Author: Robyn

someone sent me an email consisting of the word "sex" typed in about a thousand times – cracked me up, it did – and she only got two chili peppers! As I emailed and told her, I guess I must’ve gotten mixed up and "fuck" is what gives you an automatic three peppers. I could have sworn it was something far less offensive, though… And just so y’all know, when I download my email, I always (well, ever since I got the newest version of Eudora, anyway) open the ones with chili peppers first. What can I say? I’m just the kinda gal who likes profanity in her daily email… I have errands to run, groceries to buy, places to go, things to DO, and here I sit on my ass in front of the computer, checking 3WA for new posts, watching Miz Poo sniff around Fred’s fancified dress-up shoes, dribbling diet coke down the front of me. At least I’ve got a good deal of my Christmas shopping done. That’s only because I could buy it all online, you know, so don’t be too impressed. Have I worked at all on getting my shit moved over to robynanderson? No, I have not, I have done not one single, solitary lick of work on anything resembling my site (except for the kicking Christmas design I did in ten minutes flat last Friday morning, and which makes me feel all tingly and happy inside every time I look at it, because that’s the sort of doof I am). I am just terribly inflicted with a nasty case of the lazies lately and though it’s annoying, I did read three books in two days this weekend, so at least I’m accomplishing something while I sit on my rapidly widening ass all the time. The cats are about to run out of food, and the spud’s hamsters need a new wheel (funny story: the spud takes the wheel out of the hamsters’ cage at night, because if she doesn’t, they runrunrun on it all night long and it goes squeaksqueaksqueak constantly and she doesn’t sleep well. So last Thursday I think it was, the spud calls down to me where I’m sitting in front of the computer (big shock, there), sounding like she’s about to cry, and she comes down and has the hamster wheel in her hands, and it’s squished absolutely flat as a pancake – if I’d been thinking, I’d’ve taken a picture – because when she had taken it out of the cage the night before she’d set it on the floor and in a dazed morning stumble Thursday morning, she stepped all over it and flattened it), I need to order more pictures of the spud to send out as Christmas presents, the stairs desperately need a good Swiffer’ing, and the upstairs could use a thorough vacuuming, since we put the Christmas tree up this weekend (or I guess I should say Fred put the tree up this weekend, and the spud and I decorated it), and the cats have been laying under it, getting fake pine needles all over them, and then tracking them throughout the house. And yet here I sit, typing, typing, typing. 2 1/2 hours later… Well, somehow I managed to get my ass in gear and hit the grocery store, movie store, Petco and Wal-Mart. Going to Wal-Mart at 11:30 in the morning three weeks before Christmas is probably one of the dumber things I’ve done lately. I got a parking space right next to the garden shop by some stroke of luck, but it was incredibly packed in there. I was only going in to buy some plastic balls to hang on the trees (we bought five or six packs of the shiny ones – I’m not sure exactly what they’re made of, but they’re breakable – our first Christmas together four years ago, and the cats just killed the last one we had by bouncing it down the stairs until it shattered). I managed to get a pack of 50 for $6, so I consider that money well-spent. I also needed to get some gift certificates for Tracy’s kids, because I have nary a clue what to get them anymore. Speaking of Tracy’s kids, I was talking to my mother Sunday night, and she said that Tracy had said that his daughter, Mireya, absolutely loved the shirts with cats on them that I’d sent her. I sat without speaking for several long moments as I racked my brain trying to recall shirts I might have bought for Mireya and came up blank. I honestly don’t think I’ve sent anything but money and gift certificates for at least the last two years for either of Tracy’s kids. But hey – at least I’m getting credit for something I didn’t send, so two thumbs up to that! I got an email last night that sent me into a bitter seething rage of jealousy. Is this not the most perfect domain and journal name? Man, I wish I’d come up with that one first…
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Oh, how I loathe the Mad Shitter, let me count the ways… I was sitting in front of my computer Saturday morning, waiting for Fred to get home with the groceries so the spud and I could help drag them upstairs and into the kitchen. As I was busily surfing, I half-heard the spud saying "What are you doing? I hope you’re not pooping…" After a few seconds, what she’d said sunk in, and I whipped around to see the Mad Shitter in the corner near Fred’s desk, hunkering down to lay down the law, so to speak. "You little bastard!" I yelled, and then ran at him. He stayed in position until I was just about on top of him, and then he ran, dropping two turds on his way across the room and up the stairs. You’ll be proud of me, to know that I didn’t run after him, grab him by the nape of the neck and toss his fancy ass out the door for all eternity, but I certainly thought some very mean and hateful things about the little bastard. Moving along… I downloaded the newest version of Eudora and found to my delight that it includes a "moodwatch" deal, where it rates incoming and outgoing email with chili peppers, one being the lowest rating (well, actually none being the lowest rating) and three being the highest rating. I find that I’m really quite thrilled to receive a 3-chili pepper email, and my friend Moira almost always rates 3 chili peppers. Don’t be too impressed though, y’all. Apparently one single use of the word "sex" will earn you 3 chili peppers.

