Author: Robyn

Crack always makes me want to speed! Is that a gun in your holster, or are you just happy to see me? So I’m doing laundry on Wednesday this week, since we’ll be in Gatlinburg over the weekend. I’m starting to get kind of excited about our vacation, though nowhere near as excited as Fred. It’s supposed to be rainy the whole time we’re there – which figures – but I don’t think we had planned to do many outdoor activities. There will be plenty of sitting in the hottub, though, lemme tell you. Fred was on the phone last week, and the call waiting clicked. He put the call on hold and picked it up. Suspiciously – because this was the very day I’d placed an order with Peapod and accidentally given them my real number (something of which I do not make a habit) – it was a telemarketer. "Hi, I’m with blah-blah-blah and we’re doing a survey on grocery store buying habits," he said. Fred smirked at me and said "Oh, we don’t eat." and clicked back over to his other call. The only way that would have been funnier is if we had a video phone.

I bet telemarketers have people say "No, I’m busy right now, but if you’ll give me your home phone number, I’ll call you back." ALL THE TIME. I first heard Seinfeld use it in his act sometime in the 80’s and someone presents it as a fresh new way to deal with telemarketers every few months or so. Personally, my favorite method of dealing with is to press the button on my "Easy Hang-up" box, and hang up the phone. What that does is play a VERY LOUD beep three times, and then a voice comes on and says "This phone number does not accept these kinds of calls. Please put this phone number on your "do not call" list." Y’all don’t email me and tell me telemarketers are people who have to pay their bills, too. I have zip, zero, zilch sympathy for them.

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dream house. We’re completely, totally in love with this house, and with minor revisions we want to build this house someday. We went so far as to send in the $4 for the study plans, and when they came and we could look them over in more detail, we were just blown away. The master suite has a sitting area, 3-sided fireplace, wet bar, and tiled exercise area. It’s absolutely incredible, except for the fact that it’s designed with a stucco exterior, which if you know my husband – and big fan of bricks, he is – you’d know that stucco ain’t gonna fly. I went to Linens n Things this morning to buy for myself pillows like the ones Fred bought for himself Friday. I haven’t been in that store since last summer when my sister was visiting, and consequently I forgot how much I love it. I especially love the kitchen stuff – it’s so bright and shiny, and I’m desperate to take one of everything home with me. Oh, and the towels all look so pretty and comfortable, not to mention the walls and walls of comforters. I could live in that store, if not for the fact that it’s Fred’s money I’m spending these days. I can’t believe that I’m continuing to get up at 6 am, even though I could sleep in for half the morning. It’s kind of annoying, to tell the truth. Part of the problem, I’m sure, is that I go to bed when Fred goes to bed, so I’m in bed by 10 every night. A girl can only get so much sleep, and by the time Fred leaves in the morning, I’ve had pretty close to 8 hours. Damn, I just found out none of my "home" links at the bottom of the page work, at least not in May. Could y’all have mentioned that, maybe? Hmph. I’m scared to see how far back the mis-link goes. Probably to the beginning of the year. I can’t believe I’ve been doing this journalling thing for over 7 months now. I also can’t believe we’re almost 6 months into 2000. How’d that happen? So, we’re getting ready for the big family vacation, and Fred’s all kinds of excited. The spud and I went to Winn Dixie and stocked up on soda, and bought a few things for the trip. Tomorrow, we’ll hit Publix and buy the stuff I didn’t get today. Why didn’t I get them?, you ask. Because the spud was making the wheel on the shopping cart squeak as much as humanly possible, and I was afraid I would lose my mind and snatch her baldheaded if we didn’t go home right then. You’ll be relieved to know that she still has a full head of hair. For the time being, anyway. ]]>

