Author: Robyn

Holes on Tuesday (also rented: A Mighty Wind, Door to Door, and Real Women Have Curves). Since I have the book but hadn’t read it yet, I started it yesterday morning and finished it last night. What a great book! Why on earth hadn’t I read it before now? I’d heard of it because it was on the spud’s assigned summer reading a few years ago, and someone – Eliza, maybe? – mentioned it in her journal in highly flattering terms, which I’m pretty sure is why I put it on my wish list, and I know that it’s been sitting on the bookcase for months, but why did I not read it before now? Why? I’m sure my tendencies toward dumbassery has something to do with it. As a side note, if you buy the book and it’s the version with the color pictures from the movie in the middle, skip looking at the pictures until you’re done with the book, or you’ll ruin the ending for yourself. Today I’ll begin reading the Patricia Heaton book. I have no idea why I bought the book, and I only hope that it doesn’t suck. At least it’s thin, so it won’t take long to read, and I can start reading the Al Franken book that Fred keeps guffawing over. Which he’s probably ruined for me by reading the funniest parts out loud to me. Which I TOLD him not to do, because I wanted to read it for myself, damnit! Actually, I had no interest in reading it until I realized that Fred was laughing out loud every 2.5 seconds. I hope I find it as funny as he does!

* * * Pet store kitty pics are hither. * * * Good god, were the girls on The Bachelor all really young, or what? I swear there was a run where every single one they showed was 24. And the chick who said that she’d be a “servant” to her husband? Gag me. I haven’t seen the last hour of the show yet, though. It was a 2-hour show, and so I had to tape the last hour. I need to watch it today, I guess, because tonight I’ll be taping Friends and Will & Grace and ER and whatever else is coming on NBC. Oh, and Extreme Makeovers is on at 8! Woot! I love it when the Fall season starts in full force, I really do. * * * To find a kitty in our house, just look for a spot of sun. ]]>

* * * Fred linked to this story in his forum. People, I will say it only once: if you do NOT buy from telemarketers who call and want to sell you crap, they will NOT make money, and telemarketing will go the way of the dodo bird. Of course, we really don’t get calls from telemarketers because we never EVER provide our phone number to anyone, ever. If I place an order online and am required to provide a phone number, I provide this: (256) 555-1212. And good luck to anyone calling information for our number, because we’re unlisted. Let’s all make a pact to never EVER buy anything from someone who calls trying to sell us something, mm’kay?

* * * Man. I went upstairs after I wrote the above to vacuum the upstairs and do some dusting and then take my shower. I had vacuumed everything but the master bedroom when I realized that the vacuum was making a loud noise. I turned it off so I could check the belt, and was disgusted by the amount of hair stuck around the, uh. The beater thing that turns around. I have no clue what the hell it’s called. Just call me Jessica Simpson. Anyway, there was a TON of hair stuck on that, and I ended up spending a good 10 minutes cutting and ripping the hair out. In retrospect I should have gone and gotten a screwdriver to take the cover off, which would have made things a bit easier, but it never occurred to me. When I was done, I had a pile the size of Miz Poo, and DAMN was it nasty. I can’t even blame it all on cat hair, because cat hair is short and goes right through the vacuum to the vacuum bag (which I don’t change out nearly often enough). This was human hair – specifically Robyn and Spud hair. Gah. There’s just so much shit I never think of doing. Cleaning out the air uptake filter thingy? Nope. Dusting the corners of the rooms to get rid of the cobwebs that form in 10 seconds flat? Nope. Changing out the vacuum cleaner bags and cleaning out the turning thingy on a regular basis? Nope. Dust the ceiling fans? Wash the windows? Clean the cat door? Nope, nope, and nope. And on top of that is the stuff I just never get around to doing – cleaning out the fridge, wiping down the baseboards, cleaning the bathroom more often than twice a year. (Okay, I’m kidding on that last one. Really!) I know I make the house sound like a total pigsty, but it really isn’t THAT bad – just tending toward the messy and maybe cluttered. I guess it’s just that when it’s your own house, you notice the little things that people who visit don’t see. Or at least they’re too nice to say anything to you. * * * Holy god in heaven. I have Dr. Phil on in the background, and he just quoted the lyric “Guilty feet have got no rhythm”. Heh. Name that song! * * * This is a blurry and grainy picture (I had to lighten it), but it absolutely cracks me up. ]]>

* * * A partial picture of me so that you can see the dye job, and that my eyes are no longer creepy zombie eyes.

