Author: Robyn

[deleted] I told you about where it’s $20 to set up and $20 a month after that, unlimited internet access? Well, I got the disk from them today, and do you suppose it worked? Of COURSE not!! Fuckin’ A!! So, I was SO pissed off that I was going to clean (gasp!), but my clothes were in piles all over the living room rug (’cause I was doing laundry (double gasp!), which desperately needed to be vacuumed, so I decided to bake instead. I looked through the cookbook to see what I could make, and I ended up making an "Easy Fudge Cake", which is that cake Mom used to occasionally make, with the fudge sauce on the bottom. So I made the cake part, and I was attempting to measure out the brown sugar that went in the sauce part, and of COURSE it (the brown sugar) was hard as a rock, so I was scraaaaaaaping it out, a little at a time, and a big ol’ boulder of brown sugar came flying out and disintegrated all over hell and creation. But I remained calm. I finished making the cake and put it in the oven, and went and got the vacuum cleaner and vacuumed up the foot and a half of brown sugar coating the kitchen floor, and then I decided to take the garbage out. And, because no one bothered to tell me we’re almost out of garbage bags, I didn’t bother to buy more, so I went around the house and tried to fit all the garbage in one garbage bag. Well, in the bottom of the kitchen garbage can, there is a cup of (clean) kitty litter (because it absorbs odors), and when I upended the kitchen garbage can over the garbage bag I was filling, retardedly forgetting that there was kitty litter in the bottom, kitty litter went everywhere. And at the same moment, the FUCKING smoke detector went off, ’cause some of the sauce in the cake had spilled over and landed on the bottom of the oven and begun to burn, thereupon sending billows of reeking smoke throughout the house, which I somehow had failed to notice. And I yelled "Any fucking thing else?!", addressing, I guess, God. But he didn’t answer. So I vacuumed up the FUCKING kitty litter and had a frozen pizza for lunch, and some of the "Easy Fudge Cake" with vanilla ice cream for dessert, and it was GOOD. And I’m still waiting for that stupid-ass cat to shit out that ribbon. And [the ex] may or may not be going to start work at the BOQ (which is different from the BEQ, which is where he is right now) at night. Because the woman working at the BOQ right now has put in a request to be moved to days because she is a single mother with a one year-old, and she has to pay a gazillion dollars for daycare (I mean nightcare) while she’s at work, and then she has to go home and take care of the kid all day long, too, so she isn’t getting much sleep. I hope he DOES start working nights, ’cause I sure wouldn’t mind at all, except for the fact that he’d be around all day, which would be a great big pain in my ass. I NEED A JOB!! Hey, if I came back to Maine, would you hire me back at the errand service?!* (har de har) Take it easy and write back when you can. *Refers to the fact that I put "Deb’s Errand Service" on my resume to bulk it up at one point, and claimed that I’d worked at said errand service for three years until the owner, Deb, quit the business to go back to school. Needless to say, there never was a Deb’s Errand Service, but Deb was willing to pose as the aforementioned owner and give me a sterling reference should anyone call to check. No one ever called to check, but I did get a pretty good temporary Admin Ass job from it. People in charge of hiring never really seem to check references, at least in my experience. Y’all have a good weekend! ]]>

