Author: Robyn

my bright idea. So, the spud and I got on the road very very early Friday morning – 4:30 am, in fact – and managed to miss the very worst of the rush hour traffic around Chattanooga. Our next big city was Knoxville. Knoxville, if you’ve never been through there, has a huge, nasty stank about it. I can only guess it’s the smell of factories, but whatever it was, I was only too glad to see it in my rear view mirror. We made it onto I-81 North sometime around 8:30 or so (I’m guessing, because I don’t really remember), and stopped for breakfast at Shoney’s, which took us all of about 20 minutes to eat and get back on the road. Virginia took us FOREVER to get through – we were on 81 North for something along the lines of 8 or 9 hours, and that was me driving with a lead foot. For the first few hours, I drove slower than I wanted to – 7 miles over the speed limit, thank god for cruise control – but sometime after lunch, I realized that if I heard the spud ask “Are we STILL in Virginia?” one more time, I’d have to throw her out the window, and told myself “In for a penny, in for a pound”, and sped up like the true speed demon I am. I only hit 100 once, and that was only briefly. I first noticed the signs for Winchester, VA when we were about 177 miles from it. I did the math and thought to myself “When we’re near Winchester, I’ll only have 100 miles or so to go!” Which would have been cool if there were signs up perhaps every 20 miles announcing the mileage left to Winchester. Instead, every 2 miles, there was a sign. 175 miles to Winchester! 173 miles to Winchester! Which only served to make the journey seem longer. I’d think, “Has it only been 2 miles since the last sign?? I thought it was a lot more than that!” In other words, the trip dragged. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at the clock every now and then and figure out how long it had been since we left home. “Ah, we’ve only been on the road for 2 hours… 4 hours… 8 hours… Miles to go before we get there…” We were finally, finally, about 30 miles from Harrisburg, when my cellphone chirped. I left it on “roam” for the entire trip, but there were certain areas – Virginia’s “Technology Corridor” being one, ironically – where I got a “No Network” on the little screen. Anyway, I had apparently been in a dead area without realizing it, and suddenly the phone chirruped, letting me know that I had voice mail. I scrolled through the options and began listening to the voice mail. Which was a long message from Debbie telling me that her car had broken down in the Bronx. Yippee! While I was listening to the voice mail and exclaiming “Oh, shit! Oh, shit!”, the call waiting kicked in, with Fred on the other line. We talked for a few minutes, then hung up, he to call my parents and I to call Debbie. Luckily, there was a rest area where I could pull over, which I did. I called Debbie, talked to Fred, and after half an hour, I was back on the road to Harrisburg, where the plan was for me to check into the hotel I had reservations at, and then we’d decide what to do. Mapblast is pretty cool, but it fucked up on the very last part of my trip. The last step was “Take I-283 for .5 miles to 495 Eisenhower Blvd”. Which was very well and good, except that I was driving down I-283, which is a separate road from Eisenhower Blvd, and in fact we drove by the Econo Lodge while still on the highway, with no way to get there. “Hey,” I said to the spud. “There’s our hotel…” We both looked at it as we drove by. I took the next exit and doubled back, so everything worked out. But I find that a sad lapse on Mapblast’s part. After we got settled in our room (there was a truly creepy guy hanging around in the lobby, and I couldn’t get the deadbolt on our door to work at first, so I was freaked out, imagining I’d wake up in the middle of the night with Creepy Guy standing over the spud and I, so I made a mental note to pile the spud’s (very heavy) suitcase in front of the door, and the little table on top of that, but I managed to get the deadbolt working later, so all my freakiness was for naught) I called Fred quickly, and then the spud and I went looking for food. Since it was Friday evening, all the restaurants we passed were packed, and we sat in line at the McDonald’s drive-up for five minutes before giving up and then went down the road to Taco Bell, where I ordered a bunch of soft tacos and 4 large Pepsis to take back to the hotel with us. While the spud dug into dinner, I called Fred again, and we discussed our various options, which consisted of my driving to the Bronx, where Debbie, Shaun and Brian were already in a hotel while they were waiting for her car to be fixed; driving home Saturday with the spud; or buying a one-way ticket from Harrisburg to Portland, where my parents could meet her. Since I was about 2 1/2 hours from where Debbie was, I wasn’t much up for that, if