Author: Robyn

* * * Yesterday, Fred and I were discussing where to open a business checking account. He was for Regions Bank, and I was pushing for AmSouth. I will always love AmSouth, because their customer service is head and shoulders above any other bank I’ve dealt with since I’ve lived here – any bank I’ve ever dealt with, period, except for our credit union – and in my opinion, really good customer service is worth the extra few dollars a month. And since I’ll be dealing with making deposits and such, I won. Whee!

* * * Fancypants spent yet another night out last night. When Fred went to bed, he told me that Fancypants was hanging out on the patio in one of the chairs. I was instructed to “talk sweet” to Fancypants, and he’d let me pick him up and carry him inside. “Talk sweet” as opposed to yelling “Fancypants, get your ass in here!”, I guess, which is what I usually do. Heh. When I was done checking email and looking at forums, I got up from the computer and went out back. “Helloooooo, Fancypants! Hey, buddy, whatchoo doin’?” I said in my special Fancypants voice. He responded by hopping down off the chair and stretching. He let out a special, trilling, Fancy meow. I moved closer, continuing with the “Oh, such a Faaaaancy boy, yes you are!” He swaggered around, swishing his tail and purring loudly. I bent down to pick him up, and somehow he levitated from where he was to the middle of the back yard. I called out to him again, and he ran to the edge of the yard and jumped to the top of the fence then disappeared. Bastard. I came back inside and went to bed, and I hoped that it would rain, and the little shit would get soaked. But it didn’t and he wasn’t, because he’s a bastard. * * * When we were in Decatur Saturday, walking around the Founder’s Day Festival, we saw this little car and I had to take a picture. I think it’s an Austin Healy, and it was so tiny that I just wanted to stick it in my pocket and take it home. Seriously, I think it would have just about fit in the back of our Jeep. Sometimes laying on the desk, snuggled up against me, isn’t enough for Miz Poo. So she climbs up on my shoulder and then flops over (just assuming I’ll catch her – and I always do) and just lays there until my arm starts to hurt and I make her get down. Is she the most pampered cat in the entire world, or what? She is definitely back to her old self, though maybe a little more irritable. She was laying on the bed next to Fred last night, and Tubby jumped up on the end of the bed. She spent the next several minutes hissing hysterically and growling at him until he decided he’d had enough and jumped back down (Tubby, that is. Not Fred). Another picture from our trip on Saturday. I have no idea why, but the name of the restaurant just cracks me up. Probably because it makes me think of Randy “Dawg” Jackson. Tubs in the sun. The way he spreads the toes on his back feet is mighty cute, isn’t it? Tubby and Miz Poo. Sitting in the sun! Looking at the forbidden front yard!]]>

* * * Athena asked: What do you look for when you read a journal (or blog)? What kinds of things keep you coming back for more? I’ve gone through the list of journals and blogs I read, and really the only thing that they have in common is that they interest me. Some of the journalers/ bloggers have things in common with me, and some could not have more different lives. I like snarky attitudes, but I also read journals and blogs that are completely un-snarky. I prefer a sense of open-ness in the sites I read, because the “There’s something going on, but I can’t talk about it” drives the nosy old bat in me insane. If there’s something going on you can’t talk about, I’d prefer if you didn’t even mention it, and blind-side me with it when you can, because otherwise, I’ll assume you’re talking about your newfound hatred for me. The world revolves around me, you know. Lately, I’ve realized that I need to either skim or skip political postings in blogs or journals, because – and this is from people who believe a wide variety of things, politically – far too often they take on a tinge of hysteria and “Anyone who believes differently is a FUCKING IDIOT”. If they can state their beliefs reasonably and calmly without resorting to name-calling, I’m interested in reading what they have to say. If they can’t, I’ll skip that post. I have such a long list of journals and blogs that I read, that I can afford to be picky about the little things now when I’m checking out new ones. If a design is hard on the eyes, if I have to squint while I’m looking at the screen, if there are distracting jumping, moving things all down the side of the page, if the text of the entry stretches all the way from the left side of the screen to the right side and there are long, long, long paragraphs without a break, I have a hard time reading what’s written, and so I tend to move on without giving them a chance. I prefer a simple, clean look with easy navigation, and in a perfect world, each entry would be on it’s own page with navigation to the entry before and entry after clear and simple. Yes, I KNOW you think you don’t exist to please me. You’re wrong, but you just keep believing that if you need to. I LOVE notify lists, especially notify lists that link directly to the entry being notify-ed. My notify emails all get filtered into a “journal” folder, and when I have a chance I sit and read journal entries, clicking on the link in the email. Journals without notify lists tend to be where I turn after I’ve read the notified journals. Yes, sending out notifies can be a pain in the ass, but aren’t your wonderful readers worth it? I know that the question wasn’t really “What, design-wise, do you prefer, O Bitchy One?”, but there’s really not anything I can put my finger on that would tell you what, content-wise, will bring me back to a journal or blog. I guess that, like pornography, I just know it when I see it.

