Author: Robyn

Go Fuck Yourself ‘burb page and you’re not listed, you’ll need to send again. If you emailed me and I haven’t replied, send again. If you have a journal that I read, please send me an email summarizing everything that happened in your life in the last ten days. (I’m kidding on that last one.) A normal person would download a different email client. Of course, I’m not normal, and so I’ve downloaded Eudora yet again. When I’m whining about losing my email yet again in the future, you have my full permission to call me a dumbass. So, the spud and I left Portland yesterday at 9:35. We almost didn’t make it to the plane, because we were sitting by gate number 5, since it said over the gate that the flight leaving at 9:35 would be leaving from that gate. After getting a blueberry scone and orange juice from the Starbucks stand (did you know that Starbucks doesn’t serve soda? What the hell is up with that??), the spud and I sat and ate and read, and then I looked at the clock on my phone and realized that it was 9:20. “Hm,” I said. “Odd that they haven’t begun boarding yet. Wait here, spud. I’m going to go to the bathroom before we have to board.” I walked to the bathroom, did my business, and on my way out I happened to glance at Gate 6. Where they were boarding. Over Gate 6 was a board with our flight number. “Is this flight (whatever) to Cincinnati?” I asked the agent at the gate. “It sure is, we’re doing final boarding. Are you on this flight?” “Yeah. Hold on, let me get my daughter and my stuff!” I said, ran over to where the spud was playing on her gameboy, grabbed her, gave our tickets to the gate agent, and headed down the jetway. We were the last ones on the plane, and we’d barely gotten to our seats when they shut the door and we were on our way. What I hate most about flying is how incredibly fucking boring it is. It’s especially boring when you’re trapped on a plane for two and half hours and don’t have anything to drink other than what the flight attendant provides. (Note to self: Bring a bottle of water next time) We ended up landing in Cincinnati (I swear that doesn’t look like it’s spelled right) about fifteen minutes late due to some headwinds (I think) which caused the plane to fly slower or something. I don’t know, I can hardly understand the damn pilot when he mumbles over the loudspeaker, all I know is we landed 15 minutes late. Oh, I thought. That’s okay, because we had a 45 minute layover, anyway. We won’t have a chance to look around in the gift shops or anything, but we still have half an hour to get to our gate. Shouldn’t be too bad, our flight doesn’t leave ’til 12:53. Hm. Maybe I should double-check that. Yeah, I’m mighty fucking glad that I double-checked, because my flight wasn’t leaving at 12:53. It was leaving at 12:35. And we had to get from the B terminal to the C terminal. AND we were way back in row 30, and the plane was fucking PACKED. So I stood and sighed and rolled my eyes and just generally acted like a big asshole, waiting for the people in rows 1 – 29 to get their carry-on luggage (have I mentioned how much I hate the fuckers with their carry-on luggage? Except for you, my dear sweet readers. I love you despite the carry-on luggage. Unless you’re in my way, in which case I hate you.) and get their asses moving and out of my way. We hauled ass down terminal B (naturally, we were at the far end), waited impatiently to get on the bus to terminal C, and almost knocked everyone over on our way to our gate. We were almost there when three STUPID-ASS BITCHES who worked in Starbucks and were walking across the hallway (for lack of a better word) stopped dead in their tracks, making us veer around them. “Omigod!” one of them exclaimed. “Do you think so??” “OMIGOD!” I said to the spud in my best Valley Girl voice. “Do you think we could stand RIGHT in the way and make people miss their flight? Because that would be so RAD! That would be the ultimate in cool! We could make them miss their flight, and then they’d have to spend another three hours in this shitty fucking airport!” Yes, I’m an asshole. But the spud thought it was funny as hell. As we ran up to our gate, the gate agent looked expectantly at us. “Huntsville, Alabama?” she asked. “Yes!” I handed our tickets to her. “They’ve already shut the door, but I’ll call out to them to reopen it. Hurry!” She pointed the way. We walked up the steps (it was one of those tiny planes) and the flight attendant said “Please be sure your cell phone is turned off, blahblah whatever-flight-attendants-say!” We sat and caught our breath. “There’s no WAY our luggage made it onto the plane,” I said conversationally to the spud. And I was right. It didn’t make it onto the plane, and Fred had to circle around the airport several times while we discussed with the baggage claim chick where our luggage might be (on the 3:35 flight, being the answer) and where we wanted the luggage delivered. So while I hate you damn people with all the carry-on luggage, I’m certainly starting to understand. Next time I’m going to carry a bag that contains all my contact stuff, my glasses, my thyroid medication (and the spud’s), and my birth control pill. Oh, and a change of underwear. And I’ll be sure to store my bag in the overhead bin and take my time getting it out, yes indeedy. Oh, and our luggage was here before 7 last night with no problem. Yay, delivery people!

