Author: Robyn

Sittin’ in a box… sittin’ in a box… I’m Spot, and I’m sittin’ in a box, yeah baybee…

Layin’ in the sun… layin’ in the sun… I’m Spanky (also known as Gomer), and I’m layin’ in the sun purring my fool head off…

When I was sharing pictures of the stuff I bought in G’burg, I forgot my new favorite shirt! Cute, eh? Jest lahk me.

Know what gets all over my nerves and annoys me to no end? When the phone rings (no, that’s not it, though I’d probably be happiest if the phone never ever rang), and the person on the other end says "May I speak to Fred Anderson?", and I say "He’s not here, may I take a message?", and they say "Blah blah blah", and start leaving their message, and then pause and say "Who is this?"

You know what? IT’S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS WHO IT IS. It’s the fucking person who answered the fucking phone, and since the person you want to talk to is either not home or pretending not to be home, LEAVE YOUR FUCKING MESSAGE, AND DON’T WORRY ABOUT WHO I AM.

One of these days, I’m going to say "The woman who ties him up and beats him, if you must know." Or "The hired prostitute." Or "I don’t actually live here, I’m just robbing the place." Or "Your momma, that’s who!" Or "His girlfriend. He’s not home, so I’m taking the chance to snoop through his house." Or "The dog. Woof!"

Back in my bad-credit days, I invariably pretended to not be me. "Is Robyn there?", the creditors would ask. "Nope! Can I take a message?" I’d always say. It always worked, of course – what were they going to say, "Yes you are! You are Robyn, you’re just lying about it!" You always know it’s someone you don’t want to talk to if they ask for you by first and last name, too. Or if they use your full name instead of your nickname.

Thank god for caller id, y’know? The phone rings, you check to see who it is, and if it’s not for you, you yell for who it IS for, so you don’t have to do that awkward making-conversation thing before handing the phone over.

"Oh, hi Robyn! How’s it going?"

"Fine, fine… And you?"

"…. Oh, just great. Just great." Long pause. "So, uh, is Fred there?"

"Sure, hang on…" Just easier to not answer if it’s not for you, y’know?

My friend Liz’s ex got pissy because I’d call and just ask for her instead of bothering with the small talk. "She never TALKS to MEEEE!", he’d whine. He had a very nasally, whiny voice. I hated his ass, I really did. He didn’t seem to understand that just because Liz was my friend, I didn’t necessarily love and adore him as well. Thank god she divorced his loser ass.

Man. I killed three flies in the computer room this morning (that’s what happens when you leave the door open for the kitties to play outside), and two of them are gone. I suspect one of the cats ate them, which is just gross when you think of how much time they all spend licking my hand. Gah.

But that’s okay – whoever it was will simply half-digest the flies and then barf them back up, most likely on the carpet. You know, the light-colored carpet. Next to the stains caused by half-digested barfed-up grass.

Thank god for Oxi-Clean.

 

—– Previously 2000: Am I not an ass-kicking WalkAerobics diva?]]>

So this morning, the Karmic Boomerang(TM) whipped around and kicked me in the ass with lightning-quick reflexes. I was walking into the closet to put the clothes basket away, and Spanky was standing there staring into the fourth dimension, where things were going on that only he could see.

"Move, buddy," I said, and when he went on standing and staring, I touched him lightly on the top of his head to bring his brain back into this dimension. Since he’s the jumpiest, most nervous cat we have (except for Spot, who will sit at the food dish and eat, and if he sees you walking in his general direction, he’ll scream and run away), he did a big, goony jump that made me laugh like a banshee. As he ran out of the closet, I put the laundry basket away and bent down to pick up a shirt.

As I stood up, I banged my head on the ironing board. As I said "Ow!" and rubbed my head, I could hear the whiplike sound of the Karmic Boomerang moving on…

So, last night we watched Lost, and then The Amazing Race. Well, we watched Lost together, and then I went upstairs to watch The Amazing Race, while Fred stayed downstairs and watched the craptastic Fear Factor. I liked both Lost and The Amazing Race (how sweet the sound…), but I’d say I liked The Amazing Race more. Why? Well, because there were 11 teams as opposed to 3 teams on Lost, which meant that it was a lot easier to find people to hate on Race.

And find people to hate I did. Why, first off, there was Frank, who was an obnoxious asshole who at one point actually shoved his wife (from whom he’s separated – gee, wonder why?) when she expressed fear at the thought of going across a zipline in a flimsy li’l harness across a deep gorge. Asshole. I’m sure he thought he was being all playful, but I would have decked his stupid ass.