I was laying in bed the other morning on my left side, when Miz Poo came sniffing along. Most of the time when she finds me laying on my left side, she’s thrilled, because that’s the position I have to be in for her to climb up and drape herself over my head. She won’t do it when I’m laying on my right side, I don’t know why, but I guess I should be grateful ’cause otherwise she’d always be laying on my head and I’d be walking around with a flat head. So on this particular morning, she came sniffing along and stopped at my face, leaning in and sniffing wildly. As I have come to do, I opened my mouth, and she leaned in ever closer, sniffing and sniffing. After a few seconds of intense sniffing, she stopped, backed up a little bit, stared at me, and made a deep groaning noise in the back of her throat. Her eyes went all wide and dark and she took off, running as though the hounds of hell were after her. —–

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Know what I really, really hate? (Y’all are saying "Um, EVERYTHING", aren’t you?) I loathe it when a father is described as "babysitting" his children. God, that just gets all over me. Here’s a tip: If they’re your own children, it’s NEVER "babysitting." That would, instead, be called "parenting." You can thank me later. While we’re on the subject of things that drive me crazy, there’s this thing they do on TV – well, truthfully, until a few weeks ago, I’d only seen it happen on soap operas, but apparently it’s spreading. On Felicity a few weeks ago, one of the characters had slept with her boyfriend’s lab partner and was trying to decide whether to tell him (her boyfriend, that is – one hopes the lab partner would remember on his own). In the meantime he finds out that she had an affair with one of her professors a year or so before they met, and he shows up at her dorm room all upset. "I just found out!" he says. "How could you not tell me about it?!" And she responds by saying "Oh my god, I was going to tell you, I just didn’t know how!" He goes on to say "I know it was before we met, but you still should have told me!" And she gets confused and says "What are you talking about?" Eventually, they get it all straightened out that he was talking about the professor. But here’s what bugs me: he never comes back and says "Wait. What did you think I was talking about??" Honestly, if it were me, I’d realize pretty quickly that she was freaking out that I’d found out about something, and it obviously wasn’t the professor. It just annoys me. I can’t help it, I’m weird. But then, y’all knew that. So. Momma’s got a brand new toy:

It’s my brand-spanking-new Nokia phone – not the $300 one, the least expensive one I could find. It’s the one you can buy different colored faceplates to switch out with the black faceplate it comes with. Naturally, I had to have the yellow one. Cool, isn’t it? Just looking at it makes me all kinds of happy. It’s the little things, you know. I was never a fan of our old Ericsson phone, and when I had a little money in my pocket, I went right ahead and ordered the Nokia from Powertel instead of waiting for Fred to sell the Ericsson phone on Ebay (which he’s been promising to do for three months now). It came via UPS the day before yesterday, and the yellow faceplate, which I bought off of Ebay the same day I ordered the phone, arrived the same day. I’ve been using it like mad all day long. While we’re sharing pictures, here’s one where Spanky illustrates why his new nickname is "Gomer."

And here’s one of Miz Poo, the Mad Shitter, and Tubby. Miz Poo doesn’t generally snuggle up with the boys, but I guess she was in the mood for kitty love.

The Mad Shitter doesn’t even look like a cat laying over there on that pillow, does he? He looks like a dead racoon or something. A dead racoon who could desperately use a brushing. I also spent part of the morning making kitty movies. The first one is Miz Poo being freaked out by a shadow. The second one is Miz Poo and Gomer laying in the sun cleaning themselves. Ignore my dorky voice if you would. Okay, I promise, no more kitty pics for a while. Don’t look at me all skeptical-like. I’m serious!… Well, maybe.

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It also reminded me, for some reason, of the time I put one single egg on to boil (I was going to make an egg salad sandwich for lunch), and I got on the phone with my friend Denise, and some twenty minutes or so later, I heard a loud bang – like a gunshot, I tell you – from the kitchen, and I was freaking out and about to call the cops when I peered in there and saw exploded egg all over the place, because the water had boiled away and all.

It also, speaking of Denise, reminds me of the 20-oz bottle of diet coke I left in the back of my car when I was a senior in high school, and I think I bought the bottle in the winter, and it stayed there, freezing and unfreezing, until sometime in the Spring, when my friend Liz (who was sitting in the front) and Denise (sitting in the back) and I were going somewhere – perhaps the mall – and there was a loud explosion from the back of the car, and I swerved all over the place before pulling over to the side of the road, and looked back at Denise, and she was sitting there, wide-eyed, with frozen pieces of diet coke and small pieces of plastic all over her.