* * * It was a little disconcerting to see members of the National Guard (at least, I think that’s who they were) walking around the Huntsville airport with rifles slung over their shoulders. They were everywhere, and when they glanced our way, I actually felt guilty, as if I were a terrorist-in-training. Heh. * * * I thought I was getting a cold while I was in Maine – I had a sore throat and was a little congested, but after a day I felt better (my mother swore it was due to the vitamin C she ordered me to take; could be, I suppose). But this morning I woke up feeling like crap, and sounding (and feeling) like I had a frog in my throat. Either it’ll go away tonight while I’m sleeping, or it’ll turn into something nasty. I can HARDLY WAIT to find out which it is. We did an incredible amount of shopping while I was in Maine. Debbie, the spud and I wandered into Deb in the Maine Mall, and found some truly hilarious stuff with that obnoxious little bunny on it. I bought some magnets, and this morning I scanned one and put it up on my front page. Cracks me up every time I look at it. * * * I have no pictures of our kitties today – I haven’t had a chance, between trying to restore some kind of order to the house, and processing book orders – but I do have some kitty pics, anyway. My sister’s friend Christine cut my mother’s hair and cut the spud’s hair and put highlights in (it looks great – I’ll have to get a picture) at her house Saturday night. She has two cats, and I got a couple of pictures. This is me, holding one of them. Just call me the cat whisperer. Their names are Cleo and Porsche, but I have no idea which is which. They’re only 6 months old, and I think they’re going to be big cats. ]]>

* * * And now I really am going to take time off – I’ll see y’all next Wednesday! ]]>

My year in review. So, we’re almost into 2004. It seems like 2003 went both really really incredibly slow and amazingly fast at the same time. I would call my 2003 neither good nor bad – I’d mostly call it a wash. Bad things happened, mostly cat-related things. Miz Poo had some seriously major surgery, and I thought that we were going to lose her. She did recover and she’s back to her old self, fat and sassy and taking no shit from that interloper, thank god. Spanky had a urinary tract infection, didn’t he? I seem to recall that, though at my advanced age the years do tend to blend into one another. Fancypants disappeared at the beginning of the summer and hasn’t been seen since. We hope that he found another family, one that thinks he’s absolutely the bee’s knees and doesn’t spank him for pooping outside the litter box. The hardest part of the whole thing is just not knowing one way or the other. If he was hit by a car or attacked by an animal and died as a result, I can handle it – I’d just really like to know. If he is dead (and I know it’s a possibility), I pray that it happened so fast that he didn’t have time to feel pain or to be scared. The thought of his being scared and suffering is what makes me want to cry. But if Fancypants hadn’t disappeared, we’d never have known the Bean, who has brought so much laughter into our lives. He’s the craziest little thing and he brought the older cats together in a way I never would have expected. They banded together to hate him, but after a while they didn’t hate him quite so much. I would say that they almost like him, even. I almost expect that in another year, he and Miz Poo will be snuggling on a daily basis. Or not. But a Momma can dream, right? Good things happened, too. Fred got and then fired an agent who considered him to be a stupid-ass bumpkin. He waffled for a while, and then decided to self-publish. We took out a big loan to pay for said self-publication, and at this point, we are thisclose to paying off said loan. He did publicity in hopes of selling the book. He was on the local news, in the local newspaper, on a radio station in Michigan, and he did an interview for a segment on The E@rly Show. Oh yeah, and he’s in Men’s He@lth this month, too. Once the loan is paid off and half of our current stock is sold, the next question will be whether or not to print another run. We waffle on that – sometimes yes, sometimes no. I took down my weight loss journal, and felt like a huge weight (no pun intended) had been lifted from my shoulders. I’m continuing with the eating right and exercising (though less so these past few weeks – ’tis the season, dontchaknow). I changed the front page where my weight loss journal had been. The stupid-ass bitches who whined and moaned about the fact that I had the temerity to express my own opinion (Dr. Phil has his face on supplements. That sucks.) and advertise the fact that I think everyone should buy a copy of my husband’s book so we can pay off that loan will probably whine and moan even louder when they see that page. Ask me if I think they should go fuck themselves. Did I mention that Fred wrote a book? And that I think you should all buy it? I have to say, I’m glad to see the ass-end of 0neFatBitchypoo. I met a lot of great people through that site, but I sure met a lot of assholes, too. Way more assholes than I’ve ever come across due to this site. Also, a fucking lunatic or two back in the spring, after someone stole a picture of me from that site and posted on a popular weight-loss forum pretending to be me. Good lord. One of the coolest things that happened is that I met my sister-in-law, who posts in the comments as Kate. Having no idea what to expect, I found someone who’s cool and funny and fits with my brother better than I could ever have imagined. (Do I sound like a total brown-noser, or what?) I got to see my brother for the first time in a few years, my nephew for the first time since he was three, and I got to meet my niece, whom I’d never met before. Very cool. The more I write, the more I start to think that this was a pretty good year, rather than just so-so. So as we head into 2004, I’m expecting great things. Not specific great things, just great things in general. My life is pretty damn good, so if everything just stays on an even keel, I’ll be happy with that.