Excuse the slightly loony look on my face. That’s what happens when you raise one eyebrow in an attempt to look cool and above it all. * * * One of the things I had to do Saturday after The Big Reformat was download the newest version of Eudora, so that all the components would be in a single file, because that’s how I like it (and also, that will make it much easier when I have to back up all the important stuff before the NEXT reformat. Because you KNOW it’s gonna happen). I thought I pretty much had it set up the way I’d had my old Eudora set up, until I was emailing with Nance yesterday and Eudora got all old-lady tsk-tsk on me. Obviously Eudora doesn’t know Nance. It would probably take WAY more than that to offend Nance. Later, I was adding people to the Go Fuck Yourself page, when another one popped up. I feel like Eudora’s a creepy old lady hovering over my shoulder, reading my email, and threatening to tell my mommy on me. * * * Speaking of the Go Fuck Yourself page, if you emailed me to be added in the past 6 weeks or so and didn’t get a confirmation email yesterday, you need to email me again, because I’m somewhat certain that I lost some of that email in the transition from old, crappy hard drive to new, reformatted hard drive. Speaking further of the Go Fuck Yourself ‘burb, I think it’s probably not out of the question that one day I will receive an email from the spud requesting to be part of it. The thought both amuses and horrifies me. * * * Sunday morning Fred went out to run some errands and do some shopping, and when he got home I saw that he had a Books-A-Million bag. “Did you buy me anything?” I asked hopefully. He reached into the bag and pulled out The Ultimate Weight Loss Solution, by Dr. Phil. Close your email clients, angry people. He knew that I wanted to read it, but just hadn’t had a chance to go out and buy it. I started the book Sunday night, and about ten minutes in I was just wishing it was OVER. I need to do a more in-depth entry about it over at OneFatBitchypoo one of these days, I suppose, but unless you’ve read and enjoyed other Dr. Phil books, I don’t recommend it. I’ve listed the book on my reading list, but I don’t think I’m going to rate it, because I’ll be the first to admit that right now I have a big chip on my shoulder regarding Dr. Phil, and I didn’t read his book with an open mind, and it wouldn’t really be fair to rate his book with an “eh”. Closeminded with a big chip on my shoulder, that’s me! I do have two books to recommend, though, if you’re looking for something good to read. The first is The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon. It’s an absolutely charming book written from the viewpoint of an autistic 15 year-old, and I loved it even before I read the line “I can’t do chatting.” At one point I turned to Fred and said “I feel like I’m reading a book about you.” Highly, highly recommended. The other book is one that a reader saw on my wish list and sent me about a year ago, Plainsong, by Kent Haruf. The thing about this book is that it is such a simple book, and I didn’t expect much from it, but I was charmed and drawn in from the very first page. When I finished the book (and it left me wanting more, the way good books do), I immediately went online and added his other books to my wish list, and can’t wait to buy and read them. Heh. I’m such a good book reviewer, aren’t I? Why didn’t I just say “Books good. Me like!”? * * * Oh, and speaking of books, I have to mention the craptacular The Last Victim. I read it while I was in Maine, thinking to myself “The boy corresponded with John Wayne Gacy and other serial killers. How can this NOT be a gripping, thrilling read?” Well, let me tell you, it was dull as dirt. Total yawnsville. Stay away, folks, stay away! My sister-in-law made the mistake of picking it up and beginning it after I’d finished it, at which point I felt like I couldn’t really say “Oh, don’t bother. It SUCKS”, because what if it was just me? What if I just couldn’t see the amazingness (is TOO a word) of it? Turns out it WASN’T just me. Poor Lee! * * * He’s a pretty Spot. Yes he is! ]]>

* * * I bet my weekend was WAY more fun than yours. Yes way, it was TOO. For instance, did you lose your air conditioning capabilities for several hours? No, having your power knocked out by the hurricane doesn’t count. Friday evening while I was waiting for the pizza to arrive, I turned to Fred, who was sitting in front of his computer. “Are you sure you turned the air up?” I asked. It’s his job on Friday afternoons, as he’s going upstairs to change into his shlubby hanging-around-the-house clothes, to turn the air up. Fridays are the days we eat whatever junk food strikes our fancy, and Friday evenings our bodies tend to run on overdrive to process all the food we’ve tossed down our throats, so we’re always hotter than usual on Fridays. “Yeah, I did,” Fred said. “But I’ll check again.” A moment later, I heard a bemused “Huh” from the stairs. “What?” I called. “It’s set on 71, but the temperature is almost 80, and the air conditioning isn’t running.” To make a long story short (too late!), due to the fact that we are lax in cleaning out the air uptake filter thingy, the air conditioning unit outside had frozen through, and we needed to turn it off for a few hours so it could thaw. Or something like that. By 7:30 I was on the floor with the cats, “Meh”ing bitchily and swearing that I was dyyyyyyying from heat stroke. By bedtime, I was shaking my fist at the ceiling and swearing that I would never be hot again. At least I had the ceiling fan to make some semblance of cooling me off. Plus there’s the fact that I sleep butt-ass nekkid – (I’ll just let you sit with the horror of that image for a moment before proceeding) and Miz Poo didn’t even try to climb up on me and share her body heat, so I was able to fall asleep fairly quickly. Fred got up at 2:30 to exercise (yeah, I don’t know what’s up with that. He’s freakish.) and turned the air on, and an hour later I was happily bundled up under the covers with only my nose showing. And the air conditioning has worked just fine ever since. Thank gawd. ‘Cause like I don’t LIKE to sweat and shit, Muffy! Seriously. I don’t know how you no-air-conditioning-having motherfuckers do it. Hats off to YOU.