(click on the image to see the full picture) After Wal-Mart, we came home, loaded the Jeep up with more boxes, and headed out again. This time, we dumped the boxes off at the dumpster behind the DI offices, calling on Fred to come give us a hand. That Jeep was jam-packed with boxes, lemmetellya, and there are still 3 or 4 boxes yet to be hauled away. When the boxes had been dumped, we went to the cat store to pet and covet all the cats. (This, by the way, is the same cat store where we got Tubby and the kitten (I almost typed "Tubby and the spud" there)) There were several kittens there, but none were particularly friendly. We spent ten or fifteen minutes in the "cat room" where they keep most of the adult cats, petting and talking to the various cats. Most of them were pretty friendly, but a black and white declawed female was after my heart, meowing almost constantly, rubbing on my legs, then jumping up on a cat tower so she could be face to face with me. This time, however, we left with only a bag full of cat toys. We waited until after we’d eaten lunch to get out the new cat toys, but once we did the kitten was thrilled to have new toys to lose under the couch. She was pretty much a blur for a while as she ran from one toy to another. Finally, she settled down with the orange feather duster and took a breather. The other cats sat and watched her run back and forth like a dork, shaking their kitty heads in disgust. "She’s a CAT, not a DOG," they said to each other. "She’s not supposed to FETCH. What a disgrace to the feline species." And then they laid back, kicked their hind legs in the air and licked their butts.
Okay, I guess this whole entry can’t be about the cats, so I’ll refer to the notes I jotted to myself this morning. Fred’s smooth ass. Cops. Rude bitch in Wal-Mart. Creepy guy in Wal-Mart. Well, doesn’t it sound like y’all are in for a treat! First off, I just have to say that my husband has the smoothest ass, ever. Ever. It’s as smooth as – nay, smoother than – a baby’s bottom. And how does he achieve this silky smoothness? Does he loofah twice a day and rub baby oil into his cheeks with a soft cotton cloth? Nope. Does he use special, extra-softening body wash in the shower, perhaps? Use an exfoliating rub? No and no. He does nothing. Nothing, and his ass skin is soft, smooth, and a pleasure to touch. The bastard. Should any of you have the opportunity to touch his ass, I highly recommend it. Saturday evening, Fred and I were watching Cops. They were undercover – I don’t recall the city – and a guy approached the undercover cop and asked if he wanted crack. The cop indicated that he did, and the guy, before getting in the cop’s truck, said "Are you a cop or affiliated with any law enforcement agency?" "No," the cop said. Let me repeat that: "No," the cop said. Fred and I have a long-running dispute over whether or not undercover cops have to admit to being cops when asked directly. He swears up and down that they have to tell the truth, whereas I think that’s idiotic. Why should they have to admit to being cops? He says it’s entrapment if they lie, but I don’t see how that could be. Our argument got so heated that Fred called his mother once, who lives next door to a former Chief of Police. She went next door and asked him, and he told her that yes, they have to admit to being cops. I just don’t buy it! Why should they have to blow their cover like that? Anyone out there know for sure? Let me know. There was this incredibly rude bitch in Wal-Mart this morning who was taking up the whole makeup aisle with her freakin’ cart. She turned around and looked at me as I approached, then turned back to her perusal of the Cover Girl liquid makeup. There was no way I could get around this woman, and I waited patiently for a moment, then loudly said "EXCUSE ME!" Without looking at me, she reached out and moved her cart one-tenth of an inch toward her side of the aisle. I waited a moment more, trying to decide if I should just ram her cart out of the way, then sighed loudly and turned my cart around and went back the way I came. When I came down the next aisle, who do you suppose was just coming up? That’s right, Rude Bitch. I glared at her and muttered "Oh, need to take up every aisle in the fucking store, do we?" Okay, so I muttered it under my breath so she couldn’t hear it, but I said it. Recounting the Rude Bitch story from this morning reminds me of the time the spud and I were at FoodWorld, and the woman moseying along in front of us came to a dead stop. Again, in the center of the aisle so no one could get around her. What the hell is up with that? When I am shopping, I make a point of keeping my ass and my cart out of peoples’ way. Anyway, when the woman in FoodWorld came to a halt and stared down at her list, I rolled my eyes. Said the spud, as loud as humanly possible – which is her way – "HOW COME YOU ROLLED YOUR EYES?" I blushed and hissed "Shhht uppp!" at her, but the woman did move out of my way. When we were checking out – I guess I should say I was checking out, since the spud had gone with her 2 remaining quarters to the machines – I realized, as I was merrily punching in my PIN (****, for those keeping track at home)(ha! I slay me!) while making no effort to cover the keypad as I should have, that there was a fairly creepy-looking guy staring in my direction. I whipped my head around, and he all obviously shifted his gaze to the floor, making it apparent that he’d been watching me. Immediately I became paranoid, believing that he was planning to follow me out to the parking lot and either snatch my purse or hold me up at gunpoint. While standing there, I kept glancing at him, giving him the gimlet-eyed "I see you looking at me, and I know what you’re planning, motherfucker" glare. He looked at me twice more before he finally scurried off to find another hapless victim. The moral of the story is, don’t even think about fucking with me, or I’ll give you a really mean look.]]>

