Author: Robyn

* * * Meme found over at Kym‘s: [Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says] “hope to read, and changing his manner of dress, and coming over here every time I turn around, and just making a plain nuisance of himself.” (Miss Julia Hits the Road) [Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What do you touch first?] My Biggie Diet Coke from Wendy’s. [What is the last thing you watched on TV?] Discovery Health National Body Challenge. We watched the first episode and DVR’d the second. They found some seriously likeable people this time around. Watching them do the obstacle course made me need a nap – and also made me wish there was something like that around here I could try myself. [With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?] That damn Bean sitting in front of the window chattering at birds. He sounds like he’s in pain. Also, doves cooing. [When did you last step outside?] This morning, on my way out to check the mail, go to Sam’s, and stop by Bed, Bath and Beyond. [Before you came to this website, what did you look at?] Fred’s new forum. [What are you wearing?] A green pullover shirt (with short sleeves! Woo!), gray cotton pants, a pink bra and off-white pan-tays. [Did you dream last night?] I had the most fucked up dream involving myself, a pilot, Gatlinburg, and a little girl who could read our minds. The pilot went insane, kept screaming “I can feel her in my mind!”, and as soon as he said that, I could too – a feeling like ants in my brain. We got into some kind of airplane, took off, and the pilot turned the plane so that we were headed straight up. The plane fell into pieces, and I started falling toward the Earth (we were pretty damn far up). I woke up scared to death and discovered I was shaking. Then I realized I wasn’t shaking – the Bean was laying up against me, purring so hard he was shaking both of us. [When did you last laugh?] This morning, looking at the Bean pictures on Fred’s latest entry. The last one in particular. (Scratch that – I laughed just a second ago when Fred sent me an email saying “I need this” and a link to this bumper sticker) [What is on the walls of the room you are in?] A couple of calendars, a bulletin board with many things hanging from it, a frame with a bunch of Tubby pictures, a sketch of Miz Poo, a couple of framed postcards from the Nashville Zoo, a signed picture of Tony Sirico and Steve Van Zandt (Paulie and Silvio from The Sopranos), and my phone. Also a couple of framed Escher prints I gave to Fred for his birthday. [Seen anything weird lately?] I think the way the Bean is flying through the air in that last picture on Fred’s page is pretty damn weird. [What do you think of this quiz?] It rocks the casbah, baby. [What is the last movie you saw?] Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the remake. Damn it was bloody. I spent half the movie with my shirt pulled up over my face. [If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first?] A house on the coast o’ Maine, of course. [Tell me something about you that I don’t know.] I was 16 the first time I kissed a boy. [If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?] I would make me the Queen and Supreme Ruler, and I would routinely kick the ass of everyone who annoyed me. [Do you like to dance?] As long as no one else is around. [George Bush.] This video, which makes me laugh every time I watch it (you have to have RealPlayer to see it, but it’s worth it) [Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?] She was, and I named her Danielle Leigh. Fred and I agreed a long time ago that if we had a child and it was a girl, we’d name her Samantha Jayne. I’m also starting to really like the name Molly. [Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him?] Seth Forrest. Although (shut up) ever since I read The Red Tent, I’m liking the name Judah. (I said shut up) [Would you ever consider living abroad?] Definitely. But I don’t think I could live abroad indefinitely – a year or two, yes. Forever? Probably not. ]]>

When I was walking for exercise, I would walk by that trailer every day, and I’d wonder about the people who lived there. I’d stare at the trailer, trying to see in the windows (which were always covered), and each time the guy who lived there drove away (I’m 99.9% sure he was a cabdriver) I’d try to catch a glimpse of him. That trailer seemed like the last stand against the Yuppieville Madison is becoming, and I always liked seeing it sitting there, rough but proud. Several months ago I happened to be driving by, and saw that the trailer was being torn down. Apparently the people who owned the trailer had sold it and gone looking for greener pastures. It makes me a little sad each time I drive by it – and I drive by it a LOT – because it always interested me. The trailer was in rough shape, but it wasn’t a cookie-cutter subdivision house. You don’t drive by houses in a subdivision and wonder about the people who live there – well, I don’t, I guess I can’t speak for you. It makes me sad to think of the people who lived there living in a subdivision. Maybe they took the money they got and moved to Florida, and are living in another trailer. I hope wherever they are, they’re happy. And I hope they got an assload of money for that plot of land.