* * * Then Saturday, we got up early (well, early for me. I like to sleep ’til at least 8 on Saturdays and I was up at SEVEN! ::gasp!::) and went to check out the thousands and thousands of motorcycles driving the Trail of Tears. Fred and the spud checked it out last year, but this was the first time I’d seen it myself, and words cannot express how awe-inspiring it was to see that unending stream of motorcycles coming down the road. We stood there for a good half hour or more and I don’t know if we even saw half of them. Fred’s got pictures here. At one point, the spud suggested that Fred and I should buy a bike so we could ride the Trail of Tears next year. We giggled pretty hard at that. * * * When we got home from that, Fred went out to mow the lawn, and I sat down to back up all the important things on my computer, because it was time YET AGAIN to reformat my hard drive. This is, I believe, the third time in the past year this has needed to be done. While I was backing up my email, I realized that I smelled something. It smelled good… it smelled like marshmallows… Oh shit! I realized I’d put sugar water for the hummingbirds on to boil FORTY-FIVE MINUTES PREVIOUSLY, and it had all boiled away. Hoping to save the very expensive pot, I ran water into it, and burned sugar splattered everywhere. I was able to save the pot (part of a Christmas gift from Fred’s parents three years ago), thank god. The house still smells faintly of burned sugar, and it’s not an unpleasant smell by any means. Covers up the dirty cat litter smell that usually permeates the air. (Kidding on that one. You can’t smell the litter box unless you’re in the room with it) * * * So the rest of the day was spent reading on the couch while Fred did the reformat thing. And then I spent an hour or so fighting with Eudora, trying to reinstall my “in box” files, my “Bullshit!” files, and the like. At one point I said to Fred “FUCK THIS. I’m free. All my old email is gone, and the Bullshit! people are shit out of luck. I’m done messing with it.” Fred said “You still have Bullshit! tapes going around?” Do I ever. I need to start harassing the people who have the tapes or who were last to have had the tapes one of these days. But Fred, being the genius, figured it out and saved all my email. Thank gawd. And my computer hasn’t locked up even once since the reformat (constant locking up was what made us decide to reformat). * * * Sunday, after sleeping until 9 (I’m a slacker) I got up and made Fred put the hair coloring in my hair. It came out darker than I wanted – I would have said it was more a dark brown than a medium golden brown – but Fred did a kick-ass job of covering all the grays, and I know that the color will fade in the next few weeks, so I’m not going to complain. And then last night we watched the Emmys, mostly because nothing else was on, and Fred had heard that there was going to be a tribute to John Ritter. Naturally it didn’t come on before 9, so we went to bed and taped the rest. Is it just me, or is Gary Shandling not funny at ALL? * * * The sunset from our back yard Saturday night. ]]>

this test and see how long you’re going to live! Fred’s supposed to kick off around the age of 85, and I’ll be following him at the age of 86. Since he’s a year older than me, that’ll give me two years to theatrically take to my bed and waste away. Sounds about right.