Oh, beloved kitty toes. How I love to rub the soft, fuzzy fur between the kitty toes until Miz Pooh flails about, eyes closed as she purrs ecstatically… So, because we’re, y’know, a tad odd (for crying out loud, this journal entry opened with a paean to kitty toes – can you get any odder?) whenever Fred’s checking account gets lower than we’d like and the other one suggests a way to spend even more money, the non-suggester sings "We cain’t affoooooooord it, we onna we’fare!" (think Eddie Murphy’s Raw). After hearing this many, many times, the spud asked what welfare was. "It’s when the government helps you out, when you need money," we said, simplifying while trying to get across the basic idea. Naturally, because she’s the spud and it’s her way, she immediately became obsessed with it. Thursday night, we had barbecue for dinner, and Fred was scrounging for cash so he wouldn’t have to cross a really busy street to go to the ATM. He ended up borrowing money from her, and she went with him to get dinner, and all the way there and all the way back, she questioned him, under the impression that he was borrowing money from her because he was out of money. He tried to explain that he had plenty of money in the bank, but didn’t have enough cash on him, but it just wasn’t sinking in. So when he got his bonus check yesterday, he cashed it at the bank before coming home. Then he sat her down and explained that he got a check from the company for his bonus, took it to the bank to get cash, and then he was going to go to the bank again today (which he didn’t, but that’s another story) and put it in the bank. "I’m going to give them ALL this money, and all they’ll give me is a piece of paper," he explained, then went on to talk about how one bank sends money to the other bank when they receive a check someone has written, and so on and so forth. I’m not sure she understood. Hell, I’m not sure I understand how it works, and I worked at a bank for a year. Yesterday, I sneezed twenty-three times in a row. Fucking allergies. Anyway, after explaining the difference between cash and money last night, Fred took the spud to the bed store and showed her the power of cash. He picked out a bed and mattress, then offered the guy a flat amount of cash, plus another $30 if they’d bring the old bed and the dresser downstairs when they delivered the bed and mattress. The guy took it, saving Fred something like $300 in taxes, which he turned around and spent on bedding and DVDs. They delivered the bed sometime after 8:00 last night, and it’s so nice I’m kind of jealous. Made of mahogany, Fred tells me. The bed is nice, but what I’m most jealous about is those new pillows. The pillows on my bed were something like $5 each at WalMart, so naturally they’ve gone all flat and I have to fold them over to be at a comfortable height. Oh, and because I can’t POSSIBLY write an entry without including a picture of the kitten, here’s one I took last night while the guys were delivering the bed. She was freaking out in a big way because her two instincts were at war with each other. On the one hand, she’s the nosiest kitty in the world, and on the other, she’s scared of strangers. She was pacing back and forth on my desk, peering around the corner at them, and when she heard them coming downstairs she would get on her pillow and flatten herself out, with her ears laid back. It’s the same thing she does when the cleaning lady is here. Maybe she thinks she’s protecting me. And because this was just too cute, here she is snuggled in our downstairs closet. I noticed the door was open and went to shut it, then (thankfully) thought to check and make sure no one was in it. There she was, snuggled up in a pile of coats. Notice the evil glowing eyes. So after I nagged him a tad this morning, Fred hung up a couple of the pictures I had framed for him. The Forrest Gump poster went in the library, and almost immediately the library looked cozier. I don’t know why that is, but it makes a huge difference. What with all the changes we’re making, I may have to re-take some of the virtual tour pictures pretty soon. Our lilies in the front yard have finally started blooming. They’re so gorgeous I want to cut them and bring them inside and put them in a vase, but if I do that, there will be nothing in the ring around our trees but some dead flowers and green stalks where the lilies were. I’m sorry I’m suddenly including so many pictures with my entries, y’all. Once I figure out how to do the thing where you click on a small piece of a picture to see the whole thing, I’ll start doing that. And those of you who hate the kitty pics (are there such people in this world?!) can just skip ’em. Fair enough?]]>

