Author: Robyn

I was rather sad to have missed the redneck rodeo. My only question: were the rednecks riding or being rode? I’ve noticed that I’m more nervous and feel more vulnerable when traveling by myself, as opposed to when I’m traveling with the spud. I don’t know why that is – it’s not as if the spud will jump up and break out with the Tae Kwon Do if someone attacks us. Maybe it’s that if I’m concentrating on her, I’m not so worried about myself. Of course, after I made the observation to myself that I’m more nervous while traveling alone, I opened the Jeep door and scampered to a nearby receptacle to toss my breakfast trash, leaving the driver’s side door wide open. There could, in fact, be a serial killer in the back of my Jeep this very moment, snuggled up in the quilt I threw back there to cover the computer I’m hauling to Maine for Debbie. Of course, I didn’t look to make sure no one was back there, because I’m too lazy. Newspaper headline: Woman’s death due to own laziness. 55 miles before Bristol, on a corner across from the Citgo where I filled the gas tank and the McDonald’s where I got my egg mcmuffin, there’s a white cross with Jimmy Stubblefield’s name on it. I found myself absorbed with wondering how Jimmy Stubblefield had died. Was it a car accident? Was he driving drunk, or hit by a drunk driver? Did he turn left in front of an 18 wheeler? Was he walking home by the road, or perhaps hitchhiking and hit by a motorist who didn’t see him? It’s a very innocuous, innocent-looking corner, in front of a McDonald’s which could be anywhere. I wonder whose son, whose brother, whose husband he might have been. On A&E as I type this, there’s a show about Susan Smith. I remember how much I hated her when it happened, how angry I became thinking about a mother who thought the easiest way out of what she saw as her personal prison was to kill her child. Now I feel almost sorry for her. Okay, let me change the channel to MTV. I spent my first four hours of traveling this morning listening to Blood and Smoke, Stephen King’s book on cd, as read by Stephen King. Fred hates Stephen King’s voice, finds it absolutely loathsome. I, on the other hand, find it oddly soothing. Why is it that I only have to catch sight of a cop car to feel panicked? I was driving along at 5 miles per hour over the speed limit and caught sight of a cop car nestled in the grass by the side of the road like a cat stalking a rabbit, and immediately hit the brakes, hard. Could I look any guiltier? If I were a cop, I’d pull me over and toss the car for drugs and hooch. "Pardon me, ma’am (they’ve been calling me "ma’am" since I was 19), why exactly is it that you’ve got a computer, a laptop, a digital camera, and a big-ass box of fruit in the back of your vehicle?" For the first time ever in my life, I actually saw a blowout on the highway. I was driving along and suddenly a spray of tire pieces were flying in the air, and the guy in front of me (it was the guy in front of him who had the blowout) went swerving to the left, and I followed him. The guy whose tire blew pulled to the side of the road immediately with no problems, so I kept on going, without pulling over to make sure he was okay (he looked okay) or to see if he wanted a ride to the next exit or to use my cellphone. I felt guilty for not stopping, but not THAT guilty. I can’t always be the good guy, people! That was apparently a bad stretch of road, though, ’cause there were tire pieces for the next several miles from other blowouts. They’re advertising the "Wal-Mart Grille" alongside McDonald’s and Wendy’s on signs on the highway now. I find that rather amusing. Because I’m a dumbass, I guzzled down three very large caffeine-laden diet cokes this morning, and thus had to stop every 45 seconds (exaggeration) to pee. Signs seen on the highway: Speed limit enforced by aircraft. Are they going to shoot me down if I’m speeding? Route 666, Hogwash Road. It’s possible my eyes were playing tricks on me – I only saw it for a split second, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it said. Side by side: 81 North. 