* * * Hee! Fred took this picture of the spud, and that’s right – I’m posting it. I’m sure the spud would be horrified. The Bean gives y’all that sexy, smoldering look. ]]>

NANCE DON’T READ THAT, IT’S A SEXUAL INNUENDO!) I understand that Michael Jackson didn’t have much of a childhood, that he was the performing seal who brought in the money that let mommy and daddy live in the manner to which they wanted to become accustomed, but the man is in his 40s now. At what point do you cease wailing and moaning the absence of a part of your life that didn’t go the way you wanted, and just move the fuck on? Despite his creepiness, when he says “I don’t see sexual beings when I look at children”, I kind of believe him. But maybe I’m just naive.

* * * So our flights went just fine yesterday – on time and everything. Our flight from Huntsville to Cincinnati (I have the hardest time spelling that city name) was only about half full, but our flight from Cincinnati to Maine was packed. There was a woman who looked like, I swear to you, a model – perfect figure, perfect hair, perfectly stylish dressed (or so she appeared to my admittedly non-stylish eyes). They had four kids, all under the age of four. None of them were twins. They cracked me up because the father was wandering along with the second-youngest child (an adorable blond boy) in a stroller, and the mother had the baby in a front carrier, had a second stroller piled high with coats and bags, and herding the two little girls along. But she did it as easily as if she’d been doing it all her life, and she was completely calm the entire time. She did have crazy eyes, though. Who could blame her? The Portland airport drives me fucking nuts, because it’s way too small, at least the baggage claim area, for the kind of traffic that goes through there. The spud and I were standing as close to the carousel as we could, but the crowd was packed about ten people deep all the damn way around, when I heard them page my last name and the spud’s. Despite a more than one-hour layover in Cincinnati, our luggage did not make the flight to Portland. The guy took down descriptions of our bags (even though they knew exactly where they were) and gave me a claim number. “If you don’t hear from us by late afternoon, call this number.” The problem was that when I DID try calling, the fucking number was BUSY. Fuckers. I finally got through and got the not-so-illuminating message that our bags were in transit to Portland and if I didn’t hear from them within four hours, to call back. But when I didn’t hear from them in four hours and tried calling back, I couldn’t get through, despite redialing about 45 times. I realized there was a url on the “Baggage Information” ticket the baggage claim guy (and THERE is a job I wouldn’t want, believe you me!) gave me. I went online, entered the claim number and my last name, and found that my luggage had been turned over to the bag delivery service. And that it would be delivered between 10 pm and 2 am. You can imagine the language that spewed forth. I’d been a dumbass and packed both my and the spud’s thyroid medication along with my contact stuff and glasses, and basically every stitch of winter-type clothing that I own. At 11, the baggage delivery place called. “Do you want me to deliver late tonight,” the woman