only for the reason that I didn’t particularly want to add 5 hours to my driving time, on top of the 12 to 13 hours I had to drive from Harrisburg to home. So Fred called and ordered a one-way ticket, and I found out from the desk clerk how to get to the airport. While the spud flipped through the channels trying to find something good on TV, I took a shower and dozed until Fred called at 11 to say goodnight. I talked him into calling to make sure I was up at 5:10 (I just don’t completely trust the automated system hotels use these days for wakeup calls), and then it was lights out for the spud and I. This is getting long, so I’ll end it here for today, and tell y’all about the rest of my trip tomorrow. Complete with pictures I took while going down the road! (Chill out, I slowed down to 60 to take most of them…)]]>

that, lemmetellya), but just to be sure I needed to go to the hospital to have it x-rayed. After the x-ray, we arrived back at the doctor’s office, and he told us I wouldn’t need a cortisone shot after all. I had a tumor on my knee. The orthopedist who found the tumor was partially retired, so he referred me to the best Orthopedic Surgeon in the area. After more x-rays, it was determined that the tumor – which had been developing for a year or more – had begun eating away at the bone directly under my knee. After what seemed like months and months of x-rays and consultations and more x-rays and more meetings, they operated on my knee. They wouldn’t know until they operated to remove the tumor whether it was cancerous. If it was cancerous, though I didn’t realize it at the time, they may have had to amputate my leg. So while they were removing the tumor and removing bone from my hipbones to pack in the space where the tumor had eaten away, people in the lab were testing tissue from the tumor and determining that it was non-cancerous. Can you see how this whole situation is one I consider lucky? Despite the pain I was in after the operation (they had this fucking NASTY-looking drain on one of my hips, and every time the surgeon or his partner came to check on me, I asked when they were going to take it out. Actually, I asked them as soon as they got there and again before they left. I wanted that motherfucker GONE), I was lucky that the tumor turned out to be noncancerous. I could have had cancer, fought it for months or years, and died. But I was lucky. Other lucky instances in my life: I got pregnant with the spud when I was 19. Instead of running for the hills, her father married me, and to this day continues to send child support. Sadly, it seems in these days that a father actually financially supporting his child is more the exception than the rule. I had the spud at the tender age of 20, and I knew nothing about kids. I lucked out, though – she was a great baby, and she’s a great kid. She did everything exactly when she was supposed to. The instant she turned 6 weeks, she slept through the night. At 6 months, she happily ate solid foods. She walked at 15 months, she talked when she was supposed to, and though she gets attitudinous occasionally, she’s still eager to please instead of a sullen, pouty brat (though I realize that’s yet to come). See? Lucky. What else? Well, I met a man online and after knowing him online and talking to him constantly on the phone, I met him in a hotel in Pennsylvania. In a hotel in Pennsylvania. He could’ve been a psycho, he could’ve raped and killed me. Instead, he turned out to be a normal guy (okay, that’s debatable) and the love of my life. Not to mention pretty freakin’ successful at what he does, and now he’s pulling down the big bucks, wooHOO! How the hell did I get so lucky? Did I have a really bad time of it in a previous life, and this is my payback? Or are the really bad things yet to come? Will I come home one day and find that the spud’s a pot-smoking high school dropout who’s selling drugs out of the basement with her tattooed pimp boyfriend? Will I find Fred in bed with a skanky stripper and a goat who are leaving nasty things all over my nice clean carpet? Will a crack develop in the pool, sending chlorinated water all over the lawn on the hottest day of the year, boiling the grass to a nasty dead brown color? Will the kitten run off with the little black cat who skulks through our front yard from time to time, leaving me with no one to lay across my head at night? Will Tubby sit on Spanky and Mr. Fancypants, leaving Spot to wander the house in solitude, uttering his weird squeaky meows? Maybe I should just shut up and be glad for the lucky life I’ve had, ya think? ]]>