77 South. I’m curious as to how the exact same road can be both 81 North and 77 South. According to the compass in the Jeep, I was going East at the time. Jesus is coming soon. Y’all put your nice clothes on, he’ll be here soon! Warning: Pornography picketed here! I saw no picketers, else I would have stopped to take their picture. In fact, I saw no cars by the adult book store, and maybe three cars under the GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! sign. (Note to self: check it out on the way back through next week. It’s the exit after mile 25 in Pennsylvania) Slow down, my Daddy works here! (in faux childish handwriting before forty-five thousand miles of road construction) "Oh yeah? Why don’t you point him out to me, kid, so I can aim for him?" Popped into my head for no particular reason: Know what I’d love to see? I’d absolutely love it if, when a reporter asked the wife of a presidential nominee what her stand on abortion is, the wife turned, looked the reporter in the eye and said "That’s none of your fucking business." Yeah, I know, it’ll never happen. Tubby is the red-headed stepchild of our family. And where the hell did that saying come from, anyone? Why a red-headed stepchild and not a blond stepchild or brunette stepchild? How ’bout blue-eyed stepchild? Anyone? How do we really know that there’s no pain after death? Has anyone come back from the dead and said "Hey, guys, no pain! Come on over!" I find it ironic that while I’m driving down Virginia’s "Technology Corridor", the only thing I can get on my digital cellphone is "no network." Hey, I think I just saw Dawber from Coach driving a piece of shit blue truck down interstate 81 in Virginia. Hi Dawber! Dawber’s picking his nose. Why do people pick their nose while driving down the road in broad daylight? Hi! I can see you! For god’s sake, pull over to the McDonald’s and hide in the bathroom to pick your nose like everyone else does. Tumbleweeds is the movie that Anywhere But Here wanted to be. I am SO going to grow little bitty sunflowers next year. They’re so CUTE. I see by the previews for next week’s Sex and the City that Big is going to leave his wife. I sure as shit hope Carrie makes him SQUIRM. Note to self: Interstate 81 in Pennsylvania fucking sucks. I felt like I was in a boat on rough waters, hitting those small, choppy waves head-on. "I FUCKING hate FUCKING Pennsylvania. Does it EVER fucking do ANYTHING but FUCKING rain here?!" Check out my digs for tonight: All crappy hotel rooms look alike, don’t they? I normally require much more luxurious digs than these.]]>

Miz Poo (okay, HER I’ll link) has been wandering around with her left eye squinted like Popeye the Kitty-girl, so we took her to the vet’s to drop her off, so they could yank out the offending hairs, which are growing inward and poking her in the eyeball. Upon arrival at the vet, we discovered that they would need to sedate her again, so home we came. Fred’s going to drop her off tomorrow on his way to work so that her last memory of me for the next almost two weeks will not be that of terror, pain, and grogginess. I can’t believe I’m leaving my babies for so long. ::Sob:: Note to self: Don’t forget the cellphone. Or directions. Or extra shoes. And change purses. Did I really think I was all packed?? Okay, I’ll be carefully crafting entries every day, but uploading may be sporadic. If you haven’t joined the notify list, you may want to. You know you want to. Go on, go do it now. Think of me tomorrow between 4:30 am and 5 pm, central mountain time. I’ll be dealing with those damn 18 wheelers. Grrr. Stop babbling and say goodnight, Robyn. Goodnight, Robyn. —–]]>

People. The kitten has been incredibly clingy – I know I mentioned that yesterday – and in the middle of the night, I woke up to find her flung across my head, and purring up a storm. A few minutes later, just as I was drifting back to sleep, she slid down my face, walked across my throat and curled up on my arm, which was curled up next to my face. It’s nice to be loved with such dedication. I watched Ride with the Devil last night. Sucky movie, but I now have a major crush on Tobey Maguire. What a little cutie-pie! My favorite line was when he said to Skeet Ulrich (ie, the poor man’s Johnny Depp) "A negra with a gun’s still a nervous thing to me." His delivery – the look on his face, and those gee-whiz eyes – cracked me up. I’m certainly with-it this week. Fred and I have two movies to watch, but I’ve watched all but one of mine. I rock! Last night in bed, Fred and I spent a good ten minutes talking about Survivor. Isn’t that pathetic? I swear, I LOVE that show. That and Sex and the City are my two favorite shows right now. Fred said "It’s like they’re your church, with services on Sunday and Wednesday…" Pardon me while I worship at the Altar o’ Rudy. Did I mention that Fred got Tae Bo tapes from Ebay? He’s done the introductory tape the last few days, and they appear to be kicking his ass just a