Author: Robyn

A Day in the Life of Spot J. And3rson 8 am. Hiding from everyone under the bed. 9 am. Hanging out on top of the bed. 10 am. Bathtime. 12 noon. Time for lunch! 1 pm. Zzzzzz…. 2:30 pm. Hanging out in the junk box. Looks mighty comfy, no? 3:30 pm. After a quick trip outside and the discovery that it’s TOO DAMN COLD out there, heads back upstairs. 4 pm. ::Snore:: 5 pm. If you wait long enough, the sun rays come to you… 7 pm. Hanging out in the living room, keeping a wary eye on everyone else. 8 pm. Back on the bed, wondering how many times he’s going to see that flash today. 9 pm. Partaking of some organic catnip (aka Kitty Pot). 10 pm. Still a tad high. Trying to decide if Fancypants needs some lovin’, or an ass-kickin’.]]>

Pretty color, though. I had hopes of trying to shrink it, but it’s made of acrylic, so I doubt that’ll pan out. Better to just exchange it, I suppose.

* * * I got an unexpected check in the mail today – a refund of the co-pay I paid when I took the spud to the emergency room on Christmas night. Apparently there is no co-pay for emergency room visits on our insurance plan. Who knew? * * * I got a couple of emails with “FAQ” in the subject. They’re not really questions I’ve ever been asked before, so I won’t include them in the FAQ, but I will answer them here, since there’s not really any excitement going on around here today (except that I’ll be taking the spud to Applebee’s for dinner. Yay!). Reader Laura asks: If you do have another child, will you tell us its name? Or call it Spud 2? I have no idea. We’d probably come up with a nickname for it, though I don’t think it would be Spud 2! And another reader Laura asks: I could swear that you said that you would like to hike the Appalachian trail, and that Fred wasn’t into all that outdoorsy stuff, but now with Fred’s hiking to geocaches, and you not having too much fun with that, I am wondering if I’m mistaken. I did say that, actually. I said that right after I’d read A Walk in the Woods, by Bill Bryson, because he has a real knack for making you want to do what he’s done. I would still like to hike the Appalachian trail, although I don’t know that I’d want to try to do it all at once, maybe do a section at a time. It would be awesome to do the whole trail, a section at a time, over the course of several years. I don’t know why I’m not interested in geocaching the way Fred is – maybe because he’s in far better shape than I am, and I feel like hiking with him would be a matter of him having to slow waaaay down so he didn’t lose me. Or maybe because it’s been cold as hell. Or maybe because my idea of a nice Sunday hike involves no mud or huge hills, but rather a nice gravelled or paved path that you can wander down and admire the chipmunks and squirrels. Fred does have a way of eventually sucking me into his interests, though, so you never know what could happen! And lastly, reader Jeannine asks: So you’re not married? Yep, we’ve been married since October 31, 1998 and together for 6 1/2 years. And they said it’d never last. FAQ questions I hope to get to over the course of the next few weeks include: * Why do you refer to your daughter as only the Spud. * Would you or are you considering Weight Loss Surgery? * What did you do when you worked at Fred’s office, and why did you stop working there?/ Do you ever think you’ll go back to work? / Do you like being a homemaker? Have you thought about pursuing a career other than shopping, reading, and ass-sitting? Like writing, perhaps?/ Do you get bored not working and staying at home? / * Has anyone in your real life spoken about your journal/site/etc.? How does your daughter feel about having her life written about? * Didn’t you go to the doctor and discover that you had a thyroid problem? What ever happened with that? * How did you and Fred meet? * Do you hold any degrees? * Why do you find it necessary to use foul language so incredibly often? Sometimes, it appears as though you’re forcing yourself to talk/write this way. Do you talk like this around your daughter? * Where do you get motivated to get up every day and do your exercise? and is it a struggle for you or has it become part of your daily routine? * What reason did you give your parents for moving out of state to Alabama? I know you were a grown adult but I always wondered how come they never thought there was a ‘Fred’ when you moved. If you have a burning question you’d love to have answered and it isn’t included in the list above, let me know! Y’all have a great weekend!]]>