* * * Many trillions of readers have asked: Robyn. Don’t you love us? Won’t you put up a list of the blogs and journals you read? Please? Pleeeeease? Okay, okay! Just please stop asking! Here’s the deal. I made a list of the blogs and journals I read. I’m SURE that I left out a whole huge bunch of them, but I did the best I could, and that’s going to have to be good enough. I don’t plan on ever updating it again in my lifetime, because it’s a huge pain in the ass and I have no desire to keep it updated. Got that? Good. Now go check it out. (I’ll put a link on the front page, too, under “other”) Have a burning question? Ask!]]>

* * * I just sat here for three minutes, racking my brain (what there is of it! Ha!) trying to remember the name of the school the spud attends. Three minutes it took me to come up with it. Early, early-onset Alzheimer’s, I’m telling you…

* * * THE Lisa (not the cat hater. Hee!) asks: Do you miss having a swimming pool? I am thinking of getting one and I remembered that you had one at the last house. Is it worth it? Sometimes I miss the pool in theory, but the last summer we lived in that house, I think we only went swimming once or twice. Before we put in the pool, people told us that the longer we had the pool, the less we’d use it, and that was definitely true. So while every now and then I think it would be nice to be able to go swimming, it probably wasn’t worth the cost, at least not to us. My parents have an aboveground pool that they use every day, and sometimes more than once a day during the summer, so I’d say that it was worth it to them. Sharon asks: I saw a commercial last night for a contraption very similar to a diaper genie, but for cat litter. I was wondering if you have seen/heard of/ tried/ know anyone who has tried this? My sister and mom rescue wild cats in west texas, and I thought the cat-litter thing might be a good investment for them. I think I’ve walked past the thing you’re talking about at the pet store – it looks like this? I’ve never tried it myself, because when I clean out the litter box in the morning, I dump the dirty litter into a plastic baggie and take it immediately to the trash. If anyone out there’s tried it, let me know and I’ll post your opinion here. Rebecca asks: how many people on average send you responses to your daily postings….I am thinking you could easily sit all day long and just answer emails…… Actually, it depends on the topic. On an average day, between this journal and the weight loss one, I receive 30ish emails. When something interesting happens – such as when I did an entry about the Bullshit! promo, or had a run-in with a nutball – I receive a LOT more. The Bullshit! entry pulled in almost 150 emails, and when I asked for advice about lotion to use on my face, I got about 75 emails. While I do try to answer most of the email I receive, there are some days when the last thing I want to do is answer it, and so it’s easy to get behind on my email. It probably doesn’t help that when I do respond to email, I tend to go from the bottom (the most recent email) and work my way up. No wonder some of you end up waiting months to get a response, huh? 🙂 Christopher asks: 1. Has your daughter picked up your potty mouth? 2. If she did, do you or would you have a problem with it? She hasn’t yet. In fact, she refused to say “Bullshit”, even when Fred and I told her it was okay. I’ve never told her not to swear and never would, because that’d be mighty hypocritical of me. As long as she doesn’t pull out the “fuck, fuck, fuckety-fuck” in church or in front of her grandparents, I’d be okay with it. I imagine it’ll take some experimenting for her to decide how much swearing she’s comfortable with in her life. Lori asks: You’re from Maine, so do you say things like, “I’ve got to PAHK MAH CAH,” or “wicked good”? Nope, but only because I spent my formative years up to the age of 11 or 12 living on bases in various parts of the country. My mother has a Maine accent, which oddly shows up strongest when she says things like “Calm down”, which end up sounding like “Cahm down” – I can’t really do it justice in spelling, trust me. She also says “Pahk”. I suspect that her Maine accent and my dad’s Alabama accent kind of balanced each other out so that I don’t really have a strong accent either way (though a bunch of LIARS have been insisting that I have a southern accent. Liars!) I do say “wicked” every once in a while, though. Quick story: when the Moon Unit Zappa song “Valley Girl” came out (I bet a LOT of y’all are too young to remember that one), my mother turned to me and said “You should have written a song about Maine girls! The chorus could go “Wicked good! I’m pahking the cah in Hahvahd Yahd, and I’m doing wicked good!”” Heh. Have a burning question? Ask!]]>

