexter more compelling than the actual execution. I’m not sure I care for the writer’s style, but I don’t doubt that I’ll keep reading the Dexter books as they come out, because I do find myself wanting to know what happens next. Mortal Fear, by Greg Iles. Very, very good.

* * * So yes, I took the week off from journaling, and didn’t really get all that much accomplished. I did force myself to do some house cleaning on Wednesday, which included mopping the floors downstairs. I don’t know why I have such a hard time getting the lead out and mopping the floors – I probably, literally, spend more time thinking about how I need to mop the floors than said mopping actually takes to accomplish. I’d like to say that I’m going to start mopping them weekly, but I think we all know me better than that. * * * Fred and I have spent some time, over the past two weekends, kayaking. This past Saturday we went to Point Mallard in Decatur and paddled around for a couple of hours. The weekend before, we went to Decatur and paddled around on the Tennessee river itself. Both times I enjoyed myself a great deal (it helps that I’ve developed callouses on my inner thumbs, so I don’t have to deal with blisters), and I also took the camera with me. So, for you! Pictures! Lots of ’em! A crane Great Blue Heron, in flight. (I know nothin’ about birds (OBVIOUSLY) – Fred said it was a crane, so I believed him!) The same crane Great Blue Heron, before he took off. You can see the end of my kayak as I sit and wait for the boat to go by, and the wake to reach me. Some of those boats go damn fast, and the resulting wake makes me feel like I’m on the ocean. A tree growing at the end of a marshy area in the middle of the river. There were a ton of turtles by this little island (I dubbed it “turtle island”), but I was never able to get a picture of any of them. The marshy area, to the left. Straight ahead, big metal thingies (the scientific term, I believe) that barges are occasionally tied to. Me, in a kayak. In the middle of the river. I had to get photographic proof, or I think my sister would never have believed it. Fred’s kayak (the yellow one) and mine (the red one) as we sit side by side and drift for a few minutes. A neat little cove we “discovered”. Only I couldn’t think of the word “cove”, so I called it a “cul-de-sac.” Heh. Fred’s creeped out by stuff growing in the water. A hawk’s nest up in an electrical tower. One hawk, taking off. The other, sitting in the nest giving me the hairy eyeball. As I drew closer, the one in the nest took off and circled above me. I think Fred was afraid I was going to get my ass kicked by a hawk. I thought this was pretty cool-looking. You can see all the kayaking pictures – and there are a ton more than the ones above – here. * * * Speaking of kayaks, anyone in the area interested in buying an inflatable kayak? If anyone’s interested, we’re selling an Advanced Elements AdvancedFrame inflatable kayak, plus a double-action pump and a paddle. Basically, it’s everything you need to kayak except a life jacket. The kayak’s been used 4 or 5 times (we’ve only had it about 2 months), and is in excellent shape. We bought another kayak and no longer have a need for this one. Paid $460 for all three items, will sell for $275. If you’re interested or have questions, shoot Fred an email. * * * “Robyn,” you are asking, “What the hell? Why did Fred buy yet another kayak and why is he selling his inflatable kayak, when he appeared to love it so?” The story is thusly: After he bought his new vehicle, we started talking about going kayaking together, and since he only had the one inflatable kayak, we had to use the old, plastic kayak for me. So he had to get a roof rack. And then we decided that having to inflate the inflatable kayak every time we went kayaking was turning out to be a pain in the butt, so he bought a new plastic kayak, and the roof rack thingies so that both kayaks could go on top of the rack. Which left us with an extra kayak we’ll probably never use, and voila! Time to sell it. * * * The spud went to Prom on Saturday. She was going to go with a friend, but between the time she decided to go to the Prom with her friend and the day of the Prom, she found herself a boyfriend, and ended up going with him. Here she is, all gussied up and ready to go: She decided she didn’t want an updo this time around, just to blow-dry her hair and then curl it, only that didn’t work out so well and I ended up kind of blow-drying her hair straight for her. Which is not necessarily a good thing, since I can’t do shit with other peoples’ hair. She ended up looking pretty good, but I think the next time she goes to a big dance, I’ll be insisting on professional styling. * * * Brudderly love. “HEY! YOU! GUYYYYYYYS! Daddy just said it’s S-N-A-X time!!!!” Crappy picture, but the looks on their faces crack me UP. All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: $65 for that bullshit. Bargain, eh? 2001: Dumbass, take two. 2000: THE MIDDLE OF THE AISLE IS APPARENTLY WHERE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO COME TO A DEAD STOP AND STARE, WITH GLAZED EYES, AT THE 145 POUND CANS OF KETCHUP]]>