* * * Fred had a little touch-up plastic surgery in the doctor’s office yesterday. He had to take both Ativan and Demerol an hour before his appointment. When I pulled into the parking lot behind his office, I called to let him know I was there. I don’t actually go into that office unless I have to. “Hey, druggie!” I said. “Are you high?” He claimed not to be, but his words came a little slower than they usually do. When he came out the door, he was moving a little slower, too. “You’re hiiiiiiiigh! You’re hiiiiiiiiiigh!” I crowed as he got into the car. “No, I feel fine,” he slurred. Once we were home a few hours later, he ate lunch, worked on a story for a little while, and then crashed on the loveseat, with the fire going full blast. The cats started joining him, and by the time half an hour had passed, it was toasty warm in the living room, and there were cats sprawled out all over the place.

Tubby loooooves his daddy. Even I have to admit that Tubby’s mighty damn cute when he does stuff like this. The doctor told me before we left his office not to be surprised if Fred couldn’t remember half the day, due to the drugs. I don’t know how much he remembers today, but I do know that there were MANY things that he repeated. I think I said “That’s the third time you’ve told me that!” several times. And on the way home, he recounted, word-for-word a conversation he, his doctor, and I had had, only he substituted the nurse for me, and had her saying what I’d said. Thank god he doesn’t have to take THAT particular combination of drugs too often, because I’d be constantly annoyed. Not that I’m not already.]]>

Why does Fred call you “Bessie?” It’s funny – when I first moved to Alabama, he actually called his computer and his car “Bessie” because, as he told me, that’s what he called his favorite things. It was kind of a default name for things he liked. Slowly, over the course of the next few years, he started calling me Bessie, saying “Because you’re my favorite favorite thing!” And ever since, the computer and car are no longer Bessie, and I am. I wasn’t sure whether I cared for the nickname at first, but I’ve grown to really like it. Also, his grandparents were named Fred and Bessie, so it’s sort of an homage to them. (Back to FAQ page) Reader Laurie asks: Do you know anything more about the TV shot that you guys did a month or so ago? When/where is it going to air, etc.? Those of you new to the journal can go read the whole story about the TV shoot in my diet journal, starting here. It was for Bullshit!, which will be premiering January 24th on Showtime, but we’re apparently not in the first show – that one’s about “Talking to the Dead” – and we’ve heard nothing from the assistant producer who set it up. We’ll keep y’all informed, though. (Back to FAQ page) Okay, that’s it for today, folks. Think happy thoughts for me at 3:15 central time, won’t you?]]>

Cruisin’ through Hollywood, checkin’ out the babes. Taking a break from kicking the ass of that Osbourne dog who keeps pooing on the floor. Demanding love from The Prez. SquareSpot DorkWad. I should have known when he kept getting late-night calls from Anna Nicole that something was going on.