god – 16 years) had been drinking heavily, beer, and I was such an innocent that I thought the taste on his lips and tongue was apple wine. How is it that I, stupid where many other girls would have been cautious, managed to make it out of that experience unscathed? Liz and I took so many chances, and we were always okay. For crying out loud, on a lark one night, when Liz wouldn’t stop playing Van Halen or something, I got out of the car and walked off down a one-way side street she couldn’t drive down. I walked through the scariest fucking part of Lewiston, through the neighborhoods which were the wrong side of the wrong side of the tracks, with nary a qualm. At one o’clock in the morning. The worst fucking part of town, and there I was, wandering along. Liz was losing her mind because she couldn’t find me, and there I was smiling at every scary drug-dealer/ crack whore/ pimp I saw, asking sweetly what time it was. The one and only time we got the shit scared out of us, we were sitting at a red light, and some guys in a big, loud car pulled up next to us. They revved their engine impatiently, and I yelled at the top of my very loud lungs “Oh, I’m impressed!” When the light turned green, they followed us. “They’re following us,” I told Liz. “Go through The Area,” she directed, which is what we called our regular cruising route through the worst part of Lewiston. I did so, and they continued following us. When I turned left onto a small side street, they pulled around us, gunning their engine, pulled in front of us, and slammed on their brakes. Not impressed, I stopped my car and rolled my eyes. Three guys – big guys – jumped out of the car in front of us. Two of them were carrying bats. The third grabbed his crotch. While Liz sat frozen in terror in the passenger’s seat, I acted faster than I’d ever have believed possible. I slammed the gearshift into reverse, and floored it. We flew backwards at something like 40 miles per hour. The guys, satisfied to have scared us, took off in the other direction. I drove to the 7-11 parking lot, where Liz and I quietly freaked out. Did that stop us from cruising The Area? Nope; in fact, I’m pretty sure we did a few more circuits of The Area that night. Up Lisbon Street, right onto Pine, left onto Knox, right onto Ash, left onto Bates, to Main, where we went down Canal and then did it all over again. And over and over and over. Did it at least stop me from yelling obnoxiously at strangers? No. We were driving down Lisbon Street one night, and I saw a bunch of guys walking down the street towards the strip bars. “Woohoo!” I yelled. As a group, they turned and looked at me. “Hey, lady!” one of them yelled. Stumped for a reply, I came up with “Hey, man!” Liz laughed until she snorted about that one. I can’t deny that I look back on those days with a certain fondness. I also look on them with incredulity and a sort of horror. We were so stupid, so sure in our belief that nothing bad could really touch us, that we were infallible. Our naivete astounds me. How often, I wonder, did we come close to making a fatal mistake in our stupidity? We tempted Fate so damn often. The time we picked up two guys and went parking in the parking lot of a church. I exchanged a few kisses with the guy in the front seat with me, while Liz did something that entailed heavy breathing and occasional moaning. How hard would it have been for one of them to pull out a knife or a gun? To strangle one and then the other of us? There was no one around and no one knew where we were. Or the time we met two guys in the mall, and went back to their dorm room at the Lewiston Vocational College. We each sat on a bed and watched TV. When we got up to leave because of my curfew, they were pretty insistent that we stay. We finally just left. It was the summer session, and there weren’t many people around. How difficult would it have been for them to force us to stay? The list just goes on and on. There are so many people in this world who aren’t tempting Fate, who are jogging around a lake, or walking to a mall, or walking down their street, or sleeping in their own beds, and they are brutally raped or murdered or both. Why is that? Why is it that two dumbass kids like Liz and I can waltz around, doing something dumb here, something incredibly stupid there, and never have something like that happen to us? With all the chances we took, how is that? Is what I’ve always told myself I believed, life is a crapshoot, is that true?]]>