tad. He’s a better man than I, though – I took one look at Billy Blanks stretching and said "Um, nope. I’m not ready for this!" The cats are suddenly deciding to take closed doors as a personal affront. I was in the downstairs bathroom last night, with the door shut thankyewverymuch, when I saw a fuzzy black paw snake under the door, and reach upwards. A second later, Fancypants let out a mournful howl. Another second later, here came the fuzzy black paw again. What he thought he’d accomplish with that paw, I have no idea. After another mournful howl, I smacked my side of the door and yelled "Cut it out, Fancypants!", whereupon he ran like a bat out of hell up the stairs to hide under the bed. Damn cats. The trip to Maine is looming ever closer, and I just know I’ll be running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off Monday evening throwing everything but the kitchen sink into my suitcase. "I’ll be there for a week, so I need to take… 25 pair of underwear!" I always bring makeup with me to Maine, and I haven’t got a clue why. Not once have I put a single lick of makeup on my face while vacationing in Maine, not a single time. In fact, I can’t recall the last time I put makeup on, period. Probably last Christmas eve, when getting ready to go to Fred’s mother’s house. I’m just not a makeup kinda gal and never have been. I touch my face far too often, and end up rubbing half the makeup off. God forbid I ever get a job where I have to wear makeup all the time. That would totally suck. Y’all have a good weekend!]]>

Survivor last night. For the first time since "the alliance" was formed, I was disgusted by their vote. I think it was shitty of them to use Sean’s vote to get Jenna off the island, but I also think Sean is a total idiot for announcing who he would be voting for. He played right into their hands, which maybe he did on purpose, I don’t know. That reward challenge was, I think, geared toward the women. Since they were lighter, they weren’t having the problems falling through the ropes like the men were. It was nice to see a woman win for a change. I was also glad to see Rudy win the immunity challenge, since he cracks me up. Rich is getting on my nerves, though, with the nekkidness. Who needs to see that? "It’s my birthday, so I’m going to run around in my birthday suit! Wahoo!" Ick. Okay, enough Survivor talk. I watched Drowning Mona Tuesday night. It was a so-so movie, and I suggest you not waste your time. I loved the fact that everyone in the movie drove Yugos, though. And Casey Affleck doesn’t look right with blond hair. I tried to defrag my hard drive this afternoon, so I started the defragger (?) and went upstairs for a couple of hours, and when I came back down, it claimed to still be at 0%. What’s up with that? Anyone? The kitten is being especially cuddlesome these days. I suspect she’s sensing my anxiety about being away from her for almost two weeks (eek!), and responding to that. So help me god, if I come back in August and she’s turned into a Daddy’s girl, there will be hell to pay… I’m just not feeling very chatty today. ]]>

Stamps.com on Fred’s computer – my printer tends to mangle things like envelopes and labels – and can I tell you how freakin’ excited I am? It’s SO cool! I printed out a couple of envelopes last night and was all excited, like the geek I am. And when my labels come, I’ll be able to send out packages from home! Without having to go to the post office! Woohoo! Ahem. The other day in the mail, I received an offer from the publishers of "Real Simple" magazine, which is apparently brand-spanking-new. They’re going to give me a free trial issue of their magazine. The little booklet included in the mailing explained that "Real Simple" is "About creating calm in the middle of chaos." Because, you know, my life is so damn chaotic. Yeah. My sister, the Strep Queen of the World, thought that she had developed strep this weekend. She’d know, I guess, ’cause every time you turn around, she’s got it again. For a few years in a row, she had strep on her birthday, which sounds so very lovely that I’m green with jealousy. I informed her rather strongly that she’d better be feeling better by next week OR ELSE. She went to the doctor Monday and found that it wasn’t strep, in fact, that it was actually tonsillitis. Which sounds just as lovely, doesn’t it? Anyway, she’s on antibiotics and she’s already feeling better, which is a very, very good thing. I spent yesterday going through the cupboards in my kitchen, finding stuff to get rid of. I also