Boston Public and then read an article about Hannibal before you go to bed? Well, I don’t know what happens when YOU do, but when I do, I immediately fall into a deep sleep wherein I dream that Harry Senate from Boston Public and I catch Williams Hinks, the serial killer who was stalking Lindsay on The Practice, and after we’d caught him, we cooked him in a spicy red sauce and served him over angel hair pasta. Yeah. I had some weird dreams last night. In fact, I’ve had weird dreams the last few nights. I wonder if it’s ’cause I’m supposed to be starting my period today, and thus my hormones are running wild? That, or the fact that I’m staying up a little later than usual these days, because when you can sleep in until 6:45 am, 9:30 pm is just a tad too early for bed, even when you’re like me and really really like to sleep. Last week sometime, on Beth‘s forum board, the topic was door-to-door solicitors and how you deal with them. I posted a reply that said, in part, We get the occasional solicitor, but much in the way I refuse to answer the phone if I don’t recognize the number, I don’t open the door if I don’t recognize the person. I don’t give a shit if they can see me or not; if I don’t know them, I don’t open the door. I was on the phone with Fred, who was at work, on Monday, and as I sat on the loveseat and chatted, the doorbell rang. "Who the hell is that?" Fred asked. I snuck to the bedroom window and look out to see a nicely dressed woman standing in the middle of the driveway watching another nicely dressed woman who was standing on the porch ringing our doorbell. "Oh shit, it’s church people!" I hissed to Fred, and then ran into the bathroom to hide until they went away. This morning as I was sitting in front of the computer, I saw a nicely dressed young man across the street knocking on the front door of our neighbors. I got up and went to clean out the litter box, and as I was cleaning said litter box, the doorbell rang. I stepped in toward the washer and hid there until he went away. Yeah, that’s me, not giving a shit if they can see me or not… —–]]>

Slow Motion by Dani Shapiro, which I liked a lot. I caught Dani Shapiro’s name in one of the myriad magazines I read – Glamour? Marie Claire? Cosmo? I don’t remember which – where she’s a frequent contributor, and read the review of the book, immediately purchased it, and left it sitting on the shelf for something like 2 years. You know, if I had ANY self-control at all, I’d wait to buy these books ’til they come out in paperback. God knows I always have more than enough books to last me for the better part of a year, and yet I keep on buying. What’s up with that? But I digress…) or take a nap, and Fred informed me that he was going to take a bath. "Want to take one with me?" he asked with a come-hither look. I just grinned and went back to my silent contemplation of my two options – book, or nap? Nap or book? He shut the bathroom door behind him, and a few minutes later opened it and gave me the waggly-eyebrow look again. I smiled, he shut the door, and two minutes later the whole scenario played itself out again. After about the fourth time, I decided he wasn’t kidding. The last time we tried to take a bath together, there was 208 pounds more of us, and we hadn’t had much luck. Hell, we were lucky the tub hadn’t cracked down the middle and sent us through the floor into the basement. Since there was an entire Rosie O’Donnell less of us, I decided to give it a go. Fred turned off the water and sat down in the tub. Once he was settled, I stepped into the tub and sat down facing him. He was sitting with his legs along the outside of the tub (it’s a garden/ jacuzzi-type tub, if I haven’t mentioned that), and when I settled in, my legs were kind of tucked under his, with my feet resting dangerously close to his butt. Pleased that we’d managed to fit comfortably in the tub, we splashed and passed the bath bomb back and forth, making conversation and tickling each other. Keep in mind that we’re both still fat, people. Though we’ve lost a lot of weight, we still have a ways to go. And the tub isn’t really a tub built for two, either. After about five minutes, I said I’d get out of the tub so he could go on with his bath. And then it occurred to us that we were going to have one hell of a time figuring how to move around so that I could get out. The bath bomb had made things a tad slippery, you see. Finally, Fred told me that he could move to the side and kind of prop himself up while I got my feet under me. With visions of having to call the paramedics to rescue us dancing in our heads, he did so. "Careful!" he said repeatedly, worried that I was going to do damage to the family jewels. I flailed around, trying to get my slippery feet under me, the slipperiness of the tub not making it any too easy. His cries of "CAREFUL!" changed to "Hurry, I can’t hold this position much longer!", and then, just as my foot grazed his ass, just as I was about get my feet under me and triumphantly rise to a standing position, before I knew what was going on, I felt a violent chain of bubbles hit the top of my foot and at the same time Fred let out a gentle moan. As I drew in a breath to ask what was going on, a rancid stink drifted past my nose. He’d farted on my foot. The bastard. —–]]>