* * * That whole time-change thing always screws me up for three or four days afterward. I woke up this morning and it was just getting light out, and I thought “Oh, with the time change, that means it’s not the time it usually is when it’s getting light out… It’s probably only, like, 4:20!” I looked at the clock and it was 6:21. Duh. I was thinking it would start to get light outside earlier instead of later. I also spend the first few days after we’ve changed the clocks thinking “It’s 9:00, but it’s REALLY 8:00…” It’s mighty cool to have it light outside until 7:30 though, that’s for sure. Even if it IS FUCKING COLD OUT THERE GAHHHHHHHH! (Yeah, yeah, cry you a river. I know. Bite me.) * * * ]]>

* * * Hee! This is SO something that would happen to me. I can totally see the Bean clinging frantically to the top of the Jeep while I cluelessly drive around.

* * * The weather has turned a bit cold lately (if, in fact, you can consider the mid-50s cold…), which was a nasty shock after the lovely, warm days of last week. Mid-afternoon yesterday I decided to go sit in the living room and watch Tuesday’s Ellen. I flipped the switch that turns the fire on and stepped away to pet the Bean. I sat down on the couch and pulled a blanket over me and started watching TV, when I realized that the fire had gone out. I went over and looked at the fireplace and saw that the pilot light wasn’t on. I flipped the switch down and back up a couple of times, to no avail. I shrugged and finally flipped the switch down and went back to the couch. Which is when the paranoid worrywart in the back of my mind went to work. What if the pilot light blew out and gas is pumping into the room? I feel kind of foggy-headed. What if the spud gets home and finds me slumped over, dead, and she just thinks I’m sleeping and she sits down to do her homework, and then the gas gets HER too, and the kitties as well, and then Fred gets home to find his family (and kitties!) laying around dead? I’m sure he would be very very sad… Wouldn’t he? So I got up and sniffed around the fireplace, thinking but gas is odorless, isn’t it? But then how come I can always smell it when it’s first turned on? Is this making any sense? Am I about to collapse in a heap on the floor and die? I wonder if the whole journal community would take down their sites for the day in mourning. (Ha!) They’d probably just think Fred was Kaycee Nicole-ing on their asses. It actually occurred to me to try to LIGHT THE CANDLE SITTING ATOP THE MANTLE, my reasoning being that if I clicked the lighter and wasn’t engulfed in a ball of flames I could pretty much be assured that gas wasn’t filling the room. I didn’t light the candle, though – give me SOME credit – and Fred just so happened to call while I was worrying about it, and talked me through turning the gas off. He also mentioned that he thought they’d come around recently to turn the gas off, which they (unbeknownst to me) do every year once the weather starts to warm up. Bastards. And so I live another day. * * * Speaking of gas and explosions – no, I’m not about to tell a fart story – I just remembered the time when Debbie and I lived together in Lisbon Falls (about 10 years ago, I think it was). My father bought a new gas grill and handed his old one down to us. It worked, but to get it going, you had to open the gas, let it run for a minute, and then reach underneath the grill with a lighter or match to start the flame, then you could use the knobs to control how high the flame was. If that’s not a recipe for disaster, I don’t know what is. So one evening Debbie and I were going to grill hamburgers for dinner, and Liz was coming over to eat with us, or she was hanging out with us, or whatever – the point is, she was there. I went out back to start the grill and Debbie was inside making the hamburger patties. I turned the gas on and, talking to Liz, bent down and leaned underneath with a lit match. There was this loud WHOOMP! sound, and I felt a brief flash of heat. My head buzzing, I stood up and turned around to look at Liz, who was staring at me, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. It appears that a fireball had quickly engulfed my head and then disappeared. My bangs were not only singed, but melted together, my eyebrows were partially burned off, and the hair on my right (but not left) arm was burned off. No burned skin, amazingly, and the clothes I was wearing were unscathed. I’d say I was pretty damn lucky, considering. As you can imagine, I refused to ever step foot near that damn grill again. * * * I was awakened at 1:30 this morning by the Bean – or at least I assumed it was the Bean – chasing a toy around under the sweater-drying-rack/ cat hammock, which resides under the table on the wall opposite my bed. The rack/ hammock kept hitting the wall, and I finally yelled “Knock it off, jackass!”, and the noise magically stopped. I realized I had to pee, so I got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. The hammock/ rack was pulled out from under the table, and I pushed it back against the wall with my foot so that Fred wouldn’t trip over it on his way through the room to get ready to work out. Back in bed, I was almost asleep again when the noise of the hammock/ rack hitting the wall started again. “I said KNOCK IT OFF, JACKASS!” I bellowed, and the noise stopped long enough for me to get back to sleep. This morning, what does Fred tell me? That Spot (we assume it was Spot – the Bean doesn’t usually go outside at night, Spanky’s too much of a wimp and Miz Poo can’t move fast enough) apparently brought a bird inside, did some serious damage to it right outside my bedroom door (there were thousands of feathers spread all over hell and creation), and it ended up… guess where? That’s right, under the hammock/ rack. The poor thing was probably fighting for it’s life while I was yelling “Knock it OFF!”, and stumbling across the room to pee, and I had no clue. It’s definitely Spring – the daffodils have bloomed, the stanky Bradford Pear trees have stopped stankin’, and we’ve had our first dead bird in the house. The funny thing is that we always assumed it was Fancypants who was bringing the birds into the house. Maybe it was Spot all along… * * * The Bean’s Fangs o’ Doom. The Bean stops to groom Spot (and Spot lets him!). The Bean can touch his nose with his tongue. And he does it often… The Bean is off in search of greener pastures. ]]>