* * * I swear to god, it seemed like every time I fell asleep this weekend, Fred felt the need to wake me up. He woke me up Saturday morning to let me know that he was off to get groceries (but that’s okay, because I always want a hug and kiss before he goes somewhere), then when he got home he came through the room to put something away (I’m hazy on the details), and gleefully shouted with all the air in his freakish Morning Person lungs “Roll your ass out of bed, Bessie!” I groaned and rolled over, possibly giving him the finger in the process. Half an hour later, the phone rang, and I decided that NO ONE WANTED ME TO GET MY FULL 12 HOURS OF SLEEP, DAMNIT!, and stomped downstairs to wander around for a while before going back upstairs to shower and dress for the day. Saturday afternoon, we were watching Signs, and Fred fell asleep in the loveseat. I decided to go upstairs and take a nap, since the movie was SERIOUSLY putting me to sleep, and he told me just to turn the movie off. Jokingly, as I left the room, I said “Don’t let me sleep past 7!” thinking that he would know, since I didn’t have to make dinner (we had steak, which is his job to cook, and therefore the rest of dinner falls to him as well) I could snooze until 4:30. At 4:00, he came upstairs and sat on the edge of the bed next to me, waking me up. “Did you say I shouldn’t let you sleep past 7?” he said, confusedly. “Yes,” I mumbled. “It was a joke.” “Did you mean 4?” “Thirty,” I said. Miz Poo, who reacts to the sight of Fred near the side of the bed by always jumping up next to me (he always pets her for a few minutes before he leaves in the morning), did so with a chirp. He petted her for a minute, and then set her on my back, up near my shoulder. She settled there and stayed for most of the next half hour, purring in my ear, putting her warm little paw on my cheek. At 4:30 on the dot, he came and woke me up. Sunday morning, as I was sound asleep, Fred came into the bedroom and put his cold-as-ice hand on my shoulder. “Ah!” I shrieked. “GODDAMN THAT’S COLD!” To his credit, he apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I just wanted to know if my running the bathtub will bother you.” “No,” I said, and turned over with a sigh. The fact that it was 6:45 meant that I had at least an hour left to sleep before I needed to haul my lazy ass out of the bed and go exercise. I had just drifted back off to sleep when I heard loud, goony guffaws echoing from the bathroom. “Ha ha ha!” Fred said loudly. “Ha! And ha! And ha ha ha!” I thought briefly about getting up to beat him senseless, but it was so coooold out in the room, and so waaarm under the covers. I let him live. He finished up his bath a little before 8, and I woke to the sounds of him admiring himself in the bathroom mirror. “Oh my!” he said in a lispy falsetto. “Who’s a pretty boy? Who’s a pretty boy! So fancy! Yes, so fancy!” (Which is when I realized he was talking to Fancypants) Later that afternoon, while I was eating lunch, he and the spud started watching The Green Mile. A tad sleepy – and I’ll point out here that I NEVER take afternoon naps during the week, so I have no idea why I take so many on the weekend. Perhaps to escape? – I went upstairs, read for a little while, and then settled in to nap. I’d been asleep for perhaps ten minutes when Fred walked into the room. My brain somehow sensed that he was in the room, and told me to wake my ass up. He was looking at me, surprised. (It occurs to me that this story would be more interesting if I were to claim he was doing something nasty to himself while staring at my naked whiter-than-white ass, but he wasn’t. Because he unfortunately doesn’t live to make my entries more interesting, the selfish bastard) “Oh!” he said. “I didn’t realize you were sleeping!” And then there was some back-and-forth about how much I sleep and how I sleep all the time, and kiss my ass, you freakish needing-no-sleep bastard, and he went back downstairs. Of course I couldn’t get back to sleep, what with the freakin’ dogs across the street barking their fool asses off, and the booming sound of whatever was going on in the movie directly below me. “Oh!” I snarled aloud, finally getting out of the bed and getting dressed. “OF COURSE WE HAVE TO HAVE THE FUCKING MOVIE TURNED UP SO THAT YOU CAN HEAR IT IN EVERY ROOM OF THE HOUSE! OF COURSE! WHY NOT?!” And I stomped downstairs and gave him hate-filled glares. And then he woke me again this morning at 6:35. But this time was okay, because I needed to get up so we could go to the pet store and poop-scoop/ feed the cats. But one of these days he’s going to wake me up, and I’m going to pull his arm off and beat him about the head with it. * * * And speaking of the pet store, we got there this morning and were amazed to find that there were only two cages of cats – and three cats total – and all the other cages were empty. Joy was in one cage, and Sugar Baby and Onion were in the other. It appears that yesterday was a really good day for the kitty adoptions! I was surprised to see Joy back again, though – I was pretty sure she’d been adopted out. But, no kitty pictures for today, except for a really good one of Miz Poo that Fred took over the weekend: ]]>

Adrith will be doing the Disney half-marathon this Sunday, and she’s a little nervous. Take a few minutes Sunday morning to send some positive thoughts and energy her way, won’t you? Go, Adrith!