* * * This is Spanky. He’s the GOOD boy, unlike his bastardly brothers, Fancypants and Tubby. This picture cracks me up. The big picture. I bought the big cat bed specifically so Tubby would have room to lay in it, but he never gets a chance, between Miz Poo and Fancypants. I think these cat beds are the best investment I’ve ever made. Is this a bitchy look, or what? I may have to go submit this to My Cat Hates You. (Um, holy crap. And we thought Tubby was big!) “The front window! It’s open! The front window is open! Let us sit and look longingly at the front yard…”

* * * We actually, as a family, left the house on Saturday. Yes we did, and the earth, contrary to our suspicions, did not crack open. We were going to go to Bankhead National Forest, have a picnic (Subway sandwiches) and then go for a hike. We ended up stopping in Decatur and having a picnic and a walk by the river. It was pretty nice, and Fred’s got pictures of our experience in his journal. There’ll probably be more pictures up later today, too. It was really nice to get out of the house for a few hours, and it was so beautiful and sunny (and by the by, it’s supposed to hit 85 today. Feast or famine, folks. Feast or famine. Either it’s gray and overcast and rainy and cold, or it’s a gorgeous blue sky and warm, warm, warm. I sure as hell won’t complain about the latter, that’s for sure.) that we just couldn’t stay in the house. When we got home, Fred and I crashed for half an hour or so before dinner. Sunday, Fred and the spud spent 12 hours watching the newest Harry Potter, and I sat in my chair by the window, reading and watching the kids outside play, with a portly Poo on my lap. A damn fine weekend, all in all. * * * One of the – many! – things that sucks about it being That Time of the Month is that about a week before my period is due, not only do my boobs swell up to twice their usual size, but I also stop sleeping as soundly as I usually do. Add to that a cat who likes to tromp back and forth all night long, and I end up waking up 10 to 15 times a night. Not only does Miz Poo tromp back and forth from one side of me to the other at regular intervals, but she will also occasionally decide that I need to be laying on my left side, so that she can snuggle up into my armpit and hang over my arm. To let me know that it’s time to turn over, she sits next to me and digs at me. Ignoring her doesn’t work, because she’s stubborn as hell and would probably sit there for a week, digging and digging and digging, until I turned over. Tossing her off the bed doesn’t work, since she simply waits until I’m asleep again and does it again. Whining “Miz Pooooo! Stop! I want to sleep on my stomach!” doesn’t work either, because she’s a heartless little bitch. The only thing that stops her is obeying her every whim, and I’ve learned to just give in to her. Usually when she tromps across me during the night, I just wake briefly, identify the source of the pain, and go back to sleep. Often, I just sleep through it. When the menstrual hormones are raging, though, I wake every time she so much as twitches, and it takes a while to get back to sleep. And Fred wonders why I’m so bitchy when this time of the month comes around. * * * During a conversation with my mother last night, we had a mini-argument about how old the spud is. We were talking about not this upcoming summer, but next summer. The spud’s father will be getting married next summer (the summer of 2004), and for some reason the spud is of the impression that my parents will be invited to the wedding. I have no idea whether this is because he said so to her, or because she’s just assuming, but my mother was concerned to hear that she was expected to be at the wedding of her former son-in-law, and so wanted to know what was going on. “Well,” I said. “They’re not getting married until next summer.” My mother relaxed a bit and said “Oh, next summer. And [the spud] will be how old next summer?” “Fifteen,” I said. “No she won’t!” she said. Now, I ask you. Why would she ask me how old the spud was, and then tell me I’m wrong? Am I not the one who lugged around the bundle of joy through the hottest part of the summer? Am I not the one who was ripped open from side to side so that she could be lifted, screaming at the top of her considerable lungs, into the world? Am I not the one who ended up staying in the hospital for a week because I had a fever and an infection they couldn’t seem to locate? Am I not the one who had a delayed reaction to the anesthesia and barfed all over hell and creation in my hospital room? Trust me. October 26, 1988 is burned into my brain for all time. Even when I’m laying in the nursing home, with all the important things in my brain burned away by the Alzheimer’s, I’ll remember that date, okay? Patiently I said, “Well, she’s 14 now…” Long, long pause. “She’s 15!” Slowly I said, “2003 minus 1988 is 15… She’s 14 and will be 15 in October.” Finally, she conceded that I might be right. I don’t know if she actually believed that I was right or simply didn’t want to pursue the argument any further, but either way she gave it up.]]>