Moira thought it a funny story, so I thought I’d share with y’all because I’m so kind and thoughtful, and all I had to do was cut & paste instead of searching for something interesting to come up with. And I’ll take this opportunity, while I’m thinking of it, to ask if you’ve joined my notify list. If you haven’t, well, WHY THE HELL NOT??
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Man, am I ready to start jettisoning cats left and right (except, of course, for Miz Poo). This morning I decided I’d get Fred to help me take the mattress and boxspring off the bed so I could wash the skirt covering the boxspring and vacuum under the bed since it’s been about two years since I last did so. Before he left a little before 6, we stripped the bed and put the mattress and boxspring against the wall. Four hours or so later (after exercising, cleaning the basement, and taking my shower) I went back upstairs to get dressed and vacuum under the bed. While vacuuming not only under the bed but also under the two bedside tables, I glanced to my left and saw the comforter, which I’d tossed in the corner when we were stripping the bed. Except, it didn’t look quite right. I went closer to look and imagine my thrill – one or more of our little bastards had decided to shit on the comforter because they didn’t like that things were different. You know, Miz Poo NEVER poos anywhere but the litter box. I don’t know who did defile the comforter, but I have my suspicions (oops, almost linked to the spud on that one!). Damn those damn boy cats, shitting all over the damn place (though I know they don’t really shit all OVER the place; this sort of thing only really happens a few times a year but when it does it REALLY pisses me off). I seriously considered just tossing the little bastards out the back door and leaving them there all day, but since I don’t know for sure who did it, I can’t really blame them all, can I? Fred stopped on the way home and bought a new bed-in-a-bag. Fucking $300. If I knew whodunnit, I’d beat that $300 right out of his ass, the little bastard. I don’t even dare to leave the door to the master bedroom open because when we got the spud’s new bed the Christmas before last and set it up, someone ran in there and peed all over the damn thing when I was out of the room for three minutes. I sure as shit don’t want any of them doing the same to our new comforter, so for now they’re banished when we’re not in the room. The problem with having so many cats is that you never really know who to blame. I’ll be back tomorrow and in a better mood.

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Well, I’m certainly glad I didn’t freak any of you out with that letter yesterday. I was afraid I might, but it appears not, except for my sister, who told me she was afraid to look directly at the screen while she read the letter because she didn’t know what the hell was going on. Hee! Since I haven’t done a mostly-pictures entry in a while, I think I’ll post pictures of recent new acquisitions in BitchyLand, ’cause I’m feeling lazy and all. Enjoy!

Isn’t this about the cutest little plant? I saw it in the grocery store last week and just had to have it, since it was only 99 cents and half off and I’ve been wanting an ivy plant for the house for a while now. It desperately needs repotting, and I have the pot and the potting soil, but there’s nary an ounce of get-up-and-go in my body these days.

Fred has taken to buying me flowers when he gets groceries on Saturday mornings. This is the latest bouquet. Pretty, no? Am I married to the most thoughtful man, or what?

This would be the handiwork of the spud. When we were at Michael’s last week buying ornaments for her to paint and send out as presents from her, she asked if we could buy this so she could paint it. Apparently both reindeer come from the Rudolph line, since they both have red noses.

Isn’t this Puffkin a cutie-pie? It’s a refrigerator magnet! I bought it because it’s yellow (I adore all things yellow), and because we have the full-sized non-magnetic version of this, which Miz Poo likes to occasionally beat up and carry around.

Another Puffkin-magnet.

Bought because it’s yellow and pretty cute.

This isn’t brand new, but I don’t think I’ve put a picture of it in here yet. It was a birthday present from my sister, and it cracks me up. I need to find a yellow candle for it, I think.

I bought this candle at Dollywood. I love it, love it, love it. How can you look at this thing and stay in a bad mood? You can’t.

Another Puffkin, this one full-sized, in honor of the holiday season. Doesn’t hurt that he’s yellow, either. Although I am suddenly very frightened. Why is it that none of these Puffkins have no arms? How is it that I’m just now noticing this frightening fact?

Fred bought this monkey for me at the Birmingham Zoo. He’s right at home in my small, exclusive stuffed animal collection. I’d say Dana would be jealous, but no doubt she’s got one of her own.