* * * The spud’s fingernail finally fell off, with a little help from the spud. She came into the computer room and told Fred that the nail looked like it was ready to come off, and then SHOWED HIM, and I was so icked out by even the idea of it that I immediately put my hands over my ears and sang “I can’t HEARRRRRRRR you!” She did show me the nail once it had come off, which was rather cool-looking, but when she showed me her poor nail-less finger, I could only glance at it out of the corner of my eye for a moment before a shiver went down my spine. Yes, I’m a dork. I could clean any manner of nasty-ass litter boxes, but show me something that’s a little bit blood and guts, and I’m ready to run around the room and scream like a little girl. I can’t stand to watch surgeries when Fred flips by them (and stops. He ALWAYS stops) on TV. I have to look away or hide my eyes until Fred tells me it’s over. I have no idea why I’m like that, and after his surgery in the Spring, I had a really REALLY hard time looking at his incisions until they healed. And yet, show me a zit and I’m on it in two seconds flat. Go figure. * * * I talked to my friend Liz yesterday. She turned 35 on December 30th, and called to commiserate about getting old. She doesn’t have a child, and her biological clock is ticking pretty loudly lately. “Older parents are more patient,” I told her soothingly, quoting something I’ve read in more than one magazine. “I know!” she said. “Kids don’t bother me at all anymore. Remember when we were younger? I couldn’t stand anyone’s kids!” And upon thinking about it, I realize that it’s true for me, as well. When I was younger, I couldn’t stand to be around kids who weren’t mine or related to me, I stomped and fumed when kids screamed in my general vicinity, and I thought that people with kids should just keep their asses at home. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to the realization that, y’know what? It’s not my world. People don’t have to make special accommodations so that my lily-white ears don’t have to hear the screams of their children. One of the prices you pay for being alive in this world is that every now and then, some kid is going to be screaming where you can hear them, their parents can’t do anything about it, and if you can’t stand it, keep your own ass at home. Maybe you should just get over yourself, accept that the world goes on turning whether you like it or not, people will (gasp!) bring their babies and kids out in public, and those babies and kids might take it into their heads to scream inconsolably. I think I’m getting mellow in my old age. * * * Warning: TV talk ahead. No spoilers, but if reality TV bores you, skip this next section. I will announce with no shame that we watched The Surreal Life last night, and rather enjoyed it. It was great watching Corey Haim (argh! Feldman, I mean Feldman! Thanks to Say for pointing that out to me!) claim that being vegetarian was a moral issue, only to have Gabrielle Carteris point out two seconds later that he was wearing leather shoes. Emmanuel Lewis has THE most annoying laugh I’ve ever heard in my entire life. I found Hammer and Corey Feldman entirely annoying, and actually liked Playboy bunny Brande Roderick, which I did NOT expect. I didn’t think Jerri Manthey came across as all that bitchy, but Fred disagreed. Then we had an argument over whether she was an attorney who’d sued Mark Burnett, then realized Fred had mixed up Jerri with Stacey Stillman. Which is easy to do, because they resemble each other a lot. Anyway. If you missed The Surreal Life last night, it’ll be on again Sunday night at 6 – that’s central time, so adjust according to your time zone. Speaking of reality TV, I also watched The Bachelorette Wednesday night and enjoyed it. I think that this is a step up from either seasons of The Bachelor for the simple reason that most of the guys who were on the show as the bachelors already knew who Trista was, what she was like, and wanted to meet her specifically, rather than wanting to meet some random woman. If they’re smart, they’ll make the next Bachelor the runner-up in this show. My favorites of the moment are Bob, Brook, and Charlie. That’ll change as the show goes on, I’m sure. * * * I put up albums for Spanky and Spot. I feel very bad about the fact that there are less than 30 pictures of Spot. When I told Fred that we have far fewer pictures of poor, neglected Spot than any of the other cats – Fancypants comes closest, with double the amount of pictures – he said “Well, it’s hard to take a picture under the bed.” Which is where Spot spends a great deal of his time. He has a point, I guess. But I’m going to make a point of taking more pictures of Spot from here on out. When I’m done generating all the albums that need to be generated, I’ll put a link on the front page to an index page for all the albums. I think that’s the easiest way to do it. * * * This is my birthday cake, which Fred went and picked up from the best bakery in town, Peggy Ann’s Bakery. I was surprised to see Mr. Smiley Face, believe me! I expected yellow roses, since we usually opt for the roses at Peggy Ann’s. We’re going out to dinner, and when we get home, I get to open my presents and cut into the cake. I can already tell you that the cake is going to be incredible, because it always is. Thank god the bakery is on the other side of Huntsville, where we rarely go. * * * Friday Five. 1. Where are you right now? In the computer room, sitting in front of my computer, of course. 2. What time is it? 10:06 am. 3. What are you wearing? Gray cotton pants, this shirt, and socks with yellow flowers on the ankles. Oh, and a bra and underwear too, of course. 4. Any people or animals around you? Describe them. Not a one. I think it’s too cold downstairs for the cats, the spud’s at school, and Fred’s at work. Fancypants left me a present of a catnip-filled sock to keep myself busy, though. 5. What are your plans for the weekend? I have no real plans – I need to watch The Good Girl at some point, and we have Signs and Blood Work to watch as well. Lots of movie-watching, I suppose, as well as some housecleaning and the occasional sex. The usual, in other words.]]>