Then, of course, there was Amie. At one point, the teams had to find something Gorge, and they weren’t provided with directions, so as Amie and her poor fiance Paul were driving in circles, they’d occasionally run across (not literally) a local. "Where’s (something) Gorge?" Amie would shriek, with a voice like nails on a chalkboard. The local would shake his or her head that s/he didn’t know, and the bitch would scream "HOW CAN YOU LIVE HERE AND NOT KNOW WHERE IT IS?!" Personally, had I been someone she screamed that at, I would have responded with "HOW CAN YOU BE SUCH A CU– AND STILL BE ALIVE?!"

I don’t use the "c" word lightly, y’all.

Lastly, and only slightly annoying, was the daughter half of the mother/ daughter team, Emily. Emily was apparently not disciplined nearly enough as a child, because she was prone to whine in a loud, annoying voice, "Come ON, Mooooooom! Hurry UUUUUP!" They should have paired Emily with Frank and let him shove HER around.

My current favorites are Joe and Bill (the gay couple), David and Margaretta (the grandparents), and Nancy, Emily’s mother. Everyone else was neither annoying enough or sweet enough to set off my radar.

Moira, I’m thinking we’d kick ass in The Amazing Race 2…

—– Previously 2000: No entry.]]>

What is it with cats and boxes? There’s an empty box lying on the library floor, and they keep taking turns getting in it and just sitting there. Just sitting there, staring off into space! Do you suppose they’re waiting for the mothership to come get ’em?

Last night, we were watching Small Town X (and may I just say that that Head Investigator Gary Fredo is one cute little number), and it went to commercial, and on came this anti-drug commercial, with a teenage-aged boy and his little brother doing things together like brushing their teeth (or shaving, perhaps, I wasn’t watching that closely), and hanging out, and the little brother was watching his older brother play basketball, and just generally sending adoring looks in his direction no matter what he did. At the end of the commercial, one of the older brother’s friends hands him a joint, and he looks all cool, like he thinks he’s the shit, and then he looks up and sees his disappointed-looking little brother looking at him, and the voiceover says something like "if you take drugs because you want to be cool, what about the people who already think you are?", and the older brother continues to look all confused, like "What the hell do I do now?!"

I turned to Fred and said "He looks all dilemmanated, doesn’t he?"

Fred looked confused. "All what?"

Sometimes you just have to spell everything out for the man.

"Dilemma-nated," I said patiently. "As if he’s struggling with a great dilemma, instead of immediately thinking of the obvious, which would be to hand the joint back and say, with a great look of digust, ‘WHAT, ARE YOU CRAZY?! I DON’T DO DRUGS! DRUGS ARE BAD!’ Dilemmanated."

Robyn And3rson, creator of the future language of America.

Speaking of anti-drug commercials, here’s another one starring Crackhead Bob. The Crackhead Bob commercials are very very sad, but they always make me laugh. NOT because they’re funny, but because they make me think of the time two or three years ago when a Crackhead Bob commercial came on, where Crackhead Bob is speaking, and it’s obvious that the drugs have done some serious damage to the guy, and from across the room, the spud called out with great delight, "It’s Crackhead Bob!"

Lordy.

Hoo doggie, Andrew Vachss has a new Burke novel coming out in September. The 13th Burke novel, according to Amazon, and though I’ve read ’em all, I only own about 4 of theml. I need to rectify that. September’s going to be a good book month, between the new Stephen King/ Peter Straub novel, and now the new Vachss.

I love me some Burke, yes I do.

I note that Andrew Vachss’ publicity tour won’t be bringing him anywhere around here, damnit. Though that’s probably for the best, since no doubt I’d be a blithering idiot if I ever met the man face-to-face.

Blithering idiot is my specialty, you know.

 

—– Previously 2000: Trip to Tennessee.]]>

Now, because I can (this being MY journal and all), I took pictures of all the stuff I bought in G’burg, and I believe I’ll share said pictures with y’all, you lucky LUCKY people.

Kitty earrings! Aren’t they adorable? I don’t wear earrings very often and when I do, they’re usually the diamond studs Himself gave me for my birthday a few years ago, but it’s not the WEARING of the cute kitty earrings that makes me happy, it’s the HAVING.

An itty-bitty metal sleeping kitten figurine that Fred saw in a store and decided I must have. I love that man, have I mentioned?