I can’t even imagine how much time and painstaking effort this took, and what’s even more? It was filled with REALLY great-smelling herbal tea baths and soaps! Good LORD do I love Von. I emailed you Von, but I’ll say it again – thank you SO much! While I’m thinking of people who’ve sent me things, I’d like to take a second (I’m not sure if I mentioned it when I got it) to say thanks to reader Kelly, who sent me Living at the Edge of the World. I finished reading it last night, and liked it a great deal (and looky here – Joe Bob Briggs liked the book, too! He also does a better review of it than I ever could.) The funny thing with books about real people is that you tend to get somewhat invested in their lives (Hey! Kind of like online journals, eh?) and once the book ends, you wish you knew where they were and how they were doing. I spent some time searching for information on Tina S., but there’s not really anything online about her that isn’t connected to the book. Wherever she is, I hope her life is going well.

* * * 1. What was the first band you saw in concert? The first concert I ever went to was Shaun Cassidy (hee!), but the first band I saw in concert would be Judas Priest and Great White, when I was a Freshman or Sophomore in high school. Can you believe Fred’s never been to a concert? 2. Who is your favorite artist/ band now? I can’t really say that I have a favorite; I like a wide variety, though I’d say my favorites include Del Amitri, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Jude Cole, Natalie Merchant, and Olivia Newton-John. I call it “cheese rock.” 3. What’s your favorite song? At the moment, “Kiss and Say Goodbye” by The Manhattans. Favorite overall would be Pearl Jam’s “Black”. 4. If you could play any instrument, what would it be? Guitar, I suppose. I can’t actually even fathom the possibility of having any kind of musical talent, though. 5. If you could meet any musical icon (past or present), who would it be and why? Elvis, of course. I’m not a big fan or anything, but it would be incredible to meet the man behind the legend. * * * Questions, you’ve got questions! I’ve got answers. Reader Susan asks: You said you like to cross stitch, what are you currently cross stitching? And how much did you get for the cross stitch you sold on Ebay? Oddly, I’ve been cross-stitching Christmas ornaments. During the holidays, anytime I went into a craft store, I’d buy a couple of small ornament kits. I ended up with a huge amount of them, and so for the past few months I’ve been working on getting them done. I haven’t gotten a lot done, because I don’t cross-stitch all the time, but every now and then I’ll get the yen to have something to do while watching TV, so I’ll grab another one to work on. I like doing them, because they’re small and fairly quick to do, and when I’m done, I toss the finished ornament in a box and go on to the next one. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them all, probably give ’em away in sets of three or four. Here’s a picture of what I’ve done so far: I got, I think, $30 for the cross-stitch picture I put on eBay. I could be wrong, it could be more, but that’s the number sticking in my head. Reader Dawn asks: Why don’t you have either a guestbook or a comment section (like you have over at OFB)? I always wondered this. I always like signing guestbooks or comment sections. That’s actually a fairly timely question. The only reason I don’t have a comment section is because I haven’t installed (or rather, had Fred install) Movable Type on this site. I’m shooting for having it up and running on May 1st, which will include a comments section. I prefer comments to a guestbook only because I’ve found that it’s easier to figure out what people are referring to if the comments they leave are at the end of the entries they’re commenting about. Is that a completely convoluted paragraph right there, or what? So in any case, the look will be changing soon, and y’all can leave comments to your heart’s content. Reader Cindy asks: You wrote about wanting to watch the Jacko/Martin Bashir interview but I don’t recall you saying that you had watched the tape. I just wondered what you thought about it afterwards. I did watch the tape, and while I thought that Michael Jackson only came across as a bit odd in the first part of the interview, he came across as a total whack-job in the rest. I don’t know if he’s a child molester – I’m leaning toward yes – but I think his insistence on continuing to have children spend the night at his house and in his room after those allegations and the lawsuit, show either that he thinks he’s untouchable, or he has no sense of self-preservation. Any reasonable person who’d gone through that would make a point of never being alone with a child again. The whole bit showing him with his children was more disturbing than I’d expected. They’re clearly possessions to him, and I have a feeling we’ll be lining up to buy copies of Jacko: My father the nutball in 18 years or so. Overall, though, I find it amazing that Michael Jackson would so completely open up his life to Martin Bashir; I’d never in a million years let a reporter into my life that way (though of course, I hope my life will forever be such that a reporter would never be interested!). It shows a shocking lack of common sense. On the other hand, I don’t think Martin Bashir is lily-white in this whole thing, either. Lulling someone into your confidence so they’ll open their life to you is a fairly shitty thing to do. But the media in all it’s forms has never shown itself to be trustworthy in any way, and I think Michael Jackson would have been better off keeping that in mind. Have a burning question you’d like answered? Ask!]]>