* * * I have been absolutely flooded with e-cards that are funny as hell, and email “Happy birthday”s and the like, and so I’ll take a moment to say thanks, you guys. You rock, you really do. Which I believe I’ve mentioned. Sites going bitchy for the day include Nance (except you can’t see, because you don’t have the super-secret extra-special password, ha! I do, though, and it’s funny as hell), Bonnie, Say, and Debbie. I haven’t opened presents from Fred or the spud yet. We’re going out to eat tomorrow and we’re going to have the birthday cake then, too, so I thought I’d just wait until then to open presents. It’s the anticipation that’s the best part of presents, don’t you think? Speaking of presents, when I told Fred what I wanted for my birthday (“Just stuff from my wish list is fine”), I said, very loudly and firmly and staring into his eyes so he’d get the idea, “IT WOULD NOT BE OUT OF LINE FOR YOU TO GET SOME SMALL THING TO SURPRISE ME WITH.” He understood, and then spent many a day wondering aloud what he might buy to surprise me with, and then yesterday he went to the mall before he came home. We went upstairs to lay down and talk for a few minutes, and then as we got up and headed for the stairs, he turned and looked at the top of my incredibly dusty, yet not cluttered dresser. “Where,” he said in a casual tone, “Are all the candles that were sitting here?” Now, the amount of interest the man has shown in candles in the past amounts to, probably, a negative number. So I turned and smiled at him. “Why?” I asked. “Because you want to make sure I don’t already have the scent you bought me for my birthday?” Taken by surprise, all he could do was laugh, splutter a little, and then call me names. Ha! After 6 years he still hasn’t figured out that there’s very little that gets past me. Silly man.

* * * And Von, you bossy thang, the Poo album is up! Speaking of the albums, I saw a picture of Spanky yesterday that reminded me of something, and I couldn’t think of what it was. It bugged me all day long, and then I realized who it is he was reminding me of. Here’s the picture: For some reason, that goofy look on his face REALLY reminds me of Satchel, the dog from Get Fuzzy: I have no idea why, but to me there’s a striking resemblance. One cannot explain the bitchybrain, one can only stare in admiration at it. * * * Thanks again for making my birthday special, y’all!]]>