asked. “Or early tomorrow morning?” Fuck tomorrow morning – I wanted my stuff as soon as possible! She told me she had some bags to deliver in Biddeford and then she’d head this way, so it would probably be about 1:30. Erg. I said that was fine and then settled down on the couch to flip channels. I flipped between Ellen, Sleepless in Seattle, and Runaway Bride. I heard a car door slam at 12:30, and when I looked out into the driveway, there was a small woman struggling with my big-ass bags. I slept like a rock last night, believe you me. Brian made breakfast for the spud and I. He’s quite a little chef – we had turkey bacon, scrambled eggs, and waffles. I think he’s cleaning up the kitchen now. He’ll make some woman a wonderful husband some day if he keeps THAT up. We’re going to the movies today and going to visit my grandmother, who is down to 91 pounds. Basically, the poor woman is just fading away. She’s made it clear to various and sundry family members that she’s ready to go, but the pacemaker in her heart keeps going and going and dragging her along for the ride. Maine in the winter is cold, have I mentioned? * * * I sent an email to Nance and Jane last night: Hi from Maine! My parents bought themselves a karaoke machine for Christmas. Right now my mother is singing “My Eyes Adored You”. Earlier, she sang “You Light up My Life.” Naturally I immediately thought of you two. I haven’t sung anything yet, since my voice should not be unleashed upon an innocent world, but I don’t know how long I can resist the siren call of “Man, I Feel Like a Woman.” I hope your new year brings you less pain than mine is sure to bring me. Happy New Year! 🙂 * * * My god, dial-up sucks. I’m also not fond of Netscape. It’s trips to Maine where I’m stuck with both that makes me really appreciate my own computer and cable access, yes indeedy. * * * (Just so you know, these pictures were taken with the new camera while I was still in Alabama. I believe they were all taken by Fred, photographer extraordinaire.) Tubby leaps for the camera. Tubby. Cute, yet bitchy. Tubby, begging. I’m sure he thought Fred had food or something.]]>

I took this one. Obviously. Fred took this one of Miz Poo in the back yard. Look at how clear and crisp the picture is! Miz Poo, lickinglickinglicking. The spud took this one with the old camera. Just thought I’d sneak it in here. The spud, lookin’ cute. I’m lucky that she hasn’t reached the age where she screams and runs away when she sees a camera. Of course, she’s so cute (and no, I’m not biased at alllllll) that she’s got no reason to run away screaming. The Tubs! Uh, Nance? You ain’t kiddin’ when you say it’s all about the angle! Tubby looks downright svelte from this angle! (The rest of the pictures are taken with the old camera)

The Bean LEAPS upon the Tubbyman. Growling and hissing and kicking and licking ensues. Also, some biting. The Tubs kicks his stubby little legs helplessly. The Bean sashays off while Tubby grabs at the air. ]]>

Something’s Gotta Give, but other than that, anything is fine with me. I also want to make a trip to the ocean and get some good pictures – we’ll need a sunny day for that, I think. Tuesday is Liz’s birthday and I’m taking her out to dinner, though I don’t know where yet. I’m excited about going to Maine, have I mentioned?