A Day in the Life (for Monday, March 29, 2004) 1:08 am: Miz Poo wakes me by digging frantically at my back. She wants me to flip over on my left side so she can snuggle up against me and drape herself over my arm. I turn over and fall back asleep before she’s settled. 1:58 am: I wake up and have no feeling in my arm, most likely because a portly Poo is draped across it. I pull my arm out from under her, shake the feeling back into it, and turn over onto my right side. 2:02 am: I’m almost back to sleep when Miz Poo takes a running leap, springboards off of me, and lands on the pillow next to me. She digs frantically for a few minutes until I yell “Miz Pooty, STOP!”, and then curls up. I fall asleep before the grooming begins in earnest, thank god. 5:something am: The Bean jumps up on the bed and attacks my stomach. I wake up for an instant and then fall back asleep while he’s still attacking. 6:45 am: Fred wakes me up to say goodbye. I think about going back to sleep for another 45 minutes, but I have to get up and go feed-and-scoop at the petstore, so I roll my ass out of bed. 6:45 – 7:40 am: Get dressed, pop in my contacts, take my thyroid medication, clean out the litter box (don’t you wish I’d taken a picture of that?), check email, read blogs. Open blinds in living room, step outside to check the weather. The Bean and Miz Poo get excited by the open door and run outside. I step back inside and shut the door. (What? They can get in through the cat door!)