* * * I love this 50 States project. I sent in a picture from Maine and one from Alabama. I need to look through my picture folders and find a Tennessee and a Florida. The Montana picture just blows me away and makes me want to pack up and move there NOW. * * * Remember the creepy zombie eyes from Monday? Sadly, they’re much less creepy and zombie-like today. There’s still some red and yellow, but it’s not nearly as bad as Monday. I kinda miss my zombie eyes. Not enough to go through the whole thing again though, believe you me. Oh man, check out the grays on my head. I had a hair appointment two weeks ago, but I ended up canceling it because sitting around having my hair done for almost two hours just bores the shit out of me. I didn’t realize the roots were getting so bad, though, so I bought a box of L’Oreal Medium Golden Brown, and I’m going to make Fred help me color my hair this weekend. Yes, I need help, because I have difficulty coloring my own hair. This surprises you? * * * I’m fairly sure that Fred has set up a spycam somewhere in the house – maybe even in multiple locations. Every day I head out to the garage and set up my weights or my stuff to do a FIRM video, and without fail, every single time I’m about to begin lifting weights or turn on the video, the phone rings. I stop what I’m doing and run in to answer the phone, because you never know when it’s going to be an emergency call from the school, or something big is going on that he wants to tell me about. Me (gasping for air): Hello? Fred: Hey. Whatchoo doing? I thought about not answering the phone, but I don’t think I’m capable of such an action. Maybe I need to turn it off so I can’t hear it from the garage. He’s obviously moved the spycam from it’s position by the bathroom, because he used to call EVERY single time I was in the bathroom or about to step into the shower, but he hasn’t done that in a while. Oh, wait. He called as I was about to step into the shower this morning. I guess there must be two spycams – one in the bathroom, one in the garage. Bastard. * * * I’m sad to say that our days of Nekkid! German! Men! are coming to a close, because I’m all tapped out on pictures. If I get any more in the future, I’ll be sure to share. Today, two pictures! One almost normal, the other much less so. And we bid adieu to our favorite naked German, AKT. Goldi poses in his favorite white sweatpants. Such a nice boy. AKT does “pensive.” (click on the picture for the uncensored version) * * * How come Steak-Out sends packets of saltines with their salads? Do people generally eat crackers with salad? Am I missing out because I’m not a saltines lover? Do saltines just add that certain je ne sais quoi to salads, or what? And am I a freak for wanting a sirloin chef salad from Steak-Out for lunch when I could have had anything in the whole wide world? DAMN that’s a good salad. * * * Possible Survivor spoilers below; skip to the next section if you haven’t seen it yet. Survivor ROCKED last night, didn’t it? I spent the first five or ten minutes giggling because I knew what was going to happen at the beginning. I’ve already taken a liking to Rupert (how could you not?) and the uber-geeky Ryan S, not to mention Sandra. At this point, Drake seems to have their shit together far more than Morgan (I mean, god in heaven. They had MONEY LEFT OVER, how stupid can you possibly be?), and when Rupert stole the shoes from Morgan, who were total dumbasses to leave their stuff unguarded, I about fell off the couch. Mark Burnett had to be cackling with glee when he saw that. I’m not sure whether I like Osten or not, but there’s no denying he has the best body of any of them, and it was nice of Mark Burnett to give us some eye candy. Fred thinks Tijuana looks a lot like Heidi from last season. I think that Nicole is a dead ringer for Lindsey from Survivor: Africa. And did I mention that I loved loved LOVED the beginning? * * * Spanky gives The Momma a disgusted look. Spanky’s big pink lips crack me up. This is Tubby yawning… This is Tubby “Meh”ing. Kind of hard to tell the difference, isn’t it? ]]>

Cricket. 1. Are you a good bitch or a bad bitch? (There’s a pronounced difference, as all true bitches would know.) I’m a good bitch, of course. Except when I’m being a bad bitch. All good bitches have their bad bitch moments, but usually they’re few (pms) and far (pms) between. 2. How long did you live in Canada? As a Canadian myself – one that only acknowledges Southern Ontario as being Canada – what was it like living in Labrador? I was pretty young – about 2 years old – but we probably only lived in Labrador 1 – 2 years. And all I remember is that it was reallly collllllld. Which is probably why I tend to think of Canada as a frozen wasteland. 3. How do you feel about telling people that you met your husband online? Does the stigma that tends to come with that bother you? I’m fine with telling people that we met online, though I don’t volunteer the information unless asked. Meeting the love of your life online is more common these days than it was 7 years ago (but even then it wasn’t completely unheard of), and if someone’s weirded out by the fact that we met online, I can always point to the fact that (as of next month) we’ve been happily married for 5 years and are still going strong. 4. Does Fred like cats or is this a one-sided furbaby romance? Fred loves cats as much as I do, thank god! In fact he said earlier today that the house seems empty with only (!) 4 cats. 5. I lived in New England for 2 years but never made it to Maine. Did I miss anything? You did! It’s gorgeous there, it has it’s own feel – when I’m in Maine, I’m very conscious of the fact that I’m not in one of the other New England states. I love it there, and you must visit it! All of you! Chop-chop! 6. You watch Spike TV, the new channel for men. We have it too. What do you think of it? There are certain shows I like – I definitely want to see how Joe Schmo turnes out! – but there’s this awful dubbed show with people running goofy obstacle courses. Fred LOVES it and must ALWAYS stop and watch it, but I loathe it and have to run from the room. So I’d say so-so on the Spike TV. 7. Do you have a favorite cat? If so, why? Miz Poo is my favorite. She knows it, all the boy cats know it, and everyone in the house knows it. She’s my bayyyyyyyybeeee, and always has been more needy and cuddly than the boy cats. The boys will let themselves be held for a minute or two, but they’re like “Oh, enough of THAT!” and will run off. Miz Poo will pretty much let you hug and cuddle her 24 hours a day. 8. My job consists of baby-sitting a three year old 20 hours a day. Sometimes my being a “stay at home” drives me insane. Do you sometimes wish you worked outside the home? Almost never. On the rare occasion that I wish I had a job to go to and keep me busy, I remember how much I like doing what I want to do when I want to, and I stop thinking about looking for a job. Of course, I have a lot more autonomy than you do, since I don’t need to worry about a three year-old! 🙂 9. Do you miss the north? I miss it an awful lot sometimes. I know that I’ll never drag Fred to Maine when we retire, though, so I have to be happy with my yearly visits. 10. What does the spud call Fred? Does she ever see the sperm donor? She calls him Fred. (Heh – did anyone else get a flash of “My name is Forrest Gump. People call me Forrest Gump”?) We talked about having her call him “Dad” (she calls her father “Daddy”) or “Pop”, but she seemed most comfortable with “Fred.” She talks to her father on the phone about once a week, and spends time with him in the summer. They have a pretty good relationship, but it’s less father-daughter and more two equals who like to goof off and hang out and fart at each other. (Okay. I’m assuming about the farting, but it’s a pretty solid assumption.) Most of her father-daughter experiences come from Fred’s direction, which is not a dis at her father – there’s only so much parenting you can do with a phone call a week and a visit in the summer. I’m just glad we’ve got Fred to do the dad stuff.