If the cat ain’t happy ain’t nobody happy – god knows THAT’s the truth. I love the expression on this cat’s face, and we WERE in the Smoky Mountain Cathouse (my favorite store ever), so I bought it. I don’t know where I’m going to hang it – maybe in the laundry room, near the litter box – because Himself doesn’t like that country look.

I bought this one in May and haven’t hung it up yet. I’m sure it’ll go wherever the other one goes.

Ole Smoky Jellies’ strawberry jam. This stuff is SO awesome. We buy some every time we go to G’burg, and it’s just the nectar of the gods. Maybe next time we go I’ll buy a couple of extra jars to give away.

Stuff for my yellow-stuff and happy-face collections. Here we have a heart-shaped smiley-face keychain, a smiley-face magnet, and a yellow vw bug keychain. ‘Cause god knows I don’t have enough yellow OR smiley-faced stuff!

Fred and the spud went into the Adopt-a-Bear Factory, wherein you choose the body of the stuffed animal you want, then take it to be stuffed, and stick a stuffed heart inside, and have it sewn up, and all manners of things, because the spud really wanted to get one. I went inside with them to see what they had, exclaimed over the cuteness of the gray mice bodies, and went outside to wait and people-watch (people are interesting to watch as long as you aren’t trying to get around them). Fred came out some time later and handed me a bag with the above mouse inside. He’d made me a mouse, which he named Bubba, to go with the bear he made me at the Teddy Bear Factory last year (I’m pretty sure the Teddy Bear Factory has gone out of business, by the way), and named Bessie:

Cute, eh?

More yellow and smiley-face and magnet stuff. The yellow cap is self-explanatory, I think, since it’s the PERFECT shade of yellow. The cut-out cat is a magnet – there’s a store of JUST magnets in G’burg, and I could have spent all day there. Then we have the magnet covered with smiley faces, and in the middle is a magnet which states my life philosophy: "My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance."

New additions to my Quarry Cats collection. Here we have Carla (left) and Clyde, who are joining…

Cameron, Carl, and Chelsea (and Catalina, though I don’t have a picture at the moment). I love these things, can you tell? Once I’ve rounded out my collection of the cats, I told Fred we should start on the turtles, and put them out in the garden.

Okay, that’s it. I bought a bunch of yellow stuff, smiley-face stuff, and cat stuff. That really shouldn’t come as a surprise to any of you, if you’ve been paying attention…

—– Previously 2000: No entry.]]>

We were driving down the interstate, and came upon one eighteen-wheeler towing another one, which was backwards and therefore facing us, which was a tad disconcerting.

"Fred, make a face like you’re afraid the eighteen-wheeler’s going to hit us!" The great thing about all the weight Fred has lost, is that he’s more than willing to pose for pictures. In fact, you almost have to wrestle him to the ground to get him OUT of the picture sometimes.

Fred the grinnin’ fool in his brand-spankin-new t-shirt. On the front is a picture of him 155 pounds ago. The text (in red) reads "This was me" on the top, and "Before…" on the bottom. On the back is his url. He claimed to feel all self-conscious when wearing this t-shirt, but he must not have been too terribly self-conscious, since he wore it whenever possible.

We saw a lot of infomercials while we were on vacation – most of them while we were waiting around for the stores on the strip to open – and one that caught our fancy was for some sort of monitoring device for the elderly (think "I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!"), and on this infomercial, there was an elderly gentleman clutching his chest and yelling "I’m having a heart attack!" It amused us a lot, and Fred promptly began reenacting the commercial. This is his "I’m having a heart attack!" look.

The spud slept in a murphy bed, which was cool.

The view from our motel parking lot. I didn’t get many scenery pictures this time out, mostly because we didn’t go driving in the mountains where the scenery is prettiest, and also because I didn’t feel like lugging the camera around with me wherever we went.

Fred had his caricature done, and I think they certainly captured him well. The spud also had hers done, and while it doesn’t look as much like her as Fred’s looks like him, it was pretty good. I need to take a picture of it, which I haven’t done yet.

Isn’t this the most adorable little church? It was located between our parking lot and a mini-mall. I doubt that more than 5 people could have fit in this church, but since I wasn’t around Sunday morning at 8:30, I can’t say for sure.

A close-up of the sign announcing that the pastor of the "Little Country Church" is Ronald Reagan.

Another shot from our parking lot. Fred told me 300 separate times on this trip that the reason they call ’em the Smoky Mountains is because the fog looks like smoke. He tells me that very same thing every time we go to Gatlinburg.

As we were leaving Gatlinburg this morning, I took a shot of the gray, drab, rainy day. It was gray, drab, and rainy the entire time we were there, except for about 10 minutes on Saturday afternoon.

