Author: Robyn

"These acts shattered steel, but they cannot dent the steel of American resolve." ]]>

Babelfish), and he came to bitchypoo.com and did some looking around, and saw a picture of himself with his penis dangling out and mocking text around the picture, he would probably feel very bad. And so I thought to myself “Shall I put the picture up for one day? Or perhaps shall I put up a different picture each day and take it down at the end of the day? Because certainly I would feel bad if AKT knew that I was mocking him.” I continued thinking, very hard, about the whole subject, and then I came to a simple conclusion! “Fuck it!” I said.

And, no. You may not have his email address. (I reserve the right to remove that picture at some random point in the future) * * * We watched Joe Shmo again last night and enjoyed it. What really got to me, though, was the ad for next week, wherein Matt and half the cast are crying for some reason. The rest of the cast (the ones who know it’s not a real reality show) were saying things like “This is horrible, we have to stop!”, or something similar. Which makes me wonder what the hell they thought was going to happen – I mean, Matt might be a shmuck, but he’s a real guy they’re messing with. Damn good show, really. And also, we finally saw an episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, and absolutely LOVED it. We ended up taping the episode of Happy Family we’d been waiting to see, and taped the episode of Queer Eye that was coming on after we went to bed. Damn, DAMN good show. I knew, after seeing all the buzz out there in Blogland that I’d like it, but I always seemed to miss it. God, it was great. While we were watching it, Fred turned to me and said “Anthony would probably have a FIT if he knew we were watching this!” Heh. * * * Spanky in a pensive mood. (hee!) Miz Poo, being woken up from her nap. Miz Poo is a wee bit peeved, it would appear. * * * Previously 2002: “Stinky?” I said. 2001: I stole this survey from Noreen, but I’ve seen it all over the place recently, and god knows how much I love to be one of the cool kids! 2000: Look! It’s nay-chuh!]]>

could be removed, and a Staples employee came up beside me. “Can I help you with anything?” he asked. I smiled. “Nope, just trying to decide which one.” He stood in silence for a few minutes while I continued looking at the cheapest keyboard and chanted “Goaway goaway goaway” in my mind. He stepped forward and indicated another keyboard. “This one seems to be our most popular keyboard.” I raised my eyebrows at him and smiled politely, all the while thinking “goooooo awaaaaaaaaaay”, and then he finally said “Well, let me know if you have any questions!”, and he went away. Now, I have probably not mentioned this in the past, but I am very suggestible. I’m a salesman’s wet dream, and so usually if there’s some buying to be done that can potentially become expensive – such as a new washer and dryer – Fred accompanies me so that I won’t be suckered in. I’m not kidding about being very suggestible. If I’m in the grocery store I have to stay out of the shampoo/ hair styling aisle, because if I wander by and glance up and see “Anti-frizz gel!”, I will stop and get stars in my eyes and think “My hair! Is frizzy! And to make it not frizzy, I need anti-frizz gel! I must buy! I must have! This gel will give me beautiful hair!”, and thus the reason I have a drawer full of gels and mousses and finishing cremes and all manners of crap. (What I really need is to shave my head, except that I would then bear a striking resemblance to Pruitt Taylor Vince.) So anyway, after the Staples guy wandered off, I glanced up to be sure he was gone, and then I sidled over to look at the keyboard he’d pointed out. And it was a Logitech! Cordless! Keyboard! And it was only $30! And I went all starry eyed and imagined the many wondrous things I could do with a cordless keyboard, like I could put the keyboard wherever I wanted on the desk, because it would not be TETHERED by a CORD because it was CORDLESS. And if I wanted to, I could LEAN BACK in my chair and PUT MY FEET UP on the desk, and I could PUT THE KEYBOARD ON MY LAP, and Oh! Happy day! Or I could even sit across the room and relax and type away! Without another thought, I bought the fucking thing, and it wasn’t until I was driving home that I realized that my keyboard was sitting in front of the monitor NOT because it was TETHERED by a CORD, but rather because that’s where I LIKED it, and also chances were nil that I would lean BACK in my CHAIR and put my feet on the DESK and my keyboard on my LAP, because if Erin‘s tiny little tummy is a Buddha, then my stomach is the pagoda he sits in, and leaning back with my feet on the desk would render a lap nonexistent. And besides, I’m not really a lean-back-with-feet-on-desk kinda gal. Further, while I certainly COULD sit across the room and relax while type-type-typing, there’d be no mouse usage, because the mouse IS tethered to a cord, but the point there is moot, because while I could relax and type, there’s no way in god’s green earth I could ever SEE what I was typing, because I practically have to sit with my nose to the screen as it is, because that bastard won’t let me buy a big BIG monitor, because he’s mean. (But that’s okay – I get back at him by LOUDLY announcing every time I have to reboot my computer, which is quite frequently lately. Not that that has anything to do with the size of my screen, so let’s move on, shall we?) So basically I paid twice as much for a keyboard as I would have on my own for no good reason, all thanks to that Staples employee, may he rot in hell.