* * * We watched two more episodes of season 4 of The Sopranos last night – we’re more than halfway through the season and worried about what we’re going to watch when we’re done with it. Season 2 of The Shield comes out in early January, so maybe that’ll be next on the list. I think it just rocks that they put TV shows out on DVD. I got Season 2 of Felicity for Christmas. I also got the first episode of China Beach; that’s one show I wish they’d put out on DVD, because I’d buy it the instant it became available. Speaking of TV shows and the like, our cable company is now offering something very similar to TiVo for a monthly fee of around twenty bucks. I think Fred’s actually interested in getting it, maybe I can talk him into having the guy come and install it while I’m in Maine. * * * We got our water bill in the mail yesterday, and when I saw that it was FOUR TIMES AS MUCH as last month’s, I about flipped out. I showed it to Fred, who reminded me that we’d gotten a note on our front door from the city water guys, who’d been on our property because they suspected we had a leak on our property. Fred consulted with his father and did various and sundry things, and decided that the leak was in the front part of the house. He called a plumber to come out, and the plumber decided that the leak was in a different part of the house, and he’ll be back Tuesday with some super-duper leak-detection device, which is 85% accurate at locating leaks. Is it wrong that I kinda hope the leak is somewhere in the kitchen so that they end up tearing up the stone floor I hate so much, so that I can make a case for replacing the floor with vinyl? If it’s not one thing with this house, it’s a damn ‘nother. * * * Have I mentioned that I’m turning 36 in less than two weeks? Mark your calendar, folks – January 9th, the sun will refuse to shine in sympathy to my old age. I swear, I really do feel like I’m still 19. How’d I get so old? While Fred and I were out driving around and listening to his new stereo system last night, I suddenly realized that to the untrained eye, I am an adult. ME. How the fuck did that happen? * * * I went to Target this morning to look for a tote bag to carry on the plane with me. My purse isn’t really big enough for all the stuff I want to take – bottles of water, a couple of books, 63 packs of gum – so I thought a tote bag would work well for me, and I could pack my purse, and switch my wallet and everything over when I got to Maine. Yes. I AM a dork. Anyway, after a lot of looking around, I ended up with a fairly hideous bag. Trust me, the picture doesn’t do justice to its hideousness. But for less than ten bucks, would do you expect? It’s got pockets inside for my blistex and 63 packs of gum, along with a few (hundred) emergency tampons, and it’s also got outside pockets where I can stick my tickets. It’s roomy enough for a few bottles of water (I’ll be damned if I buy bottles of water at the damn airport for $16 apiece) and a couple of books and a notebook and my wallet, so I’m not going to complain. If you’re wandering through the Cincinnati airport around 10 am tomorrow and see someone with a hideous bag, say hi. It’ll be me. Maybe I should make a trip to LL Bean while I’m in Maine to get a decent bag. I have one of the boat and tote bags, but it’s the one that’s big enough to put the spud in, and so I would guess that it won’t easily fit under the seat in front of me. Hmm… this is kinda cute. In an ugly sort of way, I mean… Okay, I’ve rambled on long enough, don’tchathink? I’m going to slap up some pictures of the Bean and call it an entry. I have to go yell at the spud to get her laundry done so I can finish mine, and I have to start packing, as well as vacuum the entire upstairs and maybe even clean the bathroom a little bit so that Fred won’t wallow in filth the entire time I’m gone. I plan to update from Maine, though I expect the entries won’t be terribly long, and there also won’t be pictures. I’ve updated every day this far – just a few more days and I’ll have done the entire month. Go, me! Anyway. The next time I update, I’ll be in Maine. Whee! * * * The Bean’s not sure what he thinks of this whole “outside” thing. It makes him a little nervous, really.]]>

here.) Date I started addressing cards: December 3rd. Date I finished: December 20th. Total cards sent out (not including family): 269. States receiving 10 or more cards: California, New Jersey, Ohio, Texas, Washington. States who don’t love me and didn’t want a card: Colorado, Delaware, Montana, New Mexico, Rhode Island, Vermont, West Virginia, Wyoming. Other countries receiving cards: Canada (23), New Zealand (1), Australia (3), United Kingdom (9), Sweden (1), Netherlands (1), Republic of Korea (1), Portugal (1), Germany (2), Estonia (1), Iceland (1), Finland (1). Most often recurring first names: Amy, Chris/Christine/Christy, Jennifer, Kristen, Laura, Melissa, Patricia/Patty/Pat, Teresa/Theresa. Number of cards kicked back as undeliverable: 2 (1 to Melissa R. in Indiana, 1 to Carol S. in Washington). Percentage of probability that I accidentally sent out more than one card to at least one person: 99.99999. Was I terribly organized about my card sending this year?: Less organized than last year, but not completely unorganized. Did I have a lot of fun shopping for funny cards?: You betcha. Next year we’re definitely doing homemade cards, though – we’ve already got a picture to use. What I’ll do differently next year: Start cutting and pasting names and addresses sooner (but I said that last year, I think!). Number of cards I’ve received: 130 (as of this morning). It confused me at first that I sent less cards out this year than last, until I realized that I’d taken down the weight loss journal, which cut down on the number of readers sending me their names and addresses. Thanks again, y’all, for all the sweet and funny cards you sent, as well as all the pictures of your kids and cats. You know I love ’em!