* * * Kat, didn’t you say your order was for a blond? Meet Dirk. Dirk would like you to admire his unicorn tattoo while he sizzles and fries in the hot German sun. Dirk is a happy, happy man. Dirk is very close to orange. Perhaps you can introduce him to sunblock? * * * The birds are very, very happy that a car ended up in our back yard last week. Why? Because although the fence that belongs to us is already fixed, there’s a section of fence dividing our yard from the neighbor’s yard that belongs to them that isn’t replaced yet. I think they’re probably going to go through their homeowner’s insurance to have it fixed, and since we all know that insurance companies are lightning-quick to act when you’re slow on a payment but molasses-slow when it might cost them some money, I suspect it’s going to be a while. Here’s a shot of the happy, happy birds. It’s like that out there ALL DAY LONG, and we’re going through bird seed at a frightening speed (poet. knowit.). Miz Poo sits on one of the boxes by the window and watches sadly. Except when the squirrel – who’s getting a bit tubby – moseys down from his tree to partake of the sunflower seeds. Then she chatters sadly. Poor Miz Poo. ]]>

Sum up your thoughts about me in one word and leave it in a comment. Then post this in your journal to find out what everyone else thinks of you. Please remember – ONE word. “Freakass freak” is two words.

* * * Fred called from work this morning to let me know that Strong Funds has been up to some unethical shenanigans, and that Morningstar and Motley Fool were strongly suggesting avoidance of Strong Funds. You know, Strong Funds. Where Fred has his retirement account, we have the spud’s college fund, and we have an additional investing fund. “Hey!” I said. “Maybe we could lose all our money! That would make this month even BETTER!” So, we’re pulling out of Strong, even though the customer service rep Fred spoke to claimed that it was nothing but a bunch of lies. “Well, Morningstar highly recommends pulling out,” Fred pointed out. “You know, Morningstar. Whom you guys LOVE to quote in all your literature.” The rep had nothing to say to that. * * * I watched Madonna on Oprah yesterday. I’m not a big Madonna fan, but it was a fairly interesting interview. Oprah pointed out – and I agree – that Madonna seems calmer and more centered these days than she used to. I think she needs to keep the platinum blond hair, too. She looked great. Speaking of TV shows, we only got a chance to watch the first 10 minutes of Joe Schmo last night and taped the rest (we had to pick the spud up from her youth group at the church), but after reading Mo’s post on the subject, I’m definitely dying to know what happened! But don’t tell me, ’cause we’re going to watch it tonight. Oh, and SURVIVOR STARTS TOMORROW NIGHT! WHEE! Thanks so much to reader Alice, who emailed to remind me. For some reason I had thought that it started next week, and I would have been SO pissed if I’d missed the first show. Luckily, I won’t! I still think we need TiVo. * * * Okay, no nekkidness in our German Man picture today – I’m saving the last AKT picture for Friday – but note that yesterday we had a Phil Collins/ Kevin Spacey/ Dave Matthews lookalike today we have… Bill Murray! Oh, and someone pointed out in yesterday’s comments that the guy in yesterday’s picture appeared to be wearing panties. Which reminded me of when my nephew Brian was small and he’d be running around the apartment nekkid, and Debbie would say “Brian, come put your panties on!” Our friend Liz would have the biggest fit about that, yelling “They’re not PANTIES! They’re underwear! If you keep calling them PANTIES, he’s going to grow up to be gay!” Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. I’m just hoping that Brian grows up to be really famous so I can sell the picture of him at the age of two wearing a pair of the spud’s pink tights, one of Debbie’s bras, and a pair of cowboy boots to the tabloids for BIG bucks. * * * Also, for those of you who think that Fred should make a movie of himself scaring me so that I scream, this is what that movie would sound like: “::gasp!:: GodDAMN you scared the shit out of me! ::smack::” * * * Spot’s such a sweetheart. Even though he was chasing Spanky around trying to kick his ass last night. I’m sure Spanky needed his ass kicked. ]]>

Operation OFB. And at no point did anyone see my eyes, make the sign of the cross and then scurry away, looking fearfully over their shoulder at me. I’m a little saddened by that, actually.