cleaned off the top of the very dusty refrigerator and tossed all the junk which had accumulated over the last year or so away. I ended up, altogether, getting about a bag and a half of stuff to get rid of. Our extra room downstairs – the Crap Collector room, we should call it – is rapidly filling with stuff to get rid of. Where the hell does it all come from? Maybe the spud’s toys are mating and producing things we don’t need – towels, coffee mugs, plastic cups. I started reading Neurotica last night, and I highly recommend it. It’s made me laugh out loud more than once since I started reading it, and I don’t remember the last book which did. It’s kind of the literary equivalent of slapstick comedy, at least in parts. In fact, I think I’ll go read it now. Y’all have a good day!]]>

Happy, Texas were right – it was a riot. Down to You and Isn’t She Great sucked – I got 20 minutes into each of them and couldn’t stomach any more. The biggest surprise, though, was Angela’s Ashes. What a great movie. I may even want to ask for that for Christmas. I didn’t think I’d like it, but I forgot how much I like those dark, moody movies. I highly recommend it. Today’s rentals were Magnolia, Drowning Mona, Ride With the Devil, Swingers (Fred hasn’t seen the whole movie), and one other movie I can’t recall at the moment. Oh, the Beach. I’m sure Fred is dying to watch that one with me. Oh wait, he’s supposed to be dead and buried out by the pool. Pretend I didn’t say that. While we’re on the topic of movies, I was flipping channels last night during Once and Again, because I’d seen it before and there was a nasty confrontation coming up which I didn’t want to watch. I’m such a wimp that even a confrontation on TV ties my stomach in knots. Anyway, I was flipping through the thousand and one movie channels we never watch, and came across If Lucy Fell, which I had to stop and watch. Sarah Jessica Parker’s in that movie, and she was so damn cute. What happened between that movie and Sex and the City? I love Sex and the City, don’t get me wrong; 8:00 on Sunday nights, I’m in front of the TV, tuned to HBO, and this most recent Sunday I wouldn’t even come look at the pretty sunset when Fred said I should, because the show had already started. However, Sarah Jessica Parker’s character, Carrie, could not look skankier if she tried. There’s always a bizarre, big-ass flower pinned to her shoulder or she’s got some godawful theme going on with what she’s wearing, like one week she was dressed in some freakish Swiss Miss thing. Maybe it’s my lower-middle-class upbringing, but does New York Chic = Total Skankiness these days? None of the other women look skanky; in fact, they’re usually normally dressed. I don’t want to say anything out of line, here, but maybe Carrie should be looking at her wardrobe when she’s wondering why Big flew the coop. Speaking of Once and Again (which I was before that SJP rant), I just have to say that the kid who plays Jessie has the dreamiest eyes I’ve ever seen. And she’s a total clone, looks-wise, of her mother. Whoever did the casting for that part should be patting themselves on the back. Did everyone run right to Stephen King‘s page to download the first chapter of his current project? I did, and immediately paid the one dollar. I don’t like the fact that Amazon is collecting the money for him; I thought everyone would just send $1 bills and checks for $1 to a post office box. Could you imagine what it would be like if millions of people sent $1 each to a post office box? I’d kinda like to see that. So before I left the house this morning, I shut the back door, and counted the cats and I could have sworn I saw all five of them, but hours and hours later, when Fred opened the back door to go sit outside and call his father, the Tubbyman came out from under the steps and told Fred his tale of woe. The poor guy had been out there for about four hours, and there were marks on the door where he’d been digging, trying to get in. Luckily it was only about 81, and it’s pretty cool under the steps. And if he’d gotten thirsty, there was a whole pool of water for him to drink (it’s safe). Still, I feel awfully bad for him, even though he ate a wasp this morning, and barfed it back up on the living room rug, and then went outside and maimed another wasp, then left it for Miz Poo (whom I have taken to calling "Miss Doopie-doo", for no discernable reason), who tried to eat it before I saw her and squooshed it and took it away so she wouldn’t get stung. On second thought, I don’t feel that bad for him.]]>