Cheapest gas in town! 7:40 – 7:55 am: Get in car. Drive toward petstore. Glance down at gas tank indicator THINGY and realize I’m driving on fumes. Ponder possible broken-ness of gank tank indicator THINGY. Yesterday I had 1/4 tank and today I’m on fumes. And I’ve gone nowhere at all since sometime last week. Is someone stealing my gas? (Doubtful) Gas tank indicator THINGY is possibly broken, and I should probably start gassing up when indicator (THINGY) indicates I have 1/2 tank of gas. Drive to gas station near petstore, fill up tank. 7:55 – 8:45 am: Arrive at petstore. Usually I have to hunt down a store manager to open the cat room door, but she sees me coming and opens the door before I get there. Same cats as last week, so I don’t take any pictures. 8:45 – 9:10ish am: Leave petstore and go to Target. Spend a good long time wandering around Target. I need to get a cushion for Fred’s writing chair (more about that later), and while I want to buy something really girly or country that will horrify him, the only cushion that will fit the chair is a sedate tan color. I toss it in the cart. I buy a bag of bird seed, since we’re running out, and a new trash can (actually, it’s a basket) for the master bathroom. I also buy a basket to set atop the toilet tank, in which I intend to put the 3,000 bathroom books sitting there. It’ll make it easier when I need to move everything to wipe the top of the tank. I peruse the book section, picking up Sophie Kinsella’s latest. I put it in my cart, then stop to reflect on the bookcase full of books I have yet to read, realize that surely by the time I get around to reading this book it will have come out in paperback and buying it right now just because I’ve seen it is stupid. I put it back. As I’m heading for the front of the store, there’s a woman halfway across the store who is pushing a stroller (carriage?) with a tiny, very unhappy baby inside. The baby’s wails are painful – I feel like someone’s pounding a stake through my eardrums – and I think judgementally about the fact that she not only is doing nothing to soothe the baby, but she appears to not hear the baby at all. Then I tell myself to shut up and stop being a bitch, and go to check out. I pass this road at least twice a week. I’ve been meaning to snap a picture of the sign for at least two years now! Nance, look! It’s a road named after you! 9:10 – 9:25 am: Drive home, listening to my cd of mp3s. Nothin’ But the Wheel and Here I am, by Patty Loveless. Politics, Religion and Her, by Sammy Kershaw. Love Sammy Kershaw. But unfortunately that ho Lorrie Morgan has her perfectly manicured claws in him. Hm. Or does she? (Holy crap, he’s her fifth husband!) A very long live version of Black by Pearl Jam comes on as I pull up in the driveway. When I walk through the door, the Bean is snoozing in his nest, and he glances up at me to make sure I’m not about to thunk him on the head or anything before he goes back to sleep. 9:30 – 10:10: Ellipticize on the elliptical trainer while watching an episode of Once & Again. I love the elliptical trainer, and I love that it has built-in programs, but the 30-minute program sure does kick my ass. Do 10 minutes of standing stretch. I like stretching more than I would have thought possible. After 30 minutes of exercising and 10 minutes of stretching I’m done exercising for the day. I’m always wiped out easily on Mondays, probably because I spend almost an hour bending and stretching while I clean kitty cages out at the petstore, not to mention chasing around the kitties who have no desire to go back in their cage. 10:10 – 11:05 am: Eat breakfast (I prefer to eat breakfast pretty late in the morning): A A Blueberry muffin and two clementines. Check email, read blogs, email a few times with Nance. From the computer room, I can hear the Bean in the living room, smacking at the blinds with his paw. He does it long enough that it begins to annoy me, so I grab him and push him through the cat door into the back yard. Little pain in the ass Bean. 11:05 – 11:15 am: Empty dishwasher, put dirty dishes from sink into dishwasher, wipe down counters. Think about mopping the floor, but decide not to. 11:15 – 11:25 am: The bird feeders are empty. Grab container of bird seed, go outside. Spot’s sitting outside and gives me a guilty look. Miz Poo comes out to supervise while I fill the platform feeders and rinse out and refill the bird bath. 11:25 – 12:10ish: Go upstairs. Take shower. Sit in chair in the corner of the bedroom and read. Miz Poo jumps up on my lap and kneads and kneads and kneads before deciding she doesn’t want to sit in my lap, and jumps down to put the smack down on the Bean. 12:10: Go downstairs, check email, try to clear a few things off my desk before giving up. 12:10 – 1:00 pm: Vacuum entire downstairs. The only cat who’ll let the vacuum cleaner get within two feet of him is the Bean. The other cats are terrified. Once the downstairs is vacuumed, I vacuum the stairs, which I hate to do. Wish for the millionth time that our stairs were hardwooded. The Bean keeps an eye on the vacuum. Pancit. 1:00 – 1:25 pm: Make lunch – pancit (without the rice sticks, as rice sticks are calorie-intensive and I’m not a noodle/ pasta kinda gal for the most part). I have enough left over for two lunches (I made a smaller batch than the recipe). Basically pancit is a lean pork/ cabbage/ carrot/ onion/ teriyaki sauce stir-fry, and I’m absolutely addicted to it. Also, all those veggies are good for you! (I also had a banana and a white chocolate and raspberry yogurt, but forgot to snap a picture). 1:25 – 2:30 pm: Eat lunch, push the Bean out the cat door 45 times, think about beating the Bean, read journals (I’m almost all caught up!), respond to a couple of emails (it being my goal to be completely caught up before the month is over), talk to Fred on the phone a couple of times. 2:30 – 3:30ish pm: Watch The Ellen Degeneres Show, which I DVR’d earlier. Work on cross-stitching a truly hideous Christmas ornament (I was almost completely caught up with all the Christmas ornament kits I had, and my sister gave me a thousand (well, practically) for Christmas, so I’ll probably be working on those for the rest of the year!). Roseanne Barr is on Ellen, and she’s funny as hell. When that’s over, watch part of Dr. Phil. 3:37 pm: Have following discussion with the spud: Spud: What would make someone throw up if they aren’t sick? Me: If they saw something gross, maybe? Spud: No, not that, either. Me: Well then, I don’t know. Why? Spud: Because I threw up today. Me: Where? In class? Spud: Yes, in class at my desk. Me: And they didn’t send you home? Spud: No. Me: They just cleaned it up and kept going with class? Spud: No, there was nothing to clean up. Me: There was nothing to clean up? Spud: No. Me: Well, then it doesn’t really sound like you threw up. Spud: Flouncing off, sighing. Me: Killing spud, burying her in the backyard. 3:45 pm: Fred arrives home. I wait at the door to greet him and throw my arms wide, yelling “Give me some sugar!” He always looks so stressed out that I want to make him smile. Why, yes. I CAN take a nothing day, and suddenly make it all seem worth-while. 3:50 – 4:10ish pm: Lay on the bed and discuss Fred’s day with him. He gets up and goes downstairs to get something to drink, then comes back up and settles in to do some writing. We moved a table into the bedroom and set it up so that he can sit in there and write without distraction. He was sitting in the recliner in the corner of the room on the other side of the bed: but sitting like that with the laptop on his lap was uncomfortable, so voila! We found a solution. 4:10 – 4:15 pm: Lay on bed while he writes. Distract him. Blow him a kiss and go back downstairs. 4:15 – 5:ish pm: Make dinner. Check email, read blogs. 5:ish – 5:20 pm: Eat dinner – a barbecued chicken breast, corn, and a salad. Discuss various and sundry things with Fred and the spud. (I forgot to take a picture of the food. This is the aftermath) 5:20 – 5:40 pm: Go upstairs with Fred. Discuss what he’s writing. Discuss possible revisions. Distract him while he starts to write. Blow him a kiss and go back downstairs. 5:40 pm – 7 pm: Read email, read blogs, think about clearing the mess off my desk. Snuggle with Miz Poo. Go into the living room and read for a while. 7:00 – 8:00 pm: Flip channels. Eat snack (yogurt and a string cheese). Fred wants to watch Fear Factor, so I read while he watches it. When the eating-gross-stuff part comes on, I tell him he either needs to change the channel, or I’ll go into the other room until that part is over. He flips channels, and we end up watching a Discovery Health show about a woman having weight loss surgery. We flip back and forth between Fear Factor, Discovery Health channel, and a VH-1 show about The Rock. 8:00 – 8:55 pm: There’s absolutely nothing on TV that we want to watch, so Fred puts in the Andrew Lloyd Webber Royal Albert Hall Celebration DVD with the idea that we’ll listen to it while we read. But I didn’t get enough sleep the night before and am easily distracted, so I put down my book and lay down on the couch to watch. I insist Fred forward to “Those cute New Zealand boys” (Boyzone, singing “No Matter What”), and then we watch a few more songs until my favorite – Michael Ball singing Gesthemane – comes on. Fred chatters through it until I give him a shut the fuck up, please look. 8:55 pm: We go upstairs and get ready for bed. Fred gives the cats their nightly treat (kitten chow). 9:00 – 9:40 pm: Lay in bed and talk about various and sundry things. Kiss for a few minutes, and then Fred wanders off to his room. 9:45 pm: Ordinarily, I’d turn the light back on and read, but I’m sleepy, so I leave the light off, snuggle with Miz Poo, and drift off to sleep. ]]>