* * * If you read the pet store kitties page, you might remember Puzzle, whom I saw for the first time last Thursday. She was sick and on medication for an upper respiratory infection, and she vomited while I was there. Last night, due to complications from the infection, Puzzle died. There’s a raging case of Upper Respiratory Infection going through the set of cats at the pet store, so they’ve suspended adoptions for at least the rest of the week. I sure hope the rest of the kitties end up okay. Keep them in your thoughts, won’t you? * * * Man, this whole running-a-business thing is strictly FOR THE FUCKING BIRDS. For sales inside Alabama, we have to collect sales tax. Now, can we just send the whole 8% sales tax to the state of Alabama and go about our happy fucking lives? Well, NO. No, we send 4% to the state, 2.5% to the county, and 1.5% to the city. A HUGE pain in the fucking ass, and what’s worse is that it all has to be postmarked by the 20th, and I still don’t have a county or city account number because I am a HUGE stupidass who didn’t want to deal with it all, and now I’m all running around like a chicken with it’s stupidass head cut off. Don’t you want me running YOUR company? * * * Fred put up more pictures from Friday night, if you haven’t already checked them out, they’re here. You’ll also note that our fence (the part on the right on the last picture belongs to the neighbors) is already repaired. Fred called them yesterday morning, and the guy was done by the time Fred got home from work. Too fucking cool. * * * Oh, but all y’all want is the nekkid (or half-nekkid) German Men, isn’t it? We’re taking a break from AKT today, because I only have one more of him, and I want y’all to appreciate the magic that is AKT. Today we have Achiim. Achiim thought it would be a good idea to toss on some snow-white undies and get comfy on the bed with his mouse. (That’s just part of his email address I’ve blurred out) Is it just me, or does he bear a striking resemblance to Phil Collins? * * * The Hummingbirds – a story in pictures (and also some text) Hummingbird 1 enjoys the yummy sugar water provided by we wonderful And3rsons. Hummingbird 2 swoops in and chases Hummingbird 1 away. Hummingbird 2 partakes of the sugar water. Hummingbird 1 sneaks back in and slurps down some sugar water as fast as he can, his little tail end wiggling the entire time. * * * We briefly had a digital camcorder, before we realized that what we’d wanted was another model. But before we sent it back to exchange it for the other model, we made a quick little movie of the spud. See it here. It’s a Windows Media movie. We saved it as an .mpg, which took up way more room than we wanted. And if you’re going to be all stalker-like and watch it over and over again, please download it to your hard drive so you don’t eat up my bandwidth. Thanks! ]]>

back a $5,000 tip HE left and leave $300 in it’s place WHEN IT WASN’T HER MONEY is maybe not the gal for him. People and US will be having a field day with this, you know they will. And lastly, maybe someone should tell Jennifer Lopez that she doesn’t have to marry every guy she dates. She doesn’t seem to understand that.