* * * We just finished off Season 2 of Oz, and WHAT THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO WATCH NOW??? Season 3 apparently isn’t out yet, and Himself is not interested in checking out Six Feet Under or Alias, damnit. I wanna know what HAPPENS. (And y’all weren’t kidding about the buttsex revving up once Chris Keller shows up) * * * The camera is upstairs and I don’t want to go ALL the way upstairs to retrieve the memory stick, so you’re stuck with a picture of my brother’s dog. Adorable, isn’t she? Also very slobbery. That’s one thing about cats – for the most part, you don’t have to worry about them slobbering on you.]]>

* * * So on Friday afternoon, in a bid to get the hell away from the computer, I was sitting on the couch watching “I love the 70s” on VH-1 and reading a magazine. At one point they began discussing The Waltons. Now, I enjoyed The Waltons, although I did not see every show, and I had a wee bit of a crush on, uh, one of them. Maybe Jim-Bob? Or Jason? Ben? One of the redheads, anyway, if that narrows it down, since I’ve always had a bit of a thing for redheads. I even read Spencer’s Mountain, which was probably owned by my brother Tracy – Let me take a moment to say that Tracy used to HATE it when I’d take books from his room and read them without asking permission (which in retrospect was rather rude of me, wasn’t it?). It was Tracy’s copy of Carrie that introduced me to the magic that is Stephen King (HE DOES NOT SUCK, YOU JUST SHUT UP), and also inside that copy of Carrie that my mother wrote “I don’t approve of this, do you?” – and upon which the series was based. But I digress. I was watching “I love the 70s”, and the topic of The Waltons came up, and someone said that the show was about a bunch of hillbillies. And I was aghast. Because believe it or not, it never once occurred to me that the Walton family was comprised of hillbillies. When Fred got home later that afternoon, I said “Did you know that the Waltons were hillbillies?”, and he said “Well, duh. THEY LIVED IN THE MOUNTAINS OF WEST VIRGINIA”, and I said “I never thought of them as being hillbillies, though.” I guess part of it is that the word “hillbilly” sounds so insulting, and the Waltons, they were nice folk who did the best they could with what they had, and so to hear a description that was somewhat insulting bothered me. A freak? Me? I don’t know why I find “hillbilly” so insulting – I certainly don’t find “redneck” insulting at all, and they’re definitely in the same descriptive category. If someone referred to Bo and Luke Duke, those fine young specimans of studliness, as rednecks, I would have no problem with that at ALL, since it is so clearly true. Later that evening we were watching “America’s Funniest Home Videos” (and if watching that show is wrong, I don’t wanna be right), and I turned to Fred, my brow furrowed, and said worriedly, “But they’re not white trash, right?” At which point he laughed out loud with a mouth full of Ben & Jerry’s, and two peanut butter cup bits went shooting out of his nostrils and bounced across the room.

* * * Pet store kitty pics are hither. * * * I am enjoying the hell out of Dooce‘s archives. Especially this entry, and not even so much because of the entry itself, but because of the second comment, which Ariel posted, and specifically the line My father had to have a talk with me about how “making love is a beautiful thing,” which only made me cry harder., which made me laugh until I cried. * * * So while my husband KINDLY pointed out that I was “obsessed with” the zebra’s penis, did he by any chance mention WHO pointed out the zebra’s penis and made a big deal about it? ‘Cause it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t the spud (who said “GROSS!” when she saw it), and there were only three of us in the car. Mmm-hmm. * * * The spud recently went around the house, trying desperately to use up her last roll of film left over from her vacation, and so she took many pictures of the cats. She got some pretty good ones, too, so I snatched and scanned them. It’s a rough life, it really is. Hangin’ out on the stairs being bitchy. Psycho kitty! ]]>

recapping The Newlyweds! And also, Nance has gone un-passworded, so I don’t have to strain my brain every time I go to her site! Lastly, Pamie has herself a blog. I find that to actually see the whole blog I have to reduce the IE window size and then maximize it. I have no idea why it works, only that it does. It’s a good day, indeed.