Things that sucked about our vacation: We had to walk down a big-ass hill from our hotel room to the strip of junky tourist stores on the strip. Which wasn’t so much a problem, except that Fred felt the need to do a LOT of walking, and insisted until sometime Sunday afternoon that I had to be with him every time he went into town, and the only way to get BACK to the hotel room was to walk UP said big-ass hill, which was lots and lots of fun. Or not.

Also, the moseying, meandering tourists wandering about the streets of Gatlinburg made me want to go on a killing rampage. THEY WALKED SO FUCKING SLOW. I’d walk patiently along behind one group who would meander along, taking up the entire sidewalk, until there was the smallest of gaps, through which I would shoot, almost running, get past THAT meandering group, and immediately get stuck behind ANOTHER meandering group.

How slow were they? Well, try taking 5 minutes to walk 20 feet, and perhaps you’ll begin to feel my pain. Oh, and imagine that there are annoying people in front of you, who gasp and ooh over every crappy Gatlinburg t-shirt they see. And who stop in their tracks to gaze lovingly at each and every store o’ crap they happen across – and there are many, many stores o’ crap in Gatlinburg, which is why we like it so.

But the people. Man, the people have GOT. TO. GO.

Tomorrow, I’ll take pictures of all the stuff I bought whilst in Gatlinburg, if you’re lucky. —–

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Lights are on, ain’t no one home" Bass was giving me the eye, and I wanted to hang around and see if he’d invite me to party with he and the boys, but I also knew that Fred would be worried, since from Atlanta to Huntsville was a 3-hour drive (sh’yeah, I WISH), and I picked up the cellphone to call him… And he woke me up. Damnit. Now I’ll never know if Lance was going to put the moves on me! They came today and finished putting up the fence on either side of the house (the neighbors on either side of us already had fences, so we just attached to theirs – with their permission, of course). It took them all of 2 hours, and now we have a completely fenced-in back yard. I opened the door for a little while so the cats could go outside, and they weren’t sure how to react. We’ve been in this house for almost a month, and they haven’t been able to go outside that entire time. Maybe they’ve forgotten that they ever were able. The spud has picked up THE MOST ANNOYING FUCKING HABIT of cracking her knuckles FIFTEEN THOUSAND TIMES IN A ROW, and she ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS does it where I can hear, and every time she does it, I bellow at the very top of my lungs "STOP THAT!!!!!", and she says "Oh! Sorry!", and yet six seconds later, she does it again. I think I’m going to sell her to the gypsies. I doubt I’ll be updating tomorrow before we leave for G’burg, and most likely I won’t be updating on Monday, either, since that’s the day we’re coming back. ]]>

bat lady whom he hit, who immediately tried to tell him the whole thing was his fault, has some hoity-toity name, like Colleen Van Andersen Floopenheimer. Of the Madison Van Andersen Floopenheimers, you know. With a name like that, you’d think she’d be driving something better than an ’86 Olds. (Ooh, Fred’s on the phone with Geico, and they’re claiming they’re not going to pay for his car rental, because it’s more than $20 a day. He’s promising to get nasty. I love that man, love him to pieces, ’cause you KNOW if it were me I’d be going "Oh, you won’t pay? Um, okay…") I wonder how it is that I managed to miss out when everyone else was getting the nerve to stand up for themselves and be assholes when necessary? For instance, this morning, I drove my Jeep – you know, the Jeep we just spent $800 on to have all the maintenance work done on it? – to the grocery store (Lucky Charms, if you MUST know), and I was not one-tenth of a mile down the road, when the Jeep dinged at me, and announced that it was low on coolant. Hm. Coolant. Didn’t I see "coolant" on the list of thousand-and-one things they charged us for? Why looky there, yes I did! They charged $13.95 for coolant, and a scant fifteen hours later, I seem to be low on coolant. For a few seconds, I thought about driving down the road to the dealership and throwing a hissyfit. But after I talked to Fred, who told me that we had a thing of anti-freeze in the garage (me: "Anti-freeze is the same as coolant?" Duhhhh), I shrugged it off and didn’t bother to do any such thing. Which means we got GYPPED for $13.95, and I didn’t do anything about it. Because I’m a wimp. And lazy. Actually, I think that it’s my essential laziness that kept me from going to the dealership (and the fact that I didn’t want to fight the traffic to go down 72 to get there) more than my wimpiness. I have to keep up my Laziest Gal in the South title, you know.]]>