* * * On Christmas morning, I believe I mentioned, the spud and I made fabulous Mandarin muffins. I had eaten two muffins and decided that I could go for a third (shaddup!), so I walked from the computer room into the kitchen, where the remaining dozen muffins were cooling. You can imagine the shock and horror I felt when I entered the kitchen to see one stumpy-tailed little Beanie bastard sitting amongst the muffins, licking the top of one muffin as fast as his little tongue could go. Imagine further my shock and horror when I realized that his ASS was sitting atop one of the muffins, and as he defiled my muffins he was purring just as loudly as he possibly could. “YOU FUCKER!” I yelled. “GET AWAY FROM THERE!” Sensing somehow that I was displeased, the little fucker hopped up from his seat atop the muffins and leapt to the kitchen table and from there hopped to the back of the couch, and then ran down to sit on the living room floor. He sat and kept a wary eye on me, licking his lips as he did so. I tossed the muffins in the trash, although it did occur to me to leave the one the Bean had had his ass upon – the assmuffin, if you will – for Fred. But even I’m not quite that mean. I just wish I’d gotten pictures. * * * This morning, after picking up Fred at the car place (he’s having his radiator replaced) and bringing him home, I did some chores around the house – washing out the nasty litter box and filling it with clean litter, taking down all the Christmas decorations, bagging up the old clothes and toys the spud decided to get rid of – and I took a break to check my email. When I decided it was time to take a shower, I stood up and headed for the stairs. There, at the bottom of the stairs, sat the Bean, staring up at the pair of jeans Fred had hung over the end of the banister. “Hey Beanie, what -” I began, but the Bean was intent upon his mission. In one fluid motion, he leapt up, hooked his front claws in the jeans, hung there for one moment, and then the jeans let go and tumbled in a heap upon the floor, the Bean underneath them. With a chirrup, he emerged from under the jeans, eyed the pile of denim, and then climbed atop the pile, victorious. Because, of course, if there’s something on the floor… * * * Spanky, mid-yawn (taken by Fred).]]>

Lynchburg Lemonade. That, along with Mike’s Hard Lemonade had been catching my eye for several months, and I’d always think “Hey, that sounds kind of good! Maybe I’ll try some one of these days.” So Tuesday, I thought to myself, What better way to celebrate Christmas than to get plowed?, I picked up a 4-pack and put it in my cart. The spud said “Is that ALCOHOL?!”, and I cheerfully nodded. When I got home and was putting groceries away, Fred said “Oh I SEE, you alcoholic!” Wednesday night at Fred’s parents’ house, while we were eating dinner, everyone got to discussing wine – which everyone but Fred and I were drinking – and Fred informed his family, with the appropriate face of horror, that I had bought and was planning on drinking an alcoholic drink which had Jack Daniel’s in it. Whereupon everyone made an ew face and proclaimed how much they hated Jack Daniel’s. So after a hard day yesterday, during which I realized that the turkey we’d put in a sink of cold water was still frozen in the middle, and I couldn’t remove the giblets (and later I discovered I’d been looking in the wrong place for the giblets anyway) and I couldn’t reach Fred, who was out hiking with his father, and so I simply coated the turkey with olive oil and spices, tossed it in the roasting oven and hoped for the best, and then went with the spud to see the movie she’s apparently been dying to see, Gothika (highlight to see spoiler text: Halle Berry sees dead people), which wasn’t bad, and then I got home to find that Fred hadn’t even gotten the message I’d left on his voicemail bitching about the turkey, and then we found that the turkey was overdone and dry (it was a cheap store brand) and I decided to be bitchy and cranky, I thought to myself What better way to end this day than by getting drunk off my ass? and I opened a bottle of the Lynchburg Lemonade to drink with my dinner, which consisted of a very small amount of dry turkey, Stovetop stuffing (save your pity, that stuff is DAMN GOOD), green beans and almonds, and corn. And the Lynchburg Lemonade, despite the comments from Fred about how I was a raging alcoholic, was mighty damn fine. So I finished off that bottle, and not ten seconds later, my face was bright red. Alcohol has long had that effect on me, I guess – I know that about 10 years ago when I was doing shots of Cinnamon Schnapps with my sister and her boyfriend, my sister actually watched my face get red from the bottom up. We decided to watch some episodes of season 4 of The Sopranos, and over the course of two hours I finished the last three Lynchburg Lemonades, and although I am the lightest of the lightweights when it comes to that sort of thing, I only ever became mildly toasted, and my bitchy crankiness went away. And I slept like a baby. Woot!