* * * I continue to be unhappy with that bitch, Mother Nature. The winter clothes, that I put away last week? I had to dig a fleece shirt out, because with the temperature outside hanging at 40 degrees, spring and summer clothes aren’t cutting it. Bah! And I wouldn’t mind seeing some damn sunshine, damnit!

* * * A conversation that did NOT take place in the And3rson household, because marking up legal currency is against the law. NotFred: NotBessie, are you marking all our money with a red “Where’s George?” stamp? NotMe: Yep. NotFred: NotBeeeeessie! That’s illegal! NotMe: Prove I did it. NotFred: (after a long pause) But you just said you did! NotMe: Prove it. Heh. * * * The spud got her progress report yesterday, and so far for this quarter she’s got straight As. She always gets good grades, but there’s usually a couple of Bs in there as well. Go, spud! The thing about the spud is that she’s not a procrastinator when it comes to homework. She’s got an MLA-style paper due in a few weeks, and instead of putting it off ’til the last minute (like her mother), she’s been hard at work ever since she got the assignment. * * * April asks: When something funny happens between you and Fred, do either of you ask that it NOT make it to either journal? It’s actually somewhat rare that either of us does that – the only thing that really comes to mind is that I recently told Fred he wasn’t allowed to write any more “Robyn farts” entries, though I did let him circumvent it in his most recent entry. What happens more often is that something funny or odd will happen, and he’ll call dibs on the story. In fact, that happens a lot, though sometimes he’ll call dibs and then decide later that he’s not interested in writing about it. If I’m writing something about him that’s potentially embarrassing, I’ll ask him to read it before I post it in case he wants me to change anything – though I don’t think he’s ever actually wanted me to – and vice versa. (back to the FAQ page) * * * I have a few questions that aren’t really frequently asked, but I thought I’d answer them anyway, since they’re interesting questions. Say asked: Are you planning on getting any more kitties? If so (or not) why (or why not). There are, at this point, no plans to get any more kitties. We’re pretty much on the verge already of being crazy cat people, and I think that any more cats would put us firmly into that category. It’s hard to go to the pet store and see so many great cats and never be able to bring them home, but I’m afraid that if I showed up at home with another kitty, I’d find myself divorced, on the street, living in a cardboard carton with Miz Poo. I’d have to change the journal name to Homeless Bitchypoo, but you KNOW I’d still update every day. We like to watch Animal Precinct and Animal Cops when there’s nothing else on, and a few days ago there was a show where the Animal Cops had to go to this woman’s house. The woman, probably in her 50s if not older, was living in absolute filth, cats everywhere, shitting in the corners of the room. And you just KNOW that there was a point when the woman had a normal number of cats (although I guess 5 cats is probably over the “normal number” line) and thought “Oh, I’ll just save one more… ” Plus, we have a pretty good mix of cats, they get along fairly well, though every now and then one of them decides that another one needs an ass-kicking. And Jennifer asks: Do you guys have friends? You never seem to talk about going out with friends, etc, so I wondered if you were home-bodies like me and mine? We have friends, but not really anyone we go out with, because we don’t really like to go out much. We’re very much homebodies, and a perfect day to us is hanging around the house, watching a movie, messing around on the computers, or hanging out in the back yard watching the cats and reading. We have a very low-key life, which is how we like it, and even the occasional yen to get out of the house is satisfied by a run to the store or a bike ride. ]]>