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beloved, my true love, my heart is and will always remain yours. —–]]>

Robin, but not Robyn. They did have a Robyn refrigerator magnet at a store in Gatlinburg, so I bought it. It’s very rare that they have my name, though. So I looked through the racks of names, searching futilely for my own name. Of course they didn’t have it – they didn’t even have Robin – but they did have Destiny, Destinee, and Cheyenne. Hard to believe that those names have become so commonplace. The cats are just driving me nuts. Miz Poo spent the entire night wanting me to be in another position than the one I was laying in. If I was laying on my right side, she sat behind me and smacked me with her cold little paw until I turned onto my left side (she will only lay on my head if I’m laying on my left side). If I was laying on my left side, she sat behind me and dug frantically at the comforter until I turned over and held it up for her so she could crawl between the comforter and sheet and curl up. If I was on my back, she crawled between my legs, pinning them so that I couldn’t move them without dislodging her and receiving a chirp of displeasure. If I was on my stomach, she hopped up on my ass and smacked at at the jiggly fat located there. All night, I was turning from one side to the other at her whim. At some point, the Mad Shitter and Spanky got into a loud, squalling fight on the bed until I hit them with a pillow and they launched themselves across the room and went thumping down the stairs. Spot came looking for love ’round about 1 am, and the Mad Shitter, Jr. (so called because at least when he does it inside, it’s in the litter box) tried to sneak up between the two piles of pillows to sleep, and I had to put a stop to that. I’m amazed that the hamsters didn’t break out of their cage and travel across the house to come climb in my bed and leave hamster droppings everywhere. Of course, the Mad Shitter, Jr. would have eaten them before they got anywhere near me. What’s up with those Puffkins? Suddenly I’m seeing them everywhere, and they’re just cute as hell. The spud and I went into the Hallmark store at the mall, and they had these adorable little Puffkins that were magnets. Of course I bought a couple, because I am powerless in the face of adorableness. I also hit Bath and Body Works and spent waaaay too much money, but just couldn’t help it! I mean, bars of soap that are usually $3 each, on sale for 5 for $5? Buy three antibacterial soap pumps, get one free? Buy three wallflowers, get one free? I’m only human, people, I couldn’t stop myself from filling up a basket they conveniently provided for me. I reallly love their Cucumber-Melon scent. I guess it’s a good thing I only go to the mall once every two years.
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::drool:: Think Fred could explain that one to his parents? "Oh, Robyn didn’t want to have to spend Thanksgiving with y’all, but she’s gone to Nebraska to spend the holiday with strangers…" Yeah, that’d go over well. Make up the couch for me, Marcia, we’ll eat all day and then string lights around the house all evening! We’re actually doing a toned-down Thanksgiving this year, since we’re trying to do that whole "eating right" thing, so we’re making a turkey breast instead of a whole turkey, and various vegetables (squash casserole, since Fred thinks it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without it), Fred’s extra-special cornbread dressing, and of COURSE pumpkin pie. Fred doesn’t care about the pumpkin pie, but I’d have to have a hissy fit if there were no pumpkin pie. We already have the pumpkin pie, actually – what, you think I make it myself? Hell no, the three times in my life I’ve tried to make a pumpkin pie it was not a good thing, and so we buy them from the store – and it’s sitting in the refrigerator seductively calling my name. I must resist and be strong… I spent a good part of the morning doing errands, running to the grocery store for a few things Fred forgot when he got groceries (well, didn’t forget, just didn’t know we needed them), to Wal-Mart for this and that, to the movie store (Gladiator is out! Woohoo!), and of course to Wendy’s for lunch (I always have lunch from Wendy’s on Tuesday’s, have I mentioned that?) The bell-ringer from the Salvation Army was already out in front of Wal-Mart ringing his loud-ass bell (do they have to be so damn loud?), and I feel incredibly guilty if I don’t stop and put money in his pot (that sounds dirty, doesn’t it?), so I stopped not only on the way in, but also on the way out, drooling over the Krispy Kreme he was munching on. So, have y’all seen MTV’s newest idiotic show, Jackass? Whilst flipping through the channels one evening, Fred stopped to watch it. It happened to be the show where they had people eating hard-boiled eggs (an homage to Cool Hand Luke, I am told), barfing into large buckets, and eating more, et cetera. Since the sight and sound of people barfing makes me, in turn, want to vomit (I really hate it when people throw up unexpectedly on ER) I asked Fred to change the channel. He wanted to watch "just a little bit more", and so I got up and went in the other room and read until the show was over. Since then, when confronted with the show, I refuse to even stay in the same room. Even thinking about the damn show makes me feel incredibly hostile, because it’s a completely worthless show. I mean, between the hamster sex and the Mad Shitter (so called because if the litter box isn’t sparkling clean, – and I mean SPARKLING CLEAN, I clean the damn thing out every single morning, and sometimes it just isn’t clean enough for him, the bastard – he uses my bathmat as his litter box, and if THAT isn’t available, he finds someplace equally disturbing to go. He’s on my shit list, so to speak. Hee!), I see enough nasty stuff in my life. I don’t need to see it on MTV. I guess I’m getting old and VH-1 is really more my speed, anyway.
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