How to celebrate Robyn’s birthday (which is tomorrow, so get crackin’) (This idea totally stolen from Mopie) 1. Rename your journal “Bitchypoo” (just for the day). 2. Call your child – or husband, if you don’t have a child – “Spud” all day long. Or call your favorite pet (doesn’t have to be a cat) Miz Poo for the day. Follow your pet around and croon “Mizzzz Poooooo” until it gets annoyed and runs away with it’s ears laid back. 3. During a semi-important meeting or phone call say “I don’t know. What does Robyn think of that?” 4. Wear something yellow (that being my favorite color). 5. When your husband/ significant other/ cat farts for the 53rd time in 10 minutes, narrow your eyes at him/ her/ it and say “You’repissin’meoff.” 6. Change your computer wallpaper to a picture of me. 7. Call your significant other “Ya fuckin’ idiot” out of the blue, for no particular reason. 8. Postpone cleaning the house for another week. 9. Eat a whoopie pie. 10. Take a bath using bath melts, bath fizzies, or bubble bath, and spend the rest of the day making people smell you. 11. Perform a random act of kindness. And don’t forget to email me and tell me what you did! * * * So last night, I spent a huge amount of time trying to figure out how to get the picture navigation pages to look like I want them to look. I looked to see if there was a template I could change, I looked in the Dreamweaver help, I looked in the Macromedia Fireworks help, I did a random search, and I was about to tear my hair out when I got an idea. I went to download.com and searched on “Web Album”, looked at and discarded a few options, and then found the perfect software for me – Web Album Generator. Not only will it generate a web album (duh), but you have complete control on how your web album looks, you can choose background colors, you can choose the size of the thumbnails, and most importantly – at least to me – you can control how the navigation pages look. And it’s free. Too damn cool, that. So I present to you, the first album I made using it. Go check out all the pictures of Fancypants. I’m going to remake Tubby’s web album as well, and move it over to robynanderson.com as well, I think. And of course I’ll keep you informed. Here’s me keeping you informed. I took a break and created the Tubby Pics page and put it up here. All the links from the other day have been changed to the new link. Even if you checked out the pics page the other day, if you’re a Tubby fan, you’ll want to check this one out. Every Tubby pic I have is up there, including ones that haven’t been seen in the journal. For some reason the thumbnails look bad, but the full-sized pics are fine. * * * So I had occasion to go to the post office again today – I had to mail out a piece of hardware we were returning – and while there, I checked the box. Imagine my surprise to find not only a couple of birthday cards, but also a couple of padded envelopes. Did I take pictures? You bet your bippy! From reader Lisa, I got a bag o’ cool birthday stuff that included a “Stress Relief Mini-Spa Kit” (a teabag to make a cup of tea, a bag of bath crystals, and a small candle), which is such a good idea that I may have to steal it in the future! Also, I got a smiley-face notebook, and a CANDY NECKLACE. I don’t expect that candy necklace to last for much longer, believe me. And also, there was a card geared specifically toward ME: Hee! Perfect for me, or what? And from reader Aly in Georgia, I received this cool bandana, as well as an account of the 3-Day she walked in Atlanta last Fall. Have I ever mentioned that my readers rock? No? Well, they do! * * * I watched Joe Millionaire last night (I taped it Monday night so we could watch Everybody Loves Raymond), and I have to say that I don’t find Evan Marriott appealing at ALL, regardless of the fussing and drooling y’all are doing. He does have a great slack-jawed look of befuddlement, though. I’m looking forward to seeing Heidi do some hard physical labor, I’ll tell you that. Please leave the chateau.]]>