Roseanne (yes, it got odd over the last couple of season, but I watched and enjoyed it anyway, and you better believe I cried when it ended. If that show came out on DVD, I’d SO be buying it). I discovered the other day that the spud is also a Roseanne fan – it’s on every night, and if she hasn’t seen the episode she’ll watch it. I can hear her in her room sometimes, laughing out loud. Clearly she has her mother’s good taste in sitcoms.

* * * Michael Bergin may or may not have had an affair with Carolyn Bessette Kennedy. I am absolutely stunned that… I frankly couldn’t give less of a shit. She’s dead. Whatever she did while she was alive is over. Let she and her husband rest in peace, for the love of god. That Michael Bergin, what a class act. In what Bergin said was an effort to set the record straight, he reveals many personal details about Bessette and their relationship in his book. An effort to set the record straight, my Aunt Fanny. An effort to make some money off this country’s unfortunate fascination with the Kennedy clan and anyone attached to them, more like. Jackass. * * * Ever feel like some people are just put on this earth to work your nerves? I’m so damn glad we stopped selling what’s left of Fred’s book from our home, that’s all I’ll say. * * * The spud knocked on my bedroom door after dinner yesterday. “The school pictures are back,” she said. Her school has a photographer come to the school in the Fall and again in the Spring to take pictures. I didn’t like the pictures that were taken in the Fall, so didn’t buy any, hoping that the Spring pictures would come out better. “Okay, put the envelope on my desk,” I said. “I don’t think you’re going to want to buy any,” she said. “Oh, not a good picture?” I said. “I didn’t know it was picture day, so I didn’t dress up or anything. I’m just wearing a sweatshirt.” “Well, just put the envelope on my desk and I’ll look at it later,” I said. I did look at it later, and I actually think she looks pretty cute. (Pardon the bad scan) * * * (Picture taken by the Frank formerly known as Fred) This picture cracks me the hell up, mostly because of the look on the Bean’s face. To get the full effect, check out the full-sized version. Hee! ]]>