* * * Fred came upstairs this morning after I thought he’d left for work and made me get up and get my nightgown on and come downstairs with him. (He also made fun of me for walking funny because I can’t completely straighten my legs due to Wednesday’s lower body workout kicking my calves’ ass) He opened the back door and invited me to step outside. And that’s when I felt it. Finally. The very first Fall coolness in the air. Time to get out the sweaters! * * * Every once in a while, when he’s trying to cough up a hairball, Tubby will make this high-pitched sound, and it sounds EXACTLY like he’s saying “Mama.” It’s fucking creepy as hell and every time it happens it takes me by surprise and the hair on the back of my neck stands up, and it’s all I can do not to run screaming down the street, even once I know what’s making the sound. I can’t even describe to you how creepy it is. It’s so creepy that just thinking about it creeps me out. Last night, Fred and I were laying in bed talking (just talking, Nance!)(heh), and during a moment of silence a long, squeaky sound began and went on and on and on. It sounded like it was coming from the far corner of the room – which is where I’d last seen Tubby – and every muscle in my body locked. I held my breath while it went on (and on!), and when it ended Fred said nothing. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” I shrieked, sure that Fred was as freaked out as I was. He started laughing. “I was making a whistling sound through my teeth!” Freak. * * * There’s a cricket somewhere in the computer room, and every now and then he sings a little song for me. If I could locate him, I’d shoo him into a big cup and take him outside, but his little song kind of echoes around the room, so I’m at a loss. I’m sure we’ll find either his dead body in a few days, or cricket legs spread across the floor culminating in a pile of kitty vomit. Something to look forward to. * * * 1. What housekeeping chore(s) do you hate doing the most? I’m not terribly fond of any of it, really, although I’d say cleaning the bathroom ranks pretty high on the list. I’ve only done it once since I got home from Maine – I’m waiting for Fred to start whining about how nasty it’s looking before I actually get off my ass and clean it, though. The thing that pisses me off about cleaning the house is that as soon as it’s done, it needs to be done again. I need to win me the lottery so I can hire full-time cleaners. A full-time chef, too, while I’m at it. That said, I do keep the kitchen fairly decent, and pretty much keep on top of the laundry. 2. Are there any that you like or don’t mind doing? Actually, no. I hate it all. I vacuum more often than anything else, because getting the cluster of dust bunnies off the floor always makes the house look cleaner than it is. 3. Do you have a routine throughout the week or just clean as it’s needed? Every now and then I think “Monday I’ll clean the upstairs. Wednesday I’ll clean the downstairs. Thursday I’ll do laundry. What a plan!”, and then Monday I clean the upstairs, and Wednesday I say “Fuck it.” When the voice in my head with it’s “GodDAMN it looks nasty in here, are we EVER going to clean?!?!” gets unbearable, I clean. Luckily I’m pretty good at ignoring that voice. 4. Do you have any odd cleaning/housekeeping quirks or rules? I don’t think so – maybe my insistence on shining around the sink when I clean the kitchen is a little quirky. 5. What was the last thing you cleaned? Myself! I took a shower this morning! Heh. Uh, last thing I cleaned in the house… Dishes. I did dishes earlier, and wiped down the kitchen counters. So there! * * * This is Miz Poo’s “Mother, may I have some love?” look. Every night while we eat dinner, Spanky flops down in the sun and washes himself… ..stops to see what’s going on (nothing)… And washes himself some more. * * * Previously 2002: FUCKING telemarketers. 2001: I turned to Fred and said “He looks all dilemmanated, doesn’t he?” 2000: Trip to Tennessee.]]>

* * * So, my sister’s friend Kristine has adopted two adorable little gray kitties, and is having a hard time coming up with names for them. One is light gray and white, and the other is a darker gray tabby with white. Oh, and they’re both girls. Got name suggestions? Leave ’em in the comments! Debbie, if you love me you’ll borrow Mom and Dad’s digital camera and take pictures of them and send them to me. Because I love the little kitties, dontchaknow.