* * * So. I bet MY weekend was more exciting than YOURS. Friday night, 10:30ish, I was sound asleep. I heard a very very loud noise and jumped out of bed and fumbled with my nightgown. Any other time, I can just pick it up off the floor and put it over my head without any fumbling, but this time I was so freaked out that I ended up putting it on inside-out and backwards. I was fairly certain that the noise had come from inside the house, and thought for sure that one of the cats had knocked over one of the big bookcases somehow. I went out into the hallway, and Fred opened his door. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” I said, surprised that he was so calm. “I think it was an accident up at the end of the street,” he said. Then he stopped and looked at me. “Wait, you heard that?” “Yeah, it was loud as hell!” I said. “Then it must have been on the back side of the house,” he realized, and we went back into my bedroom. We looked out the window. “There’s a truck by the side of the road,” I pointed out. “Maybe he hit a dog.” “Oh my god! There’s someone in our back yard!” Fred said. “Call 911!” “What?” I said, wondering why I’d need to call 911 if someone was walking around our back yard. Fred was in the closet getting dressed, and he yelled “You don’t see them, they’re upside down in the corner of the yard near the neighbors! CALL 911!” Which is when I saw a car sitting on it’s side next to the fence that separates our yard from our next-door neighbors. I called 911, and while I won’t recount the entire conversation, I will say that I’m pretty useless in an emergency. The 911 operator wanted to know where we lived, and I told her, but then told her that the ambulance needed to come to the busy street running alongside the back of our yard, and I got confused and switched street names, and so on. It finally occurred to me that I needed to go out into the yard to see what was going on, and I went downstairs, dodging really freaked out kitties on the way, shut the window so the cats couldn’t go outside, and then went out into the back yard. Fred and another man – the one who owned the truck that was by the side of the road, which I’d seen from our bedroom window – were standing by the car, bending over a man who was laying on his stomach on the lawn. I was certain that he had to be either dead or dying, and I could not force myself to go any closer than the middle of the lawn. The 911 operator transferred me to the ambulance service, and the operator there asked me questions that I had to ask Fred – is he breathing? is he conscious?, and the like. When she finally started asking how to get to the house, I got confused and ended up handing the phone to Fred, and then retreated to the edge of the patio. Moments later, the police and ambulance were there (I make fun of the fact that we live in YuppieTown, but we’re very close to the police and fire stations, for which I was very grateful Friday night), and only a few minutes later they had the guy on a stretcher and out of there. The police began asking the witness (the guy in the white truck) what had happened, and Fred turned and realized that I was still in my nightgown, and suggested that I go get dressed. I did as quickly as possible, and went back out. We spent the next hour and a half or so talking to the police and our neighbors, and watching the tow truck pull the car out. Fred took a ton of pictures as well (AFTER they took the guy away), and to see his side of the story and some pictures, you can go here and here. I believe he’s going to put up more pictures later today, as well. Fred called today to find out the guy’s name and where they took him, and then called the hospital to find out his condition. They’d never admitted him to the hospital, which probably means that they treated and released him, which just amazes me. (And to be sure he hadn’t died on the way to the hospital, I checked the obituaries for the weekend and today, and my heart almost stopped when I saw that two people with his last name had died over the weekend, but they were both elderly women.) Because he had no insurance and the owner of the car had no insurance, we will be paying for the repair of our part of the fence ourselves. No, we won’t turn it over to our homeowner’s insurance so that they can go after him, because as a result our insurance would go up, and the repair to the fence would cost less than our deductible anyway. No, we won’t be suing him for the costs of the repair to the fence, because it wouldn’t be worth our time to do so and we are very sue-averse, not to mention the fact that we can afford the repair to the fence (which we know because we’ve already got an estimate). We’re only relieved that it didn’t end up worse than it did. Once we got back to bed – sometime after midnight – I tossed and turned and slept horribly. Saturday – once Fred and the spud got the back yard cleaned up – we fell into our usual pattern of watching a crappy movie and hanging around the house. Saturday night, Fred’s parents came over to watch The Blue Collar Comedy Tour with us. Fred’s seen it twice, and knew that his father would enjoy it a great deal. They came over and inspected the back yard, and then we sat down to watch the movie. Fred had a big bowl of popcorn for a snack, and I debated about what to have for a snack. I thought about skipping the snack for once, but my stomach was rumbling, and I decided on a bowl of almonds. About halfway through the movie, my stomach started feeling slightly sour, and I debated going upstairs to get a Maalox, but decided to wait until the movie was over. Fred’s parents left a few minutes before 9, and I turned to look at him. The “sour” feeling had increased quite a bit, and I was on the edge of feeling nauseous. “Do we have any Maalox down here?” I asked him. “No, just upstairs. Why?” “I’m starting to feel nauseous,” I said. “Could you grab me one?” “You wouldn’t rather take Pepto?” he asked. “No,” I said, the thought of drinking that peppermint-flavored crap making me feel even more nauseous. He went up and changed into his comfortable hanging-around-the-house clothes and brought a Maalox back down with him. I chewed it and then got a Diet Coke to sip while we sat in the living room and watched TV. As we sat and watched, the nausea only increased, and soon it reached that level where you know that there’s no forcing it back. I ran for the bathroom and couldn’t even get on my knees in front of the toilet before I was throwing up everything I’d eaten that day. And might I just say that beef burritos, while yummy going down, are NOT what you want to have coming back up. And also, I am a very very loud vomit-er. Fred stood outside the bathroom door and when it was silent asked “Can I do anything?” To which I responded by vomiting yet again. After I was done and had cleaned up what hadn’t made it into the toilet, I went back out into the living room. I felt much better, though a bit shaky, and we decided to go upstairs and watch TV in bed. As we lay there, I began to feel crappier and crappier, and exactly an hour after I’d vomited the first time, I went for a second round. Between 9 pm and 3:30 am, I vomited violently every 30 – 50 minutes, and GODDAMN it hurts when you have nothing in your stomach and your body is insisting that there’s still something you need to get rid of. Fred ran out for ginger ale and rubbed my back and then finally went to bed around 11:00, since there was really nothing he could do for me. They aren’t kidding when they call it “praying to the porcelain god”, are they. Folks, I thought I was gonna DIE. Every time I vomited, I went back into the bedroom, sipped ginger ale until I couldn’t stand it anymore – because it hurts less to barf when there’s something TO barf – and then dozed for almost exactly 30 minutes, when my stomach would start hurting again, and I’d sit up and wait to see if it would go away (dreamer!) or get worse. When the whole thing ended, I fell asleep and slept hard. When I woke up Sunday morning, my eyes were swollen and full of burst blood vessels. (click on either picture to see the full-sized version) Today, my eyelids are less swollen, but my eyes look creepier. I tried to put my contacts on this morning, but my eyes are too swollen for me to wear them comfortably, so I’m wearing glasses. I was a little worried that lifting weights would put pressure on my eyes (they ache when I bend over), but weight lifting went fine. Now if my eyes would only go back to normal so that I don’t frighten small children… * * * Oh, please. I know why you’re really here. You’re really here for the Nekkid German Men! AKT decided to go simple for this one. I think the boots and socks are definitely a nice touch. And laying in a backhoe – well, really. Nothing says sexy like that! Also, the first hint of a smile from AKT. Almost looks like a nice guy, doesn’t he? (click on the picture to see the full-sized version) * * * How can this possibly be comfortable? ]]>