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The spud goes back to school tomorrow, and none too soon, if you ask me. She hasn’t rolled her butt out of bed before 10:00 in days, and when she hadn’t gotten up by 11:00 this morning, I went upstairs to make sure she was still alive (she is). At least this week has been better than last week, when she asked me if we could go somewhere almost every day (and we did, almost every day, because I know that if I entertain her for a short amount of time, she’ll in turn go away and entertain herself for a longer period of time). I went to the movie store this morning and rented Signs, Blood Work, Trapped, and The Good Girl. Just before I left to go to the movie store (and the post office, but more on that in a minutes), the spud said “Could you rent 8 Mile?” 8 Mile is going to be the death of me. The spud wanted to see it while my parents, Debbie, and Brian were here, but Debbie and Brian had already seen it, so we didn’t go see it. At the beginning of last week, she said “Could we go see 8 Mile this week?” I looked to see where it was playing, and discovered that it’s not in the theaters anymore. I told her that, and she looked disappointed, but I told her we’d rent it when it came out on video. She seems to be of the impression that once a movie’s no longer in the theaters it’s available on video, despite the fact that I’ve explained to her how it works no less than three times : 1. Movie in theater. 2. Loss-ass wait. 3. Movie available on video and DVD. 4. Long, LONG-ass wait. 5. Movie available on cable movie channels. 6. Several decades pass. 7. Movie available on non-cable channels, with words like “motherfucker” edited all obvious-like into “mother flew where?” Damn 8 Mile. I want to see it if only because Dana made it sound so damn bad, not because I’m an Eminem fan, nosirreebob. I may be surrounded by Eminem fans – Debbie, Brian, and the spud all like him – but I think he’s a bratty little punk-ass punk. And if he tries to kick my ass the way he went after Triumph, I’ll knock him down and sit on his skinny ass. * * * So as mentioned earlier, I went to the post office today, and found a few nice surprises for me, me, meeeeeeeee! Firstly, I emptied the box and found a package from Colorful Images. I’ve ordered things from them before, and I couldn’t for the life of me remember what I’d ordered. When I opened the package, I found smiley-face address labels: How incredibly odd, I thought to myself. I don’t remember ever seeing these before, ever. Then I looked at the packing slip and found that Say had ordered them and had them sent to me! Too cool. And then I found a slip in the box telling me that I had a package that wouldn’t fit. While I was waiting for the mail lady to fetch said box for me, I opened a small padded envelope, and found something that reader Lynn-Ann in Canada had told me would keep my fingers warm, when I whined about how cold they were last week: Not only warm and comfy, but they also PERFECTLY match my jacket! Not to mention that the mittens I wear every morning were starting to get pretty beat up. Awesome. And when the mail lady brought the box to me, I was thrilled to see that it was from Nance. I waited to open it until I got home, and then I found a warm, cozy, PERFECT FOR ME afghan! Nance thinks it’s ugly as hell, but I LOVE AND ADORE it, and I think she should just hush up. Like I told her, I can’t wait until the spud or Fred tries to snuggle up under it, so I can yank it away and tell them to keep their hands OFF, it’s MINE, Nance made it for ME. With such cool birthday gifts, I feel like I’m 35 already! (Heh) * * * This FAQ question is probably the second most popular question asked. Do you and Fred intend to have more children? I have no idea. When we first got together, Fred was adamant that he wanted one child, if not more, but in the years since we’ve gotten married, anytime I suggest that I should go off birth control, he looks panicked and says he’s not ready yet. When asked when he might be ready, he has no clear answer. It’s basically a matter of waiting to see if he really wants one, and I suspect that by the time he makes up his mind, it may be too late, since I’ll probably be about 63. (Kidding….) Myself, I’m happy with the way things are, though if he really wanted a kid, I could be convinced to go down that road. I know that a few years ago we’d decided that I’d go off the Pill and we’d start trying to get pregnant in earnest at a certain time – March of 2000, maybe? – but that time came and went, and it never happened. There’s your answer in a non-answer. I’m happy with the status quo, so it’s a matter of waiting to see what the Master of the House wants to do. (Back to FAQ page) * * * Since my family was here for Christmas and the cats got a chance to hang out in the guest bedroom and didn’t cause any problems (by, say, defecating on the bed), I decided to leave the door open for good. Tubby and Fancypants responded by spending 90% of their day in there, so I threw a sheet over the bedspread. Here they are, hanging out. Tubby’s eyeballing me because he’s worried that I’m about to kick them out.]]>

Christmas Card 2002 stats. Reader Tina in (you guessed it!) Arkansas emailed to tell me of her love for me, and proving it, she sent me a logo! Y’all are some cool-logo-designing fools, you really are. So far, I have logos to carry me through May (or is it June?), each absolutely perfect for me. My readers? Rock. In a big way!