* * * Reader Kat sent me another absolutely hilarious “cup of shut the fuck up” picture. Go check it out. I think it’s the big smile that makes me laugh until I wheeze. * * * The hummingbirds are apparently going to stick around for a while – I’m fairly certain they’re nesting in one of the trees in our neighbor’s next yard. There are at least two of them, and one of them is always chasing the other one away from the feeder. I have no pictures to share at the moment, because I’ve been too busy watching them to actually take pictures; they’re so freakin’ cool. Fred must certainly love me a lot, because I think I’ve said “Oh! He’s eating… Oh! The other one chased him off. DAMN they’re cute!” approximately 45,000 times, and Fred hasn’t killed me yet. He’s probably just tuning me out. * * * Have I mentioned that the spud goes to a youth group at the church every Wednesday night? Well, she does, and no – we don’t know where we went wrong. Last night we picked her up from church, and as she got in the car, she said “Guess what the subject was tonight?” “What?” Fred and I chorused. “Homosexuality,” the spud said, and then went on to tell us the many wonderful things the youth minister had told them about homosexuality, and how god cried when the Texas courts overturned the law against sodomy. Fred lectured the spud that it was GOOD that the law against sodomy was overturned, because what two consenting adults do in their bedroom is no one else’s business, especially not the government’s. (Though personally I think there should be a law against noxious farts)(And in the interest of full disclosure, I’d be doing jail time at certain times of the month) It’s at times like these that I’m thankful my husband has such a keen analytical mind and knows the Bible so well, because he can pretty much counteract the teachings of Anthony the youth minister when necessary, whereas if it were left at me, I’d probably end up spluttering “Yeah, well FUCK Anthony!” As we pulled into the driveway, the spud said “Anthony said a gay guy came on to him, and Anthony felt really sick and thought he was going to throw up!” I think Anthony needs to get off the farm a little more often. * * * Jeez. I just did a virus scan on my computer and it took almost 90 minutes. There’s something wrong with that. But hey! At least I didn’t have any virii. * * * I haven’t had to vacuum the bed even once since I put these cat beds on the bed. Spot does seem a bit cramped in the small bed, though. I might need to buy one last big cat bed. “Get OUT of my face, or I will chew your eyes out!” The word “addled” comes to mind when I look at this. It also makes me giggle a lot. Damn he cracks me up. Previously 2002: What I’ve been doing. 2001: I’m wise to your stalker ways, Margaret! 2000: No entry.]]>

Tracy. (Another Tracy, not my brother Tracy. But I love him, too!)