* * * I finally watched last week’s episode of The Bachelor last night. Andrew Firestone sure is easier on the eyes than Aaron was, isn’t he? The group of bachelorettes sure seem a lot younger this time around. My favorite part of the rose ceremony was watching one of the (few!) brunettes – I think it was Liz, but I’m not positive – give looks of hatred to all the girls who got roses. A girl would walk by her with a rose, and she’d look them up and down, and then glare daggers at her. What kills me is that these girls spent ONE EVENING with the bachelor, and if they didn’t get a rose, they were in tears. Surely they weren’t that invested in the guy, for crying out loud? I guess it was mostly the blow to the ego, rather than getting attached to the Bachelor, but still. And speaking of television shows, did Ruben kick ass, or what? I LOVE THAT SONG, and even let out a little shriek when he started singing it. In fact, I’m going to go see if it’s available on Grokster yet right now. Hm, doesn’t seem to be out there yet. I guess I’ll have to be happy with The Manhattans’ version for now. God, I love that song.

* * * Hey, know what I haven’t done in a while? Answered reader questions – and I still have plenty to answer! Reader Patty asks: Has anyone in your real life spoken about your journal/ site/ etc.? And Reader C asks: Does your daughter or anyone in your family (mother, sister etc) read your journal? The only person I know in real life that I’m certain reads my journal – aside from Fred – is my sister, Debbie. No one else, that I’m aware of, knows that this journal exists. Fred’s stepsister found his site, and there are links from his site to this one, so it’s possible that his stepsister and, in fact, his whole family reads this journal, but if they do, I don’t know about it. And if they are reading, I’d prefer to continue not knowing about it. Reader Judy asks: When you moved to Alabama did you experience a great deal of culture shock when you moved into the deep south? Was it like dropping out of the sky into Oz? Or vice versa? I actually have a funny story about my move to Alabama. The spud and I drove from Rhode Island to Alabama over the course of two days. At the end of the first day, we stopped at a motel in the hills of Tennessee. I went in to get a room, and the desk clerk had the thickest southern accent that I have, to this day, ever heard, and I couldn’t understand a word that was coming out of her mouth. I had to ask her to repeat everything she said not once, not twice, but THREE times. When we were finally in our room, I sat on the bed and thought to myself “What the FUCK have I gotten myself into? I’m never going to understand a word anyone says to me in Alabama, it’s going to be like living in a foreign country, I’m never going to be able to get a job, and everyone’s going to think I’m an idiot!” Near tears, I called Fred, who reminded me that I was in a very rural part of Tennessee, that Huntsville is a fairly large city, and that the people who live in the area don’t have accents quite that thick. And he was right – every now and then I’ll have a problem understanding what someone’s saying to me, but it rarely happens. Of course, some of you would say that that’s because I’ve developed my own southern accent, but y’all would be big LIARS. I honestly expected that the stereotypical southern women – you know, big hair, made up to within an inch of their life – would be the kind of women I’d see all over the place. And while I’ll see one every now and then, it’s not the norm, really. I think it’s probable that if I’d moved to a more rural town, things would be a lot more different, but there are so many people who live in this area that are from other places, that it’s more diverse than you would expect living in the south to be. Have a burning question you’d like answered? Let me know. * * * Every once in a while, I check my stats for pico search, to see what y’all are searching for within my site. After not checking for quite a while, I looked at the stats yesterday. What’s the number one thing people search my site for? Athena. What’s up with that? I had 75 searches on Athena. Second on the list was Bullshit, with 6 searches. (Yes, 6. Not 60, but 6.) The question, I guess, is whether it’s 75 different people looking for Athena, or one person looking 75 times. It’s really enough to make a girl curious, y’know.]]>

* * * Several houses up the street is a nice, unassuming little house. Surrounding this lovely home is a yard, of course. And the grass in this yard is still dormant and has not yet started growing this year. But all over the yard for the past month or so, in huge, huge clumps, were growing wild onions. It had gotten so bad that I kept feeling the urge to grab my scissors and chop down the onions. But what if they were deliberately letting them grow? What if they had plans for those onions? Better to leave them alone, I supposed, even if they were knee-high. Finally, last Friday, they cut down their onions with their lawnmower, and then apparently did something to their back yard, because the next time I drove by, there were at least 15 trash bags waiting by the curb to be picked up by the people who do that. Is it awful that I don’t have a clue who picks up yard clippings and leaves? All I know is, you bag your clippings and leaves and leave them by the street, and sooner or later they get picked up. Like magic! Anyway, they cut their onions and did something to their back yard (unless there are bodies in those bags, in which case I’ll be the redneck-looking woman on the news saying “But they were so nice and quiet! Kept to themselves! Never had a problem with them!”), and today – Tuesday – I drove by, and the damn onions are 6 inches high already. Damn onions.