Shelley and her brother did when they were kids (I think it was Shelley…) Actually, I did go through a stage about five years back when I circled the shows I wanted to watch in the TV Guide. It’s no coincidence that that was back when I was still with the ex.]]>

did – wrote to me, basically saying that she was never going to visit either of our sites again and that I shouldn’t respond to her email. Naturally, I was left surprised with a big cartoonish question mark over my head. I mean, what the fuck did I do? It reminds me of when the cats are sitting around, and Tubby for no reason whatsoever kicks his hind foot at Miz Poo, so she turns around and smacks Spanky – who was minding his own business – upside the head. I swear, I was just sitting there minding my own business… Boy, do I hurt. I don’t know what I did to myself, but both my calves are stiff and are aching. I’d blame it on the fact that I spent three hours cleaning the upstairs (are ya shocked?? I cleaned upstairs, and IT’S NOT UPSTAIRS CLEANING DAY! Do you feel like your world is a little off-kilter? Well, mine too – as I was dusting the living room, I was musing about how much I was looking forward to seeing Survivor 2 tonight; that’s okay, though, I’ll just watch Temptation Island instead!), but they were hurting before I even went upstairs to clean. I’m sure it’s due to the fact that I’ve been exercising for something like 3 weeks without a day off (’twas a personal challenge to myself). Oh, poor, poor pitiful me… Speaking of poor, pitiful me, a special smack upside the head goes to Fred, who suggested I take some of his hydrocodone last night – we’re both coughing a lot these last few days – knowing FULL WELL that one of the side effects of said Hydrocodone is CONSTIPATION. Well, I won’t share any details (for which I’m sure y’all are eternally grateful), but do you think I need to have my system clogged up the day before Weigh Day? I THINK NOT. Speaking of Temptation Island (which I was up there somewhere), I have a prediction about tonight’s show. I’ll be interested to see if I’m right. Remember how at the end of last week’s show, Ytossi wanted to make a tape for Taheed, but he didn’t want to make one for her? My prediction is that she’s going to say something in the tape she makes for him that gives the producers a heads up that they have a kid together. I got the distinct impression last week that she’s ready for the game to be over. Anyone else get that impression? I just realized this morning that they’re rerunning Survivor 2 against Temptation Island. Tough decision, but I know I’ll be watching T.I, since I’ve already seen S2. Oh, and lest I forget – thanks to whomever nominated me for the Diarist Awards! (Now don’t forget to go vote if you have a journal. Again, it doesn’t have to be for me, but do go vote!) —–]]>