When Fred and I woke up this morning, this is the sight greeting us. This is the second time in three months this particular family has had their yard tp’d – in fact, as far as I know, they’re the only family in our neighborhood whose been tp’d at all. I guess either one of the boys (probably the 7th grader) has an admirer, or a couple of pain-in-the-ass friends. I’m running around (well, actually I’m just sitting here, but it feels like I’m running around) trying to get stuff done before tomorrow. I don’t know why I felt the need to dedicate 2 hours to clearing the crap off my desk this morning; it’s not like I’m leaving for a month or even a week. But I cleared off my desk, got the files in my desk drawer in shape, and got all the bills in a single pile. And did laundry, and got the house ready for the cleaning lady. Speaking of the cleaning lady, Fred and I agreed last night that today would be her last day. The cleaning service raised their rate by $7 a week, which we can still more than afford, but it means we’d be spending almost $300 a month on cleaning, and I just can’t justify that, when I can very well clean myself. Much as I hate cleaning. So, starting next week, Friday will be Cleaning Day. You know I’m going to have to come up with a graphic for that. Fred called his mother last week to tell her he was going to go see Tony Robbins in Denver next month, and what I heard sounded like this: “Hey, Mom, guess what? I’m going to Denver next month to see Tony Robbins…. Tony Robbins. … He’s a motivational speaker. Maybe you’ve seen him on TV. Tall guy, big teeth? Oh, well. The first night I’m there, I’m gonna walk across a bed of hot coals, barefoot. … No, Mom, it’s not a cult. It’s NOT a cult, Mom. I’m telling you, it isn’t a cult. It’s just an exercise to show me that I can do whatever I set my mind to, even overcoming a fear like that. Yes, I *know* that if it were a cult I’d say it weren’t. I’ll tell you what. I’ll bring you some of his tapes to listen to, and you decide if you think he’s a cult leader. Yes, Mom, I know that’s how they get people into a cult. But this isn’t a cult. CULT PEOPLE DON’T WALK ON COALS! IT’S JUST AN EXERCISE IN OVERCOMING FEARS! (exasperation) Fine, Mom, it’s a cult. Would you just listen to the tapes if I bring you some? Fine. Love you… Bye.” So he went out and bought her the Personal Power II “starter kit” – the first four tapes – and took them to her house last weekend, telling her that if she liked them, he’d buy her the whole set. Last night, he called and asked how she liked them, and she said that she likes them a lot, but he shouldn’t spend all that money ($200) on her. Fred got all exasperated, because while $200 is a lot of money to his mom – money she can’t afford – he can afford to spend that kind of money on her. And today, he went ahead and ordered the set for her. I hope she really likes the tapes and wasn’t just saying that. It’s coming up on 2:30, and I still have yet to actually pack (don’t lecture me – it’ll take all of an hour to throw all of the spud’s clothes in a suitcase and some toys in another suitcase). There will be entries up on Friday and Saturday, assuming I can get Fred to upload them and send a message to the notify list. If not, I’ll put everything up sometime Sunday. I will drive carefully, thanks for your good wishes, and if you see an amethyst colored Jeep somewhere on 81N in Virginia, honk and wave. I’m sure I’ll just squint at you suspiciously, but it’ll give me something to write about when I get back (“I don’t know what the fuck was going on, but these people were honking at me really loudly and waving. They looked kind of crazy…”) See you in a few days! —–]]>

Girl, Interrupted, and by the time it was over, Fred was home. While he went for a swim, I ran to the movie store to return all the movies I’d rented Friday, and when I got home we talked for a few minutes before he started dinner. We had some incredibly good pinto beans with dinner. Then we listened to our Tony Robbins tape (hush up, y’all), watched Survivor, tried to go for a swim (too windy, making any wet parts sticking out of the water cold), and then Fred took a bath while I came downstairs and talked to my sister on IRC. Does this entry sound as rushed as I feel? I feel the urgent need to get something up tonight, and it’s after 11, thus way past my bedtime. Tomorrow, I should be a tad less rushed – though I do have to do all sorts of things to get ready for the trip to Pennsylvania.]]>

so good, especially the strawberries. Ah, gotta love the fruit… I guess our days of sunshine and blue skies is over with; it’s been overcast all day and it just started raining. I hope the weather’s nice on Friday while I drive to Pennsylvania. According to Mapquest, it should take me 15 hours to get to Pennsylvania. According to Mapblast, 13 hours and 15 minutes. According to Fred, who’s actually done the drive, it’s 11 hours. Any way you slice it, it’s going to be one hell of a long drive. ]]>