service me, bitch! (if I had a dollar for every time I heard THAT….) light at me for, oh, about 5,000 miles, and I decided that RIGHT NOW NOW NOW is when it needed to be taken in and serviced. Especially if we planned to use to to get to Gatlinburg this weekend. So, we went to Enterprise Rent-A-Car yesterday, and rented a Mitsubishi Montero Sport. A white one. It’s nice and all, but it ain’t no Jeep Grand Cherokee. I followed Fred to the car dealership this morning, where he dropped off the car, and then I drove him to work. Later, he called to tell me what the estimate was for the tune-up and everything else that needed to be done. Eight. Hundred. Dollars. Apparently the shitheads who owned the Jeep before us never had any kind of maintenance work done on it whatsoever. Jayzus. At least they were done by 4:30, so I can give the keys to the Montero to Fred, and drive the Jeep if I need to go anywhere. Today, if you’re dying to know, was a very good mail day. First, at the po box, I found a lovely surprise waiting for me from the lovely and thoughtful Athena. Also, I received the Richard Simmons autobiography (shaddup! I love me some Richard Simmons) from beloved reader Dawn, who saw the book on my wish list and offered me her copy. I would, of course, be remiss whilst mentioning mail if I didn’t give Miz Moira big thanks for all the cool stuff she sent from Alaska a couple of weeks ago. Almost makes up for the pain of not being able to go myself. ::sniff:: So thanks, Athena, Dawn, and separated-at-birth twin sister Moira! I love mail, have I mentioned? Then in the afternoon mail, I received many magazines and nary a bill. I love mail days like that! I’ve been hard at work (slight exaggeration, perhaps) over the last few days writing thank you notes to the people who are sponsoring me for the 3Day. I have 40 sponsors, and I received my first donation back in January, and I just now am starting with the thank you notes. How stupid am I? My hand isn’t terribly happy, believe you me. So if you sent in money to sponsor me, your thank you should be arriving this week or early next. If you didn’t send in money to sponsor me, what are you waiting for?! 🙂 Okay, I’m off to write some more thank you notes. That’s all the entertainment you’ll be getting from me today!]]>

I guess I don’t even need to plant morning glories next year, since they grow wild all over the place around here. Nothing makes me happier on my morning walks than to glance to the side of the road, and seeing tons and tons of morning glories smiling up at me. Speaking of my morning walks, I started out on my usual 4.2-mile walk this morning at the usual time. About two minutes in, I noticed that my stomach muscles were really hurting, and wondered to myself why that was, since I hadn’t done crunches since Friday morning. About a mile later, I realized why it was. Last night, around 8:45, Fred and I headed off to bed. I was in front of him, and as I approached the stairs, I noted in the corner of my mind that Tubby was going up the stairs in front of us. I also knew that on the fourth or fifth step up from the bottom, the phone was sitting there, waiting to be taken upstairs and put back on it’s cradle. Just as Tubby passed the phone, he must have seen it out of the corner of his eye, and was surprised and startled that it was there. How can I do justice to what happened next? What he did was POP up about three feet in the air, startling a scream out of me. He then landed back on the stairs, and immediately did another POP, this one not nearly as high. When he landed from the second POP, he scurried up the stairs and sat at the top, looking confused and disgruntled. Fred and I stumbled around, laughing so hard we cried. And that’s why my abs were hurting this morning – because I’d laughed so damn hard. Not only is laughter the best medicine, it also works your abs! What the hell would we do if we didn’t have our cats to laugh at all the time?]]>

Just screams "Robyn", doesn’t it? Well, shaddup, I like it, and that’s what’s important! They delivered our new couch and love seat today – about time! – and I was stunned at how much smaller they are than the old couch and love seat. I guess that would be because the old couch and love seat are overstuffed furniture upon which you’re supposed to throw yourself and lounge in a lazy manner, where the new couch and love seat are more formal, upon which you’re supposed to sit "like a lady" (as my mother would say), with your ankles crossed primly, and your hands folded in your lap. I think I like ’em, but they’re going to take some getting used to. My computer is getting so freakin’ slow that it’s driving me absolutely batshit, and I’m spending way too much time swearing at it. Therefore, I’m going to end this entry (yes, another damn short one!), and probably turn the fucking computer off until Monday. That’s the plan, anyway. I’d like to get some old shows I taped watched this weekend, along with a few (many) naps, and 40 or so thank you notes written and sent out to the wonderful people who are sponsoring me for the 3Day. I owe many of you emails. Hopefully, I’ll get to them Monday. But don’t hold your breath 🙂 Have a great weekend!]]>