* * * Reader Lena, who loves Tubby to death and always wants more pictures of him, emailed to tell me that her son created this site. I’ve never heard of Happy Vodka, but I love the site! And speaking of Tubby lovers, I spent half the weekend working on this BY HAND before I discovered that Dreamweaver has a “Create Photo Album” command. So I present to you, almost every Tubby picture I’ve ever put up in the journal, here. To find it in the future, go to the cast page, click on “Tubby”, and then go to the bottom of that page and click on “See all the Tubby pictures ever taken!” I do it because I love you, yes I do. If I were truly motivated, I’d go through my personal stash of Tubby pics and add them to that page, but I don’t think that much motivation exists in my lifetime. I do, however, plan on making similar pages for all the other cats, and even perhaps for Fred, the spud, and I. I’ll keep you posted. * * * We got some sad news from Fred’s mother yesterday. She and her husband were out walking Saturday, and they found their cat – Graystone – who had been hit by a car and killed. She emailed and asked if we wanted all their kitty accoutrements – litter box, litter, cat toys – because they’ve decided they’re not going to get another cat. This is the second cat in less than a year they’ve lost; the one before Graystone just disappeared and they have no idea what happened to it. Fred talked to his mother and suggested that they get a girl cat, because they’ve had better luck with girl cats in the past. I don’t know what they’re going to do, but I certainly can’t imagine what it would be like to not have a cat in the house. * * * Fred and the spud watched the crapfest XxX last week while I sat in front of the computer and frittered my life away. Fred kept coming into the computer room and telling me how over-the-top the movie was. Finally, he could stand it no longer and asked me to come into the living room so that he could show me a particular scene. I stood and watched the scene patiently. “Ohhhhh,” I finally said, the light dawning. “It’s a comedy.” I will never again be able to look at Vin Diesel without thinking of Kymm talking about his liver-lipped way of kissing (you have to scroll a bit). Obviously that one line just really struck a chord with me, because I remembered it lo these many (four) months later. And for the record, I don’t think Vin Diesel is sexy. But I know there are many of you out there who do, so I’ll refrain from pointing out his strong resemblance to an ape. Oh, save the hate mail. I’m allowed my opinion, fuckers. * * * Today’s FAQ question (I know that Frequently Asked Question question is redundant, but do I care? I think not) is by far the most popular question. I get at least two emails most weeks asking it, so it really IS a frequently asked question! So why do you and Fred sleep in separate bedrooms? When the spud and I moved to Alabama and into Fred’s apartment, I had my own bedroom, because the spud didn’t know that Fred was anything more than our roommate. For the year or so we lived in the apartment, I always had my own room and Fred had the master bedroom. When we bought the first house we lived in, we were going to share the master bedroom, and for a few weeks we did so. But not only do I (very rarely! really!) snore, I also grind my teeth in my sleep. Fred’s a pretty light sleeper, and when he’s awakened in the middle of the night (oh, did I mention that I also flail around a lot?), he has a hard time falling back asleep. He began suggesting that perhaps I should go sleep in the guest bedroom, but since I was having no problem sleeping, I made it clear that I wasn’t going anywhere. He held out for a few more days before he started getting up and going into the guest bedroom when he was awakened in the middle of the night. After a few weeks, he started just going in there at bedtime, and it’s been that way ever since. We still lay down and talk for half an hour or so every night and snuggle before we hug and kiss and he goes off to his own room. He keeps most of his clothes in the master bedroom, and showers and gets ready for work in the master bathroom, so really we share the master bedroom, but he has his own bed in another room. It works out really well for us, because not only do I not keep him up with my snoring and teeth-grinding, but he doesn’t keep me up with his snoring (although he never really did), and he can shut his bedroom door so that the cats can’t get in to tromp all over him and wake him up. Plus, I’m more of a night owl – he goes to bed shortly after 9:30, and I stay up until close to midnight most nights, reading. And at this point, after several years of sleeping apart, we both really like having our space at night. Sometimes in theory I think I’d like to have him in the same bed, but in reality, I’m glad he’s got his own bed, and he feels the same. It’s not for everyone, but it’s definitely working well for us. (Back to FAQ page) Got a question you’d like answered? Ask away!]]>