Dan’s Chocolates, and Fred’s stepfather, Jack, is getting bath fizzies from Garden Botanika – we sent bath fizzies, amongst other things, to Fred’s mom for Mother’s Day, and they were apparently a big hit with Jack – and Fred is getting a gift certificate for his dad from a golf store, so we’re all set. Except for all the Father’s Day cards I have to go out and buy, of course, which will add up to a lot, because I got into the habit of sending Father’s Day cards to the spud’s grandfather and great-grandfathers, along with cards for Fred and the spud’s father. I think a trip to Wal-Mart is in order. Fred left work early today, because his ears have been bothering him for the last few days, and he and I both assumed it was his ear infection, back again. When he went to the doctor today, she told him there was no fluid behind his eardrum, and she didn’t know what the problem was. She was going to give him ear drops, but he still has some at home. She also looked at his nasty toenail (actually the reason he made the appointment in the first place) and informed him that he was suffering from a fungus, for which he gets to take lamisil pills for some ungodly period of time. Which is better than it could have been – we were afraid his foot was slowly rotting off. Which would have sucked.]]>

received. Say it with me, folks: I don’t fucking think so. When Fred got home, he called Amazon for me. He has a much easier time being an ass to people he doesn’t know (yes, I know y’all are surprised!), and therefore he’s this family’s designated asshole. He got some kid at Amazon, who listened to the whole story, and then wanted to talk directly to me. When he got me on the phone, he proceeded to tell me that I would have to deal directly with the seller and try to get a refund from him. Because the seller’s been so good at communicating thus far, you know. So I handed the phone back to Fred, who just went to town on the kid. When he was apparently getting nowhere with the kid, he asked for his supervisor, who the kid claimed was not available. Then he asked for his supervisor’s supervisor, who oddly was also not available. It went on in this vein for a few minutes, until Fred asked "How do you know? Are you the designated tracker for all the supervisors?", which broke the kid’s pattern (that’s a Tony Robbins-ism) and got him somewhere. I can fill out a claim form to Amazon, saying that the product I received was not the product advertised in the auction, and Amazon will decide whether to refund my money. All is not lost, however. If Amazon doesn’t refund my money, I’ll call the credit card company and dispute the charge. Thank god for Visa. We have a bird feeder hanging off the fence, behind the pool, and while we were floating around Wednesday afternoon, we noticed that there was a bird partaking of some fine quality generic birdseed. We discussed how unusual it was that the bird would be eating, with us so close. Then we forgot he was there, and went on to discuss other matters. Suddenly, we heard a loud noise, and birdseed scattered, covering a wide swath of the lawn near the fence. When I turned to look, the bird feeder was swinging wildly back and forth, the bird had flown off, and Fancypants was looking disgruntled. Apparently he’d done a high leap and hit the bird feeder in an attempt to catch the bird. We heard many loud, excited chirps from the tall tree in the next yard over, so apparently the bird had gone over to tell all his friends not to bother with the feeder in our yard. Yesterday morning, Fancypants, Spanky, and Spot spent a large amount of the morning laying on the lawn directly underneath the bird feeder. Birds would fly to the top of the fence, peer at the bird feeder, and then peer to where the cats were sitting completely still, laugh heartily, and flit off to a bird feeder next door. Poor kitties. I guess they’ll have to be satisfied with the grasshoppers and crickets they find in the yard. While I’m talking about bad online experiences, I’ll mention Fred’s experience with drugstore.com. He went on and ordered a bunch of stuff last week, and when he was finalizing his order, he was informed that he would be receiving a free something or other, since this was his first order with them. Okay, whatever. The next day, he got an email from drugstore.com’s customer service, informing him that he wasn’t eligible for the free item because someone at this address had purchased stuff from them before, and received a free whatever at that point. Okay, whatever. Except, instead of just sending the stuff he ordered – and wanted – they canceled his fucking order. Can you believe that? Idiots. He was furious, and emailed them telling him he hadn’t asked for a free thing, didn’t want a free thing, and he guessed drugstore.com wasn’t the only fish in the internet. They haven’t emailed back yet, begging his forgiveness and offering him an extra-special $15 off coupon. Fuck ’em. I don’t know whether we’re going to go to Gatlinburg for the 4th of July or not. We had intended to, but when Fred started calling to see what houses were available for rental, it appeared that all the good ones were taken. Other people, it would appear, thought far, far ahead and made their reservations months in advance. That’s what Fred gets for wanting to be "spontaneous", I told him. Coming down the stairs, I hear *thump*chirrup*thump*chirrup*thump*chirrup* This would be the kitten, who has caught and killed her toy with the long string on it, and is bringing it to Mommy, so