* * * So last night we were sitting in front of the TV watching Joe Schmo, which by the way is pretty damn funny (the first hour of it, at least – we taped the second hour, which we’ll watch tonight) because they found the biggest schmo in all of America to be the sucker who doesn’t know that the “reality show” he’s on is no reality show. Anyway. We were watching the show, and it went to commercial. A trailer for The Order came on. “Is that Heath Ledger?” Fred asked. I confirmed that it was. “Hey!” I said as Shannyn Sossamon‘s face flashed on the screen and then the trailer ended. “That’s… that girl.” I thought hard. “What’s the movie that Heath Ledger was in as a knight?” “Uh. A Knight’s Tale,” Fred said distantly. “Yeah, she was the girl in A Knight’s Tale!” I said. No answer from Fred. “You know, the girl? The love interest?” Again silence. Birds chirped in the distance. I finally looked over at Fred, who was staring at the TV screen, his eyes glazed over, his mouth hanging open, a thin string of drool stretching from his lower lip. I looked at the screen to see what had him so fixated, and saw a commercial. A Just for Men commercial. As it ended, Fred came out of his trance, swallowing and wiping the drool from his lip. He blinked and turned his head to see me staring at him. “Huh?” he said. I guess Spike TV really IS television for men. * * * Lately, we have been using a certain line from Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back almost constantly. Yesterday in the car, we were discussing Amazon and their way of ordering that drives us crazy, and how their ranking system makes no sense, and also the way we’ve sent them, like, 50 books and they claim to have sold 3 and have only 8 in stock, and really nothing about it makes sense to us. “Fuck ’em,” I said, which is my standard response to most anything these days. “Just fuck ’em.” “That’s right,” Fred said. “THEY are the ones – “I began. “who are the ball-lickers!” he finished. Yep. We’re dorks. * * * While I’d like to take the credit for coming up with “a nice big hot steaming cup of shut the fuck up”, it was reader Belinda who sent me this picture, which made me desperate to use the line. She said she saw it and immediately thought of me. I can’t imagine why… * * * I know that I’ve bitched about Staples plenty of times, so here’s a story about how they rock. I ordered a new chair mat online from Staples because the one I have has cracked and has pieces of plastic sticking up which impede my progress from one side of the mat to the other side of the mat. Because my chair has rollers on the bottom, and I am a rolling fool. Fred wrote about the last time I bought a new chair mat. Read it to the end; re-reading it had me laughing so hard I cried. So I ordered the new chair mat, and yesterday as I was doing something which escapes me at the moment (something important, I’m sure), my cell phone rang. I answered it (usually I let it go to voicemail, but I decided to live dangerously for once). It was someone from Staples’ customer service letting me know that the mat I’d ordered was out of stock and wouldn’t be in for 2 – 3 weeks. He went on to tell me that there was a similar mat available, and I agreed that it would be fine to substitute that mat for the one I’d ordered, because I’m not picky about that sort of thing. And then he said they’d waive the delivery fee, because the one I’d ordered wasn’t in stock. Staples rocks. * * * Spanky’s sexy cheesecake pose. The happiest! kitty! in the world! Spot, right before he turned tail and ran for the cat door, because he is of the impression that he’s not supposed to be outside. I have no idea why he has this impression, and I always tell him he’s fine, he can stay out, but he always freaks out anyway. Previously 2002: When married characters are that cruel to each other, all you can think is, “Why the hell are they married if they hate each other so much?” 2001: Gatlinburg pictures! 2000: No entry.]]>

The Muddy Rudder in Yarmouth, ask if Millie’s working, because she’s a kick-ass waitress. Things I want to do in Maine in 2004: 1. Go on a Bailey Island or Portland Cruise 2. Walk around the Back Bay in Portland (I never have!) 3. Walk the bike path in Brunswick (I never have!) 4. Go to Boothbay or Bar Harbor Things I do not need to bother packing when I’m packing for Maine in 2004: 1. Blowdryer or any kind of hair styling things (curling iron, etc.); you won’t use ’em, and if you need a blowdryer there’s one on the premises 2. More than 5 pairs of pants or 5 shirts. There’s a washer, y’know. We saw a license plate that said “IMI UBU2”, and I thought Debbie was going to pass out, she was laughing so hard as we discussed the possibility that rather than it meaning “I am I, you be you, too”, it was someone’s name. “Ibi Ubu!” she giggled all the way home. “Ibi Ubu!” Maybe you had to be there. And lastly, while we were at The Christmas Tree Shop in Portland, I picked up a paperback, read one paragraph in the middle of the book, and decided that it was probably the worst book ever written. Blood Posse, y’all. I’d even rank it below that fucking Mulvaneys book.

* * * So the spud has decided that she’s interested in collecting coins, this interest probably brought about by her visit with her paternal grandparents earlier this summer. So she wanted a certain kind of envelope to keep said coins in, and I ran her over to Staples last night so we could find them and buy them and she’d shut the hell up about them. As we drove home, the spud sitting in the passenger’s seat, happily clutching her box of envelopes to her, I reflected upon just how BORING the act of collecting coins is. I mean, the only thing more boring is collecting stamps, I’m sure. And then I remembered that when I myself was just a tad younger than she, I collected bottle caps. I had hundreds of the fucking things, all kept in a coffee can, and every time someone in my family found a bottle cap, they were all “Hey, do you have this one?”, and I’d get excited and say “I do, but this is in MUCH better shape!”, and I’d hold it happily to my heart. One day I realized what a freakish thing it was, to collect bottle caps for no reason, just the sheer act of collecting them, I decided I was lame, and I tossed ’em in the trash. They’d probably be worth a fortune these days. (Hee!) * * * And amen to this: Ex-Smokers are not ex-smokers, they are the televangelists of QuitWorld, and do they have a story for you! I’ve never smoked (except for that one week when I was 19 and didn’t actually inhale. The first time I did actually inhale was the last time I ever put a cigarette to my mouth. But I think I’ve told that story before), and I’m far more tolerant of smokers than many ex-smokers. See, I’m a big fan of “Say it once, maybe twice, and then keep it to yourself, because NO ONE is interested”, whether it’s about smoking or drinking or failing to clean the bathroom in a timely manner. * * * The sunset from our back yard. Miz Poo hanging out in the back yard. ]]>