* * * Stolen from Janet. Janet, is it okay to link you? Do I Remember 1. When John F. Kennedy was shot (Nov. 22, 1963) Nope, I was 4 1/2 years away from being born. 2. When Mt. St. Helens blew (May 18, 1980) Only vaguely – I remember being surprised that it could happen. 3. When the space shuttle Challenger exploded (January 28, 1986) Definitely. I was sitting in my english class (it was my senior year) before class started, and my teacher came in and said “Did anyone hear something about the space shuttle exploding?” We hadn’t, and he ended up going to the library and signing out a TV so we could watch the news. The drama queen sitting in front of me had once upon a time gone to the school where Christa McAuliffe taught – she didn’t know her, had never met her, but had gone to the school where she taught – and was in hysterics. 4. When the 7.1 earthquake hit San Francisco (October 17, 1989) I remember a guy who was on the bridge when it started falling being interviewed by Dan Rather. Dan kept pressing the guy – who was pretty freaked out still – for details. The guy said something like “There were dead people everywhere…” Dan kept pushing and pushing, and finally the guy snapped “I saw someone’s brain pulsating out the top of their head.” Dan stopped pushing. (And suddenly I’m wondering whether I’m remembering the right earthquake…) 5. When the Berlin Wall fell (November 9, 1989) I was amazed – I never thought it would happen in my lifetime. I held the spud – who was only about 9 months old – up to the TV and said “This is history.” 6. When the Gulf War began (January 16, 1991) I was supposed to go to class (I was taking classes at New Hampshire College on the navy base in Brunswick), but I stayed at home and watched the news. The spud was 2 1/2 years old and playing in front of TV, and I said to her “We’re at war.” I was worried to death that my then-husband would have to go to the Gulf (he was in the Navy). He never did, but his ship headed that way a few times. 7. When OJ Simpson was chased in his White Bronco (June 17, 1994) Debbie and I were at her friend’s house out in the country. We were all shit-faced, when her friend’s husband came out and told us about it. We all went inside and watched it on the TV, but I was so drunk I had no clue what the hell was going on. Luckily, they replayed it 100,000 more times over the course of the next two days, so I don’t feel like I missed anything. 8. When the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City was bombed (April 19, 1995) Definitely. I remember sitting on my couch watching the footage thinking “What the hell happened?” 9. When Princess Di was killed (August 31, 1997) Oh, how I loved Princess Di. It was a Sunday morning, I walked out into the dining room (we lived in an apartment at the time) and looked to see what was on the front of the Sunday paper. I said “Oh, no!”, and Fred came to see what was going on. We turned on the TV and flipped around the news channels. You better believe I cried during her funeral. 10. When Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold opened fire on their classmates at Columbine High School (April 20, 1999) I was home from work reading, when Fred told me to turn the TV on and tell him what was going on. It was horrifying, to say the least. 11. When Bush was first announced President (November 7, 2000) Noooooot really. 12. When the 6.8 earthquake hit Nisqually, WA (February 28, 2001) God, this is awful. I don’t remember at all! 13. When terrorists destroyed the World Trade Center (September 11, 2001) Of course. I was sitting in front of the computer putting off exercising when Fred called and told me to turn on CNN. “What are they showing?” he asked. We talked for a few minutes and he said at one point “This is going to get some air traffic controller in the deepest shit possible”, and while he was on the phone, the second plane hit. “I think another plane hit,” I said. “Are we at war?”

* * * The spud called and talked to my parents last night (we talk to them every Sunday), and when she was done, she handed the phone to me. “I asked her why she didn’t call last week,” my mother reported. “And she said ‘You could have called me!’ And I thought, she certainly DOES sound like her MOTHER and her AUNT!” Now, I ask you. My mother COULD have picked up the phone and called, couldn’t she? I mean, it’s TRUE. The spud is in a fine state of anxiety, because my mother told her to find her bathing suits from last year and find out what size they are, because my mother’s ready to buy her some new suits for this year. The spud, after handing the phone to me, went and looked for her bathing suits, which she could not find. She came back and stood in the doorway and stared intently at me until I said to my mother, “Hold on. What?” “Do you know where my bathing suits are?” the spud said. “Because grammy wants to know what size they are.” “I imagine they’d be in your bureau THINGY,” I said. “They’re not,” the spud said. “I’M ON THE PHONE,” I said, and she flounced off in a snit. Now, how the fuck would I know where her bathing suits are? I don’t go in her room (except during the summer while she’s gone, when I toss out a buttload of crap she never misses), and I haven’t been in charge of her clothes since she started doing her own laundry two or three years ago. I haven’t got a clue what she’s GOT for clothes, and I’m happy that way. If she needs socks or underwear, she says “I need socks. I need underwear.”, and we go to the store and buy what she needs. If something that requires her dressing up comes along, we discuss what she might wear. Otherwise, her clothes are her problem. After she flounced around for the rest of the evening, looking in her bureau, in her closet, in the boxes of crap she boxed up and shoved in the guest bedroom, I finally said “Tell Grammy WE will take care of getting you some bathing suits.” I mean, I’ll measure her, I’ll check the size chart at Land’s End, and I’ll let her pick the kind of bathing suit she likes. Voila. What, you thought I was going to take her shopping for bathing suits? Silly, silly readers. * * * A few weeks ago, Fred bought a bunch of yellow smiley-face balloons filled with helium at the Dollar Store. Naturally, the Bean had to show the balloon just who the boss was. (No, we didn’t let him swallow any ribbon, and when the balloons started sinking toward the floor, we tossed them.) Such a pretty boy. Looks like such a good boy, doesn’t he? Let me tell you, EVERY time we touched him this weekend, he popped a little throbbing kitty erection and we had to scream and run away. Gah.]]>