* * * Fred planted a couple of tomato plants, a strawberry plant, and a jalapeno plant yesterday. I’m interested to see how it goes, since he planted in the flower bed the cats seem to think of as theirs. I’d love it if the tomato plants flourished and we could make our own salsa this summer. I mean, we can make our own salsa whether we grow our own tomatoes or not, but it’ll be cool if we could use tomatoes we’ve grown ourselves. We’ll see. * * * Poor Tubby. Trying to fit his portly butt in the tiny little cat bed. I actually thought about getting the bigger size instead of this one, but this one was cheaper, and I had no idea whether any of the cats would actually be all that interested in it, so I opted for the smaller, cheaper one. And it turns out that they’re ALL interested in it. So I went back to the pet store today and bought a bigger one. The smaller one is currently on the couch with Miz Poo curled up in it but I think I’m going to move that to my desk. Or maybe I’ll just leave it on the couch, I don’t know. I bought another one (a larger one) to replace the nasty-ass pillow on the trunk under the window in the master bedroom, and Spanky freaked out a tad, because new things always freak him out. And then he curled up for a snooze. Spot and Tubby eyed Spanky jealously before sleep overtook them, as it always does. * * * I don’t remember if I mentioned it last week or not, but Fancypants recently peed in the corner of the computer room, behind the chair. He also peed on the chair itself at some point, and I’ve been all but ready to send him packing (of course I wouldn’t actually, but it calms me down to think I could). We treated the area with Nature’s Miracle and sprayed some Feli-Way (hee!) in the area as well. All seemed to be going well, until yesterday morning. Not long after I took the picture of Tubby squeezing his ass in the little sheepskin bed, I walked into the computer room to see him, ass toward the wall, sniffing around. “Tubby,” I said. “What are you doing?” And then I saw what he was doing. THE FUCKER WAS PEEING AGAINST THE WALL. I yelled at him and chased him out of the room. When I got a chance to think about it, I couldn’t decide whether I felt bad or not, because all along we’ve been blaming Fancypants for peeing in the corner of the room and on the chair, and I’ve been thinking hateful thoughts about Fancypants, when it was apparently Tubby’s fault all along. Or maybe they’ve been working together “You pee on the chair, I’ll get the corner!” So I bought a huge container of Nature’s Miracle, and we’re going to saturate the area and hope that helps with the smell, because I DO NOT want to be one of those crazy cat people whose house smells like cat pee all the time, it’s bad enough that sometimes if you go upstairs directly after someone’s used the litter box and not covered their pile o’ poo, it reeks. And for the record, no. I don’t think Tubby has a bladder infection, because every now and then he feels compelled to pee on something and then pees on it, and then doesn’t do it for a long enough time that we forget it’s him that does it. Damn cats.]]>

an entry that pretty much describes my reaction to Bullshit! Having seen myself on the big screen (why must we have a big screen TV? Why?), I will say only this: Now I know why, when the camera and sound guy were setting up and I chirped “Oh, is this the camera that’s going to make me look like Ashley Judd?”, everyone laughed so hard.

* * * I actually – are you ready for this? – left the house yesterday! It’s a truly amazing thing, I know, but it does happen every once in a blue moon. The spud and I left the house a little after noon, went to the grocery store (I needed fruit), Staples (padded envelopes for mailing tapes), the pet store (wild bird seed, and I picked up a fuzzy bed for the cats because god knows they don’t have enough beds strewn throughout the house to sleep on), Target (a covered trash can to keep the 60 pounds of bird seed in) and then stopped at Kohl’s because the spud wants platform-type shoes that look like this, only not quite so high. Short boots are okay too, she informs me, but she only wants them in black, no brown. There were short boots similar to the shoes above at Kohl’s, but she didn’t like how high they were – too bad, because they were 80% off! – and so I guess we’ll be looking for them another day. I left the house on a Sunday for an hour and a half, and the earth didn’t crack open. Whaddya know about that. * * * I just finished Every Breath You Take, by Ann Rule. In fact I stayed up until 1 to finish it, and of course had a dream that I was getting the death penalty. I like Ann Rule books for the most part, but what I don’t like is the fact that she always tells you not only what their childhood was like, but also what their parents’ childhood was like, and in some cases, what their grandparents’ childhood was like, and it can get a tad confusing. * * * Spot, randomly hanging out on the mantel for no apparent reason. Miz Poo, looking like Kilroy. That’s the spud’s leg she’s peeking over, as you can see in the picture below. And some Poo porn for Frankie! Look at that belly… Miz Poo was laying on the couch hanging out the other night, and Fred pushed her back to look at her stomach. Miz Poo, being the obliging sort, just stayed there in case anyone else wanted to get an eyefull. Poor Miz Poo and her nekkid belly! It’s amazing how slowly cat fur grows, isn’t it? With all the shedding they do, you’d think it grew at a rate of an inch a minute. Don’t they look like such nice boys? Two minutes before I took this picture, they were smacking the shit out of each other.]]>