* * * So how about that Ethan Hawke/ Uma Thurman split, eh? For the uninformed, apparently he was shtupping a 22 year-old Canadian model. Uma found out about it, talked to him, decided they could work past a one-night stand, AND THEN HE KEPT SEEING THE HO. Y’know, I’ve never really understood the great appeal of Uma Thurman, she’s always seemed kinda funny looking to me, but most of those model types usually do. Give me Janeane Garofalo any day. But I could see that she had far too much class for the likes of Ethan Hawke, because anyone who insists upon being introduced as “Actor and Novelist Ethan Hawke” every single time (and you KNOW he insisted on it, was all temper tantrumy, screaming and beating his fists on the floor, wailing “ACTOR AND NOVELIST! ACTOR AND NOVELIST!”) is so pretentious that when it hits him that his wife far outclasses him in every way, he’s not the big-ass star he thought he’d be, and no one’s buying his damn books (which I know, because they don’t introduce him as “Actor and BEST-SELLING novelist Ethan Hawke”), well that’s the sort of man who feels entitled to start fucking any random 22 year-old who can stand to have him. Nope, not an Ethan Hawke fan, not really. (In the interest of full disclosure: I have not read any of the books created from the genius brow of Ethan Hawke, because when I hear “Actor Ethan Hawke has written a novel!”, I think “Oh, shut the fuck up and go away.” It may be brilliant. I sincerely doubt it, but I’ll accept that the possibility – however far-fetched – exists. And also in the interest of full disclosure, I had a crush on him when I saw him in Dead Poets Society. Shut up, you did too. My crush lasted about ten seconds until I saw the fey Robert Sean Leonard. Hello, dahling.)

* * * We went to feed the ducks yesterday to get the hell out of the house for a little while, and so Fred would stop his GODDAMN gotta-go-somewhere-gotta-do-something dance, and I would like to report that yesterday, unlike our trip to the lake near UAH on Friday, was quite calm. On Friday I was pecked several times by evil Canada Geese who didn’t think I was handing out the food nearly quickly enough and wanted me to hop to it. Yesterday – probably because people like to go to the lake on the weekend and feed the ducks and geese – they weren’t nearly as frantic. Why, they were downright mannerly, waiting patiently to be fed. They still stood a little too close for comfort, but it beats being pecked. They crack me up, the way they start running toward us when they realize there’s food to be had. This white goose is an aggressive motherfucker, and if you don’t feed him quickly enough, he’ll coming running at you, hissing and honking. And if you’re not careful, you’ll lose a finger. * * * Today, we went to Montesano State Park, where we grilled hamburgers and had potato salad and coleslaw. We also went on a bit of a hike while we were waiting for the fire to die down. There were an awful lot of people who had the same idea, but the tables were far enough from each other that you didn’t feel crowded. It’s a nice, sunny day out if a bit muggy, and we had a pretty good time. And now I must nap. * * * Miz Poo hopes we NEVER sell all those books. How else would she get up on top of the bookcase? ]]>

“I see the Poo looking at me, but if I stay very very still, maybe she’ll go away…” “Hmm… she’s still looking at me. Why won’t she go away?” “I’m tired of waiting. I’m going to haul ass for the nearest fence, and trust that I can go faster than those portly little legs can carry her.” (The squirrel was pretty much over the fence before Miz Poo knew what was going on) Such a purty boy. “I am NOT too big for this thing, I am NOT too big for this thing…” “Meh.” “Me-yawwwwwwn.”]]>