* * * Pray tell, darling readers, does there exist a site where I can go and download video or mp3s of the American Idols singing their songs? I know there was last year, because I downloaded (you just shut up) Joshua Gracin singing… something. Something country, I’m sure. I don’t care, bite me, I liked the kid. Aaaaaaaaanyway, surely these sorts of sites must exist. But where? Won’t you help a bitchypoo? Also, speaking of TV, if you are a viewer of The Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica, go over to the Tater, read this post and help me out, because I MUST know who that adorable curly-haired girl is.

* * * 1. Where are you right now? In front of the computer, in the computer room, in the downstairs of our house, in Madison, in Alabama, in the US. 2. What time is it? 9:45 am. The spud’s already up and about. Eeek! 3. What are you wearing? A purple pullover shirt, an off-white bra from Lane Bryant, gray cotton pants and my favorite blue pan-tays. Oh, and my green Land’s End slippers. 4. Any people or animals around you? Describe them. Not a one. All the cats are hanging out upstairs with the spud, who’s either watching TV or sitting in front of HER computer. 5. What are your plans for the weekend? I have none, aside from vacuuming the upstairs and downstairs, and maybe dusting the upstairs. Other than that, nothin’. * * * Fred had to go to the Doc in a Box (walk-in clinic) this morning because he pulled his back when he was lifting weights. He tried to get an appointment with his usual doctor, but they were booked, and there’s a Doc in a Box near his office, so he just went there. After he got back to his office, I called to make sure he was going to live (he is), and asked which doctor he’d seen. “I think she might be from South Africa,” he said. “She had the cool accent, but I had a hard time understanding her a couple of times. She was really nice, we talked for ten or fifteen minutes.” “Last time I went to that clinic, I got a doctor who looked at my eye from across the room and diagnosed me with pinkeye,” I said. “In and out in 30 seconds.” (Requisite sex joke here) “She was pretty,” Fred said. “Her skin was the color of Cafe Au Latte.” I groaned. “Har har.” “What?” Fred said, completely serious. “Is that not how you pronounce it?” “Cafe au LAIT!” I said, and then laughed at him. Another reason I love the man: he makes me laugh every day. And sometimes it’s not even AT him. * * * All pictures taken by Himself. Pretty Bean. Stretchy Bean. “Whatcha doin’, Dad? Whatcha doin’? Huh? Whatcha doin’?” ]]>

http://ofb.diaryland.com/032304.html [edited to add: that entry has since been moved here], and wanted to invite you to please put your thoughts into a letter for consideration for the August issue. Thanks for your interest in Playboy. [name deleted] for the Playboy Advisor Ain’t it always the way that when you call someone names in your journal, secure in the knowledge that they’ll never see it, they always do?

* * * Did you know that if you live in Georgia and are a woman, your right to pierce your genitals is in jeopardy! It almost makes me want to go have my genitals pierced in protest. ::cringe:: * * * Hey, reader Martha has a niece who is unbearably adorable. Her name is JoJo, and she’s a singer. A piece of her video along with a short interview was on MTV’s TRL yesterday, and I voted for her. You can hear her song on her site, here. I’m addicted to her song (It’s got a good beat and I can dance to it!) and have to listen to it every day. I’ll be buying her CD when it comes out. * * * Speaking of music, I think that I may have – my god, this is hard to admit – developed the tiniest little crush on Clay Aiken. I KNOW! Don’t look at me like that, I’m embarrassed enough already! Look, I’ve always liked Clay’s songs and everything, but I saw his new video yesterday while I was waiting for JoJo to come on (or maybe he was on after JoJo, it’s all a blur now) and whoo! Just, whoo! Skinny little boys have never been my thing – and that eye-flutter thing Clay used to do while he was singing sure did creep me out – but I’m thinking I could make an exception. Heh. Be afraid, Clay. Be very afraid! * * * So last year I had a couple of planters filled with Million Bells plants by the front door. As the weather got colder I had the idea that I might move the planters into the garage for the winter, with an eye toward reviving them in the spring, so I wouldn’t have to order more Million Bells and put them in the planter and all that. I never quite got around to moving the planters, though, and they stayed by the front door all winter long, brown and dead. Yesterday I went out to get the mail and glanced down at one of the planters to find that not only had green leaves started to appear… But a couple of blooms had appeared, too! My plan is to cut the plants in both of the planters back drastically, and hit them with a dose of fertilizer. Hopefully they can be salvaged to bloom for another summer. And this fall, really. I’ll bring the planters into the garage. I will! * * * ]]>