The Bold and the Beautiful, and it was pretty damn fun. The pool has gotten downright cold over the last few days. It was up to a very nice 84 for quite a while, but the weather’s cooled off into the 80s during the day, and the pool was a brisk 80 this afternoon. Needless to say, we didn’t swim for long, since we’re wimps. I finished Jemima J Friday night, and was less than pleased. At the end, after having achieved a size 8, Jemima porked ALL the way back up to a 10, the cow. AND she got the guy, and – lucky gal – he still loved her after she got all fat (size 10!). Okay, I’ll cut out the sarcasm, but really. I don’t dislike the book because she lost weight. I dislike the book because her life was crap, she lost weight, and – voila! – everything happened for her. She got the guy, who wouldn’t look twice at her before she lost the weight, she got the job of her dreams, whereas before she lost the weight she couldn’t get her boss to give her a chance at reporting. I’d have had less of a problem if she’d lost the weight and found out that the guy she loved, loved her no matter what she looked like. Am I just babbling, here? Enough about that book, anyway. I finished Big City Eyes, by Delia Ephron, today. Pretty good book. I went through several magazines over the weekend. I’m just a reading machine lately! I received all kinds of little packages in the mail today. I got a free t-shirt from ibelieve, thanks to Heather’s freebies and dealies page; I also got a small bottle of ici, a small bottle of True Love, and a bottle of Jules and Jane hydrator. All stuff I ordered online. Have I mentioned lately that I’m a spoiled rotten wifey? All I’m waiting for now is my bottle of Demeter Angel Food, and my life will be complete. I’ve been spending a lot of time on Napster lately. When I sit in the living room to read, I listen to country music (shut up, I’m a country music fan, you gottaproblemwiddat?) and every now and then a song comes on that I desperately want to hear again (for instance, Sammy Kershaw’s "Politics, Religion, and Her"), so I jot a note to download it on Napster. Napster, I believe I’ve mentioned, rocks in a big way. Miz Poo is sitting on her pillow on my desk, actively grooming each and every part of herself, and she’s making a little grunting noise as she licks. She grooms herself more than any cat I’ve ever seen, and when she does it in the middle of the night, it shakes the entire bed. She’s such a little thing to be shaking a big ol’ king-size bed. I watched the Ellen Degeneres special on HBO last night. It was pretty funny – not laugh-out-loud funny, but smile funny. The only time I really laughed out loud is when she said "Scientists say we only use 10 percent of our brains. Imagine what we could do if we figured out how to use the other 60 percent!" I don’t know why it struck me as so funny, but I howled over that one. You know, there was more I was going to write about today, but for the life of me I can’t recall any of it, so I guess I’ll give up for today.]]>

The Bold and the Beautiful (Brooke, dearie, even I can’t defend your obsession with yet another Forrester man. I thought I hated Macy, but now that she’s gone, I find that I really rather liked her. Leave those men alone, and get on with it), and then ate lunch, and spent the rest of the afternoon reading and watching TV and swimming. Pure laziness, in other words. So the book I’m reading is called Jemima J, and I’m hugely embarrassed to admit that the reason I bought it is because I read an excerpt in Cosmopolitan, and since it’s about a woman who’s 98 pounds overweight (at least at the beginning), it suckered me right in. As I was reading it last night before bed, though, it became pretty apparent that it’d been written by a skinny woman. According to the author, this is what Jemima J eats in a regular day: A huge bowl of cereal before she leaves for work Two bacon sandwiches, which she picks up at a cafe and eats while walking to work A bacon and egg sandwich at 11:30 A salad from the salad bar, with all the fatty fixins – coleslaw, potato salad, pasta salad, cheese Sometimes a cake, sometimes french fries, sometimes cookies, and sometimes another sandwich at teatime. A couple of chocolate bars to eat on the bus on the way home And all kinds of food, as she stuffs her face all evening long Now, give me a freakin’ break. If she ate all that every day, she’d be WAY more than 98 pounds overweight. The author is apparently one of those skinny people who think that fat people do nothing