iet journal for more). By the time I was done exercising, it was 8:39. Since I didn’t have to wash and dry my hair, I figured that was plenty of time, especially since the hair salon is only about 3 minutes away. Well, because of Fred (have I mentioned that EVERYTHING is that man’s fault?) who had to call and read a hilarious email from Moira to me, I ended up being 7 minutes late. It was no biggie, though, ’cause I’ve surely waited longer than that for Bev to show up, more than once. I thought Bev would fall on the floor in a dead faint when I told her I was going to grow my hair out. I’ve had the same hairstyle since she’s been cutting my hair, and god knows the poor woman is probably bored to death with me. She ended up cutting two inches off the back and sides of my hair (Fred’s going to come home and say "It looks shorter. I thought you were going to let it grow!" He’ll never believe me when I explain that to grow your hair out, you have to keep cutting it until all the layers have caught up). And then she blew it out straight, which I will just NEVER get the hang of. How is it that they can do magical things to your hair in the beauty salon that you can never duplicate at home? Maybe it has something to do with the 45 tons of hairstyling goop she put in my hair, ya think? How cool is it that they’re running the first show of Survivor 2 tomorrow night? I just may have to check it out again. Maybe this time I’ll remember more of their names. I wouldn’t count on it, though. So, I’ve been reading a huge backlog of magazines for about two weeks now, and I ran across this picture in either US or People, or possibly even Entertainment Weekly:
Any idea who that blonde in the middle is? I, personally, thought it was one of the Dixie Chicks. Fred knew at first glance who it was, though: Alexis Arquette. I don’t know about that Arquette family. And I’ll never understand how David Arquette got Courtney Cox to marry him. If he’s not the most annoying guy in Hollywood, I don’t know who is. So Fred and I were talking about one of his employees last week – Paul – and told me that he (Paul) told Fred that Sela Ward is on his list of 5 famous women he’s allowed to boink, should the opportunity ever arise. C’mon, you KNOW you’ve thought about it, so don’t sit there and look all disapproving. Naturally, I asked Fred who’d go on his list, and off the top of his head he came up with about 40 names (okay, slight exaggeration there). For the most part they were kinda freaky looking chicks – Debi Mazar, Fairuza Balk, and Heather Paige Kent. He also had Drew Barrymore (who is pretty cute, in my opinion) and Angelina Jolie on his list – though he only thought Angelina Jolie was "hot" in Hackers. The upside to hearing his list of boinkable women is that every time I see one of them on TV or in a magazine, I can point at them and say, in an exceedingly snotty voice, "Oh look, there’s your GIRL." The downside, of course, is that either I look freaky like the women on his list, or I look nothing like them at all – I’m not sure which I’d prefer. Sadly, the only names I could come up with for my list were Jack Black and Matthew Perry. Sarcastic funny guys – yeah, they’ve got NOTHING in common with my husband, do they? Oh, I just thought of someone else – Denis Leary. Hubba hubba! As we were talking about our lists, all I could think of was the Friends episode when Ross came up with his list. He ended up bumping Isabella Rossellini for someone else at the suggestion of either Chandler or Joey, their reasoning being that he was less likely to ever run into her because she was an international star and from Italy (?). At the end of the show, he saw her in Central Perk, and Rachel encouraged him to approach her, saying that she (Rachel) would consider it a freebie. Ross walked up to her, showed her his card listing his five women, and explained the deal to her. She looked at the card and said "But my name isn’t on here." Ross said "Oh, it’s not a final list!" She looked at it, front and back, and said "But it’s lam-ee-nay-ted!" Every time I hear the word "laminated", I hear her saying "lam-ee-nay-ted!" I have a sad, pathetic life, don’t I? Why must I carry that entire plot around in my brain? Well, here’s another one. Whenever I hear the word "familiar", I think of the scene in Parenthood where Martha Plimpton has told Dianne Wiest, who just got home with her date, Paul Linke (who coincidentally played Officer Grossman on CHiPs, the finest series ever aired)(aside from The Brady Bunch, that is)(I was going to marry Jon, after Donny Osmond got married and broke my heart) that she (Martha Plimpton) is pregnant. Dianne Wiest pours a drink and says, more to herself than to her date, "I’m too young to be a grandmother! I was at Woodstock!" He says "You were at Woodstock? I was at Woodstock!", and she looks at him and says "I THOUGHT you looked fer-MILL-yer!" I hear "fer-MILL-yer!" every single time someone says "familiar." "Jesus christ, she’s recounting plot points from TV shows and movies! What’s she going to do next, describe her dryer lint in excruciating detail?" Thank you! Thankyaverramuch, ladies and germs! I’ll be here all week! —–]]>

this link. Go check it out, and if the cat isn’t in his bed, go check out the gallery. What an adorable cat – I have one of his pictures set as my wallpaper, and every time I look at it I grin. But don’t tell Miz Poo I’m admiring another cat, please… Speaking of Miz Poo, we had the back door open yesterday while we were eating dinner, and when it got rather cold, I shut the door. All the cats were inside except for her, and she always runs away when you go out to make her come inside, so I figured I’d leave the door closed and check on her in about ten minutes, sure that she’d want to come in. Naturally, I completely forgot she was even out there. Two hours later, Fred opened the door to go outside, and she shot through the doorway, her eyes big and dark with the horror of it all. No doubt she thought she’d be spending the night out there, or perhaps the rest of her life. After bitching about it for a few minutes, she settled down for a long nap, none the worse for wear. I’m always accidentally leaving someone out there – Spot spent an entire night out there in the summer, and Tubby has spent many an hour out there. They’re all still alive, so don’t feel too sorry for them. I’m off to sit on my lazy ass and read, so y’all have a good weekend! —–]]>