Mommy will coo over her and scritch her on the head. Speaking of the kitten, I was dead to the world at 3 am this morning, when I was rudely awakened by her using her cold, cold little paws to smack me repeatedly on the back. She does this when I’m sleeping on my stomach, because she wants me to turn over on my side, so she can climb up on my arm and lay along my neck. I was so dead asleep, though, that even though I was awakened, I didn’t know what was going on, so I lifted my head up and petted her, then dozed back off. She tried smacking me some more – I vaguely recall it – then gave up and climbed up on my pillow and draped herself over my head. After a few minutes of her fur tickling my nose, I realized what was going on and turned over. She was happy, and settled in against my neck for a few minutes, until she heard one of the other cats making noise in another part of the house and had to go investigate. Y’all have a good weekend! ]]>

JC Penney this morning (note to self: JC Penney has online shopping) in hopes of finding her a couple of nice outfits, as well as a dress, because she’s wearing dresses my mother made for her two years ago and it drives me crazy. Oh, I hate shopping. Especially at stores like JC Penney, where we wandered around and around and around before we found a couple of acceptable shirts and shorts. I couldn’t, for the life of me, find a decent dress – they were all “career casuals” or sleeveless tank dresses, and she won’t wear sleeveless anything. So we bought the stuff I’d found and went out into the mall, stopping here and there to poke through various stores, before we made it to Dillard’s, where we wandered around for another 45 minutes before I FINALLY found a dress. At least in Wal-Mart I know where to find everything. And everything’s CHEAP. For 2 1/2 outfits and a dress, I dropped $110 at the mall. I hate the mall. I hate shopping. When I was growing in the womb, my love-to-shop organ failed to develop. o after we shopped at the mall, we went to Office Depot and bought the spud’s school supplies. They’ve completely revamped the store since last I was there – I guess it’s been a couple of months – but we still managed to find everything. There went $50, out the window. Damn, I hate spending money. And damn, could this entry be any more boring? Oh look, it’s Robyn, bitching. How unusual. I’m in a bad mood. I need to go swimming. I want Fred to stop being busy at work and talk to me on IRC. I want it to be time to leave for Pennsylvania, to see Deb and Brian (and my Mom). I want it to be time to go to Gatlinburg. I want the kitten to let me hug her and kiss her, instead of jumping up on the desk and prancing back and forth across my keyboard. I need a nap.]]>

Since the movies I rented on Friday had to be back by tonight, I watched For Love of the Game yesterday afternoon, Eye of the Beholder last night after Fred went to bed, and Crazy in Alabama this morning. To my surprise, Crazy in Alabama was actually a good little movie; that cute little Lucas Black can do no wrong in my eyes. And I usually loathe Melanie Griffith, but she was surprisingly charming in this movie. It’s not for everyone – I know Fred would term it a "suck movie" – but I liked it. The other two movies were pretty much a waste of time, though. I’m so excited! Fred has the opportunity to go see Tony Robbins in Denver at the end of July, and not only is he going to go, but I’m going with him! I’m not going to go to the Tony Robbins seminar, but I’ve never been to Denver (or most states around there), so while Fred’s busy I’m going to find sightseeing, touristy things to do. If any of y’all have ever been to Denver and have any suggestions, let me know! We also decided that we’re going to spend the 4th of July weekend in Gatlinburg. Between the trips to Gatlinburg, Denver, and driving back and forth to Pennsylvania and Maine, I’ll do more traveling this summer than I have since we drove from Maine to California to catch the plane for Guam when I was 8 or thereabouts. Ah, world traveler, me. My sister went to Montana last Fall (was it Fall, Deb?), because she’s always, always wanted to visit there. I’d like to see Montana someday, myself. I promised her that when I won the lottery, I’d buy her a house in Montana, as long as I could stay with her a few times a year. I’d also like to visit the Outer Banks (NC), Seattle, Texas, Arizona, Virginia (though I’ve been through it, and actually stayed in a hotel in Virginia for one night – well, one or two nights, I don’t recall – I didn’t really experience the state, since I was locked in a hotel room with Fred, having large amounts of sex), Boston (been through it, been into it to go to the airport to pick up a friend, but never did the tourist thing), and New York City. Not to mention the thousand and one other countries I’d like to visit – Scotland chief amongst them. Maybe someday. —–]]>