but eat and eat and eat. Secondly, like I’M SURE she’d eat those bacon sandwiches and candy bars in PUBLIC. No fat woman in this WORLD would eat stuff like that in public, where people could make snide and obnoxious comments. In Camryn Manheim’s book, she talked about her first day of work on The Practice, and how they had a big bowl of candy sitting on her (Ellenor’s) desk, and Camryn objected, saying (basically) "The fat girl wouldn’t have a bowl of candy sitting on her desk; she’d have it hidden in a drawer where no one could see it." Ain’t THAT the truth. Jemima J not only can’t seem to get a boyfriend, she can’t even get laid while 98 pounds overweight. I’m sick and fucking tired of skinny people assuming that fat people can’t get laid. Roseanne Barr/ Arnold/ Thomas once said that even at her heaviest she was beating the men off with a stick. There are a lot of overweight women online, and a huge percentage of them are married, with kids, or have boyfriends. Guess what? The skinny chicks DON’T get all the great guys – hell, I’m proof of that. And I have a pretty active sex life, thank you. f Jemima J can’t get a boyfriend, it’s not because of her weight. It’s because of her attitude. That said, I can’t believe how much I’m enjoying this book. I dislike the fact that Jemima J lost all 98 of those extra pounds – in 5 months, no less, with only one slightly concerned character, who thinks Jemima might be anorexic – and that that’s how she’ll find her happiness, but I’m only two-thirds of the way through the book, so things could change. I’m sure she gets her guy in the end; she damn well better! I didn’t mean to get off on a rant, but really. Can you blame me? ]]>

Miz Poo began howling frantically on the other side of the shower door. I opened the door and baby-talked to her, which usually calms her down. I left the door open a crack – she likes to be able to stick her head in the shower and see me without having the door in the way – and went back to showering. Next thing I knew, she’d leapt onto the shower seat, and was hunkered there, her pupils huge as she blinked rapidly against the water raining down on her. Not knowing what else to do, I petted her and baby-talked her some more. She sat there for about two minutes, getting wetter and wetter before finally leaping out of the shower and flopping down on the floormat to fastidiously clean every wet inch of herself. I think if any of the kitties lose their mind and go on a human-throat-gnawing spree, it’ll be her. She’s already a tad mentally imbalanced, but don’t tell her I said that. Speaking of the kitties, we harvested a stalk of catnip the other night. Spot always rubs his face on his catnip leaf for several minutes before eating it, Fancypants does the same, and Skittyboo and Tubbyman run around eating as many catnip leaves as possible, then roll around on the floor and become paranoid, spazzing out at every sound. Miz Poo, however, just doesn’t get it. Catnip does nothing for her, and she sits and watches the boys make fools out of themselves with a big kitty question mark over her little head. We watched The Whole Nine Yards last night, and liked it. I mean, it wasn’t exactly highbrow entertainment but it was, as Fred said, a cute little movie. I’m looking forward to watching Happy, Texas, since no fewer than five of my readers wrote to let me know that it was a great movie. Speaking of my readers, I have discovered that I suddenly have 40 subscribers to my notify list! Ah, just a few hundred more, and I’ll be poised to take over the world… Admire my brand-spanking-new yellow slippers. I bought them yesterday at Linens ‘n Things, and they’re already pretty much my favoritest (non-living) thing in the whole wide world. They are a true, pure, clean, happy yellow; not a trace of that goldish yellow in them. If I were going to get my Jeep painted yellow (which I would DEARLY like to do), this is the exact shade of yellow I’d paint it. Just looking at my new slippers makes me grin like a goon, and feel happy all over. Is this a happy kitty, or what? This is what she does when I rub her belly. She was purring very loudly when I took this picture, too. Note the picture cube behind her. Debbie bought me this picture cube from Old Navy when she was visiting last August. I lost it for a while behind the desk, but I swear I’m going to put pictures in it soon! Let’s see, have I fulfilled my requirements for the day? Babble, babble, babble, picture, babble, picture, babble. Check! I’m off to nap on the clean, warm laundry.]]>