unfried chicken), and I said “Do you mind having corn again, since we just had it on Saturday?” He allowed that corn twice in one week would be okey-dokey with him, and he stood up and rounded the bed, heading for the corner of the bedroom, which he’s turned into a writing corner of sorts. “There’s most of a bag of corn in the freezer,” he said. “Left over from Saturday. I don’t eat much corn when we have it, just a spoonful -” And because clearly I am far too stupid to fully comprehend the concept of the spoken word “spoonful”, he stopped and faced me and pantomimed holding a spoon in his left hand and a bowl in his right, and he carefully spooned a SPOONFUL of nonexistent corn with his nonexistent spoon from his nonexistent bowl to his nonexistent plate. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t believe I quite understand. Could you explain this “spoonful” word to me via pantomime again?” And so he did.

* * * The Bean seems to slowly be getting the hang of the cat door. As long as you pull the bottom of the cat door up a little so that it doesn’t touch his face, he’ll go out through it. When he comes back through it, he’s always hauling ass. We thought that he was coming through so fast because something had scared him, but he comes through that way every single time, so I’m thinking that he just likes to do it that way. He was full of piss and vinegar this morning, chasing the other cats around. When I got up, I made a hissing sound at him and waved my arms around, and he galloped from one end of the house to the other and back again, his ears back. He cracks me up. Miz Poo’s lip has gotten big and swollen from her recent constant grooming, which means she’s due for another steroid shot to lessen the swelling. I don’t blame her for grooming constantly; I’ve been scratching a lot lately. My skin isn’t reacting well to the change in the weather and we ran out of Lubriderm lotion, and the Curel we had was too thick so I wasn’t using any lotion at all and as a result was doing a lot of scratching. But I bought some more Lubriderm yesterday and I’m all lotioned up today… but still feel itchy. Ugh. I wonder if this entry could possibly get any less exciting. * * * ]]>

* * * Pet store kitty pics are hither.

* * * The Bean, I don’t believe I’ve mentioned, is on antibiotics. We took him to the vet emergency room in Huntsville last Tuesday because he felt hot and was lethargic and not acting like himself at all. We found that his allergies – and I’m sorry, it still makes me laugh that cats can HAVE allergies – had turned into an infection, and he had a sore throat and swollen lymph nodes. They gave him a shot and then gave us a bottle of antibiotics to give him. Thus, every morning Fred had to shove half a pill down the Bean’s throat for his allergies, and follow that up with a squirt of liquid antibiotics. The Bean, as you can imagine, does not care for this at all. Luckily, he hasn’t quite figured out that if he shoved at Fred’s arm it would in turn shove the pill/ antibiotics away. Instead, he uses his little paws to shove at the arm of the person (usually me) holding him, and that does no good at all, though if he catches me hard enough with his claws it does make me swear loudly at him. (I know I could wrap a towel around him. I don’t want to, because the house is messy enough without a towel laying around cluttering up the place.) Anyway, sometimes Fred gives the Bean a little tiny bit of milk to get the taste of the medicine out of his mouth, and so the Bean has mentally linked Fred in the kitchen to the tiny bit of milk Fred sometimes gives him, and when he sees him there, he jumps up onto the cupboard and looks expectantly at Fred. The other night Fred took advantage of the Bean’s presence to shove the medicine down his throat, and while he was doing so, Miz Poo jumped up to see what was going on. The Bean, licking his lips and swallowing and just generally looking disgusted, turned and stuck his nose up Miz Poo’s ass as far as he possibly could. I walked into the kitchen to hear Fred singing “A snootful of butt smell helps the medicine go down, the medicine go down, the medicine go dooooooown!” Have I mentioned that he’s under the impression he lives in a musical? * * * ]]>