* * * I went to the mall this morning to buy myself a buttload (boobload?) of bras, since Lane Bryant had them on sale for (I believe I mentioned) buy 2, get 2 free. The panti3s were also on sale, buy 3, get 3 free, so I picked up some of those. When I was done at Lane Bryant I walked over to Dillard’s, because I bought a Jelly Belly gift box for Brian last year to give to him this year (what? They keep!) and it was apparently a big hit with him, so I decided to do it again. A new Christmas tradition! Brian will be 40 years old and saying “God, I wish she’d STOP sending me the freakin’ Jelly Bellies!” The Christmas section of Dillard’s was just nuts, with women running everywhere grabbing everything in sight, since it was all 50% off. The line to check out was probably 30 people long. I grabbed a Jelly Belly gift box, and then also grabbed a box of Godiva to share with Fred. 50% off, people! You can’t beat that with a stick! I would have bought a buttload of boxes to give as gifts next year and through the year, but the very idea of having Godiva in the house and not eating it makes me laugh, because THAT won’t happen in this lifetime. So after I grabbed the Godiva and the Jelly Bellies, instead of standing in the line in the Christmas section, I walked twenty feet to the baby section, where there stood a cashier and no line, and I said “Can I pay for these here?”, and the cashier said “Sure!”, and I did. Always remember, people – you DON’T have to pay for the stuff you’re buying in the section where you found it. After I left the mall, I ran to Target, which was a total madhouse. Since I didn’t have a cart, I was able to dart in and out amongst those who did have carts, grabbed three big rolls of wrapping paper for next year, and was out of there in about ten minutes flat. You better believe I won’t be leaving the house again today, though, except to take Fred to pick up his Jeep. He got a bit of a Christmas bonus at work, and he’s using some of the money to buy a new stereo for his Jeep. Also, we’re buying a Dyson vacuum, too! Is it a sign of old age that I’m this excited about getting a new vacuum cleaner? * * * ZzzzzZzzzzZzzzz Such a pretty boy, that Spot.]]>

Happy holidays to you and yours, from us and ours!

* * * So as I mentioned in yesterday’s entry, we went to Fred’s father and stepmother’s house for dinner. We had to stop at Macaroni Grill to pick up some bread on the way. After Fred had picked up the bread (he said it was a total clusterfuck in there), we started thinking we smelled sausage. We decided it must be the bag that smelled that way, but then later we were told that there was rosemary in the bread, so that solved that mystery. Dinner was lasagna, bread, spinach salad, green beans and carrots, and for dessert apple tart and some whipped cream and chocolate dessert with a nut crust. Faaaaabulous, it was. (At least until later that evening when the fact that I’d eaten multiple servings of turnip greens and spinach salad caught up with me and caused some serious intestinal distress.) We sat around and talked and watched the kids and opened presents (I got a bunch of stuff from my wish list, and we got a candle set from Fred’s sister). The cat calendar we had printed, last-minute, for Fred’s parents seemed to be a hit, as well as the VCR we got for Fred’s sister and her boyfriend. We left around 8, stopped to get gas on the way home, and Fred and I were opening presents to each other by 9:30. (My haul: books from my wish list, a pattern for a cross-stitch yellow Beetle (“You finally got your Beetle!” Fred said. Hmph.), a bunch of candles, a pair of silver cat earrings from Esquivel & Fees, and my favorite gift of all – a Buddy Christ!) I was sound asleep by midnight, and up around 7:45, whereupon I did a little laundry, took my shower, and by the time I was downstairs the spud was up and had separated the presents into piles. My haul included a Kit-Kat Clock from my brother and sister-in-law, a bunch of stuff including some cross-stitch ornaments and a wooden cat (that I had actually looked at the last time we were in Gatlinburg!) from my sister and nephew, and an ornament and a set of mixing bowls from my parents. The spud and I made a batch of faaaaaaaaabulous Mandarin Muffins, and later we’re going to go to the movies to see Gothika, which the spud is dying to see. Fred has gone hiking with his father, and for dinner tonight we’re going to have turkey, stuffing, corn, and green beans. So I do get some of that traditional Christmas dinner, and my life will be complete. So, that’s my day. I hope yours, whether you celebrate Christmas or not, is just as cool. Happy holidays, and don’t forget – Lane Bryant has bras on sale tomorrow, buy two, get TWO free! You better believe my ass is going to be there. * * * Spanky hopes you have a relaxing day. He plans to sleep, sleep, sleep, eat, and then sleep some more. ]]>