* * * So last night right before bed, I went to the Showtime page for Penn and Teller’s Bullshit!, and they had updated it since last I looked. On the main page, where there had been a picture illustrating last week’s topic (ESP), was a picture of Fred and I, standing in the back yard, our “fat” pants held up in front of us, and we were squinting into the sun. During our experience taping our part in Bullshit!, one of the goofy things we had to do was go out into the backyard, stand so we were staring into the sun, and take turns saying “Hi! I’m Fred And3rson!” “And I’m Robyn And3rson!” “And together we’ve lost 300 pounds!” Sometimes Fred would say his name first, sometimes I’d say mine first. Sometimes we’d say the part about losing 300 pounds together, sometimes just one of us would say it. Over and over and OVER again. The sun wasn’t bothering Fred’s eyes, but I’m fairly certain I have holes in my retinas. As time passed, my eyes hurt more and more until I was squinting so much you could barely see that I had eyeballs, and still “One more take! Just one more!” Producers are liars, is what they are. Anyway, they took a picture from one of those many takes, and put it on the main page.

You will note that I already have 100 less chins than in the promo. And DAMN am I white. I also look a little constipated, but that’s just because the sun was glaring through my eyes and eating into my brain. * * * And speaking of Bullshit! and the Showtime page, amongst the list of “experts” they have listed – in fact, #1 on the list of experts, since they do them alphabetically – would be, yes, me. They linked to my weight loss website. I’ve been checking my stats every couple of hours to see how many referrals I’m getting from that page. I’d say I’ve gotten less than 100 so far, and none of them seem to be staying around for long. Which makes all grumpy and mutter to myself, “What’s the matter, am I not INTERESTING enough for you, you bastards?!” But then I realize that the show hasn’t even aired yet, and I’ll probably be flooded with hits, and also a lot of emails containing messages like “Hi. What R U doing to loose weight and how much weight have U lost?”, and I calm down. * * * Okay, I think I’m going to slap up a Friday Five or two, and call it a day. See you on Monday! 1. How many houses/apartments have you lived in throughout your life? Oh, let me think… As a kid, I lived in: Bangor, Maine A base in Indiana Goosebay, Canada Kinchloe AFB, Michigan Guam Loring AFB, Maine Lisbon Falls, Maine After the age of 18, I lived in: Durham, Maine Brunswick, Maine Bath, Maine Brunswick, Maine Newport, Rhode Island Lisbon Falls, Maine Newport, Rhode Island Huntsville, Alabama Madison, Alabama (the old house) Madison, Alabama (now) So, 17 altogether. 2. Which was your favorite and why? I have a soft spot for the first apartment I ever lived in by myself (uh, the only apartment I ever lived in by myself) on Main Street in Brunswick, Maine. It was a shithole, but I have some happy memories from there. 3. Do you find moving house more exciting or stressful? Why? Stressful, because I just want to get it done and over with. 4. What’s more important, location or price? I would say price, but actually I think location is more important. When we were looking for a house last time, we started off thinking that we’d get a less expensive house out in the country, but actually ended up with a house that cost around the same price in a nicer neighborhood. 5. What features does your dream house have (pool, spa bath, big yard, etc.)? I’d like to have more land, not be so close to our neighbors, and maybe a bigger kitchen, but I think the house we’re in is pretty close to perfect. Except for the carpeted stairs, of course. A hot tub would be pretty nice, too. And a room off by itself that I could escape to when Fred’s watching his loud-ass action movies. ]]>