Englands Daily Mail reported Wednesday that Lopez is forcing Affleck to sign a no-cheating pre-nupital agreement. In the event that Affleck is unfaithful, Lopez could go after half his money. Man. They’re not even married and she’s worried about him cheating on her? How insecure do you have to be? All a pre-nup like that means is that if he cheats on her, he’s going to be extra careful about it. I’m pretty much of the mind that if a man is really determined to cheat, there’s not anything you can do to stop him. You can only control how you react to it – do you stick around and work through it, or do you cut off his penis and toss it in a field on your way out of town?

* * * Honestly, I had no idea that the nekkid German guy was going to be such a hit! What above the Bumsen is up with that? Y’all are pervs, which is probably why I love you so. The same guy actually sent another picture – I think he sent 3 in all – so for your viewing pleasure, here’s AKT, the artistic version: (click on the picture for the uncensored version) I’m not quite sure what’s going on in this picture – is he pretending to be dead? Or is he playing the part of Sleeping Beauty? The lilies are a lovely touch, though, the color contrasting nicely with the black, uh, suit thing that he’s wearing. And also, note the way his penis casually dangles out. Very artistic. A+ (plus! plus! plus!) for this one. * * * Pet store kitties are hither. * * * 1. Is the name you have now the same name that’s on your birth certificate? If not, what’s changed? The same first and middle name, yes. The last name has changed a few times. 2. If you could change your name (first, middle and/or last), what would it be? When I was a kid, I wanted desperately to be a Kimberly, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve started to appreciate my name, and I couldn’t imagine being anything other than Robyn. I’m not crazy about my middle name (Leslie), but I don’t know what I’d change it too. Maybe Ann? Leigh? Marie? Maybe no middle name at all. I like my last name, though. 3. Why were you named what you were? (Is there a story behind it? Who specifically was responsible for naming you?) Well, I was GOING to be Kimberly, but at some point before I was born, my parents were kicking around different names just for the hell of it, and my uncle said “Robin. I like Robin.”, and they decided they did as well, and changed the “I” to “Y” to make it a little different. 4. Are there any names you really hate or love? What are they and why? I don’t have much of a love or hate reaction to names. I really like my brother Tracy’s middle name, and I’ve always liked the names Jeffrey and Christopher (if the spud had been a boy, she was going to be Jeffrey) for boys, and I’ve grown to like the name Molly for a girl. Did I ever mention that before Fred and I met in person we’d decided that the names of our children would be Seth Forrest and Samantha Jayne? 5. Is the analysis of your name at kabalarians.com accurate? How or how isn’t it? My analysis states: As Robyn you are rather serious-minded, responsible, and stable. I don’t know how serious-minded I am, but responsible and stable are pretty true. You have the gift of tact and diplomacy, and possess a charming, easy-going nature which endears you to others. Tact and diplomacy? I don’t think so. Well, when I put my mind to it, maybe so. I also don’t think I’m terribly charming (she said charmingly), but I’m definitely easy-going. You have a serious desire to understand the heart and mind of everyone, and could be very effective in a career or in volunteer work where you are handling people and serving in a humanitarian way. I do have the desire to understand the heart and mind (and motivation) of everyone, but I don’t know that I could work around people all the time, because people can be mighty fucking annoying. Heh. This name also gives you a love of home and family, and as a parent you would likely be fair and understanding. As a parent I’m probably a little too understanding at times and have some difficulty being the “bad guy”. The rest is true, I think. You remember the thoughtful little expressions of affection and appreciation that mean so much to others, and you have the ability to create a warm and loving environment. Hm. Maybe. However, you tend to put things off and avoid facing issues because of a lack of confidence and uncertainty. You often need encouragement from someone before you can come to a decision. Oh boy, ain’t THAT the truth! * * * The sunset, from our back yard. “Meh–yawwwwwwn” (I just never get tired of taking Yawning/ Bitching Tubby pictures)]]>