* * * Pet store kitties pictures from Monday are here, by the way. While I’m in Maine, Fred will be pinch-hitting for me, so there’ll be no updates at that page.

* * * We spent the morning at Fred’s sister’s house – we got there around 10:20 or so and sat around waiting to eat brunch. Fred had told me we were having jambalaya, made by his stepfather (who’s a cajun from Louisiana and was responsible for making the oyster dressing at Thanksgiving that I plowed through as everyone sat around trying not to stare in horror at my piggish ways). I have to admit that once I heard it was spicier than he’d intended – and he likes his food mighty spicy (see: he’s a cajun) – I was not looking forward to it at all. Holy crap, people. IT WAS SO FUCKING GOOD. I had a side of turnip greens (I can only eat greens when they’re cooked from fresh – the frozen stuff makes me gag), and then we started on the dessert. We’d brought a poppy seed cake that the spud and I made yesterday and although the cake didn’t look like much, there was only one small piece left over for us to bring home (which I just ate), and there was some fudge Fred’s sister had made, and there was something called Fluff that Fred’s mother made, and also there was an apple tart that Fred’s sister’s boyfriend was making to bring to Fred’s dad and stepmother’s house, only it burned (some trouble with the celsius-to-farenheit conversion, I believe – he’s French), but since it was only burned around the edges, we sliced it up and everyone had a piece and it was diiiiiiiiiiivine. We gave Fred’s mother and stepfather gift certificates to Kohl’s and Home Depot, and they gave us some little statues to put in our garden, some kitchen towels (yellow! And she didn’t even know it was my favorite color!), and Fred and I each got a book from our wish list. And then Fred played an eternal game of Poker with his nephew, and the spud and I sat around the living room and chatted with the rest of the family, and then we left. When we left, we ran to Target, where Fred dropped me off. THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS AND I WAS IN TARGET! HAAAAAAAAAAAAA! I bought a VCR for Fred’s sister and a gift bag to put it in (long story short: usually we buy gifts for her two kids and she gets something for the spud, but last night Fred talked to her and got the impression that she’d gotten something for us, so we frantically ran around the house until we found something to give her, and then when we were opening presents we discussed quietly that we’d feel bad just giving something to her and not her boyfriend as well so we thought, since Fred had to run some errands, that he could drop me off at Target and I could buy a little gift basket sorta thing for him, then the movie that was playing – some Muppets movie – ended and Fred’s sister mentioned that she’d had that VCR since 1990, and voila! We decided to get them a vcr, and that’s what we did, and I hope they like it.) and then gave the few dollars I had in cash to the guy ringing the bell outside, and Fred drove back by to pick me up, and we came home. Where I opened the Amazon box that was sitting outside the garage door when we opened it this morning to leave (Chicago from reader Christine Q, who ROCKS! And while I’m thanking people, I’d also like to thank Heather, who sent me Joy School from my wish list, as well as reader Nancy P., who sent me a smiley-face santa ornament (and you’re right, Nancy, there’s NO such thing as too many smilies!), and the members of the Academy, who know real talent when they see it. Whoo!). In half an hour we’re going to leave to go to Fred’s father and stepmother’s house, where we will eat lasagna (nothing traditional for us this year, I guess) and open presents and watch Fred’s stepsister’s adorable children run around. So, y’all take it easy, and I’ll see you tomorrow! * * * “Why is it that every time I see the basket it’s turned over, and then I set it back upright, and yet ten minutes later it’s turned over again?” “I don’t know, Bessie.” “Meh.”]]>