Kitty toes, kitty toes, how I love them kitty toes… Except for this morning round about 3 am when them kitty toes were trying to get in my mouth for some unknown reason. When I wouldn’t open my mouth and let them kitty toes in, the owner of them kitty toes gave up and draped herself over my head, purring to beat the band. Well, damn damn DAMN. I had a recipe for crab rangoon, which I made for lunch (healthy and well-balanced, yes?) but the filling isn’t right. And the only recipe I can find is the one with half a pound each of crabmeat and cream cheese, some onion powder, and A-1. But it’s just not right. The filling in the crab rangoon I get at the chinese restaurants around here are sweeter, somehow. Which is not to say that the crab rangoon I made was all bad, ’cause the wonton part was light and flaky, as wontons should be, so I nibbled around the edges mostly. I’ve spent the entire day doing laundry. I should have taken a picture of the computer room, with the laundry spread all over the place in huge piles. I started doing laundry at 6 and it was almost 11 before I was done with the sheets and towels and could begin on the clothes. Doing laundry and surfing the web while ignoring the fact that my desk drawers are in desperate need of cleaning, that’s what I’ve done with my day. The spud is bored already. Day 1 of summer vacation, and she was on me like a buzzing little gnat. "Can we go here? Can we go there? Can we go everywhere? Do you have to stay here and do laundry all day? You said we would go to the cat store and pet the cats today" and so forth. She knows better than to actually bust out with the "I’m bored!" because the last time she did that, I found something for her to do, and that something was walking around the backyard (this was 2 1/2 years ago when we still lived in an apartment) picking up cigarette butts and throwing them away. She hasn’t claimed boredom since. Some lessons last a long, long time. I made her help me with the laundry, anyway. So Fred just arrived home, flashed a big wad of money at me (they got bonuses at work today) and decided he needs a new bed. The bed he sleeps on now (I know y’all are aware we sleep in separate rooms) is one he had as a child, and it’s gotten rather creaky and saggy over the years. He hasn’t been sleeping well, so he grabbed the spud and went to the bed store around the corner, where we buy all of our beds (well, the one in the master bedroom and the spud’s bed). Then he’s off to Wal-Mart for sheets, and at some point they’ll be back here to eat the ham I’ve been baking for two hours. They’ll have plenty of ham to themselves, too, ’cause the very thought of ham for dinner makes me gag. Okay, I’m off to finish making dinner, clear a path to the junk room (where we’re going to put Fred’s old bed) and do more laundry. Oh, my glamorous, glamorous life. Jealous?]]>

My Day in Pictures (and some blathering text)

I got up this morning at 6:00 and have been on the go ever since. Okay, maybe there was plenty of time for goofing around on the computer, but not as much as I’d like, believe you me. So, the entry will be mostly pictures. Enjoy! I was still running around trying to get the house ready for the cleaning lady when she showed up, surprising me once again in my nightgown. I hurried into the bathroom and got dressed in a semi-dressy shirt and black pants, then blow-dried my hair and put on makeup. Let me say that again: PUT ON MAKEUP. Why? you ask. Because I had the spud’s 5th grade awards ceremony to attend, and there was a "reception" beforehand. Goober that I am, I worried for days about what to wear, and when I showed up at the reception, it became apparent that I could have worn anything from jeans and a t-shirt to a business suit, to a prom dress, and been right at home. I sat and chatted with a few mothers, watched the spud and her friends eat, then snapped a picture of them before we moseyed off to the gym.
That’s Laura on the left, the spud in the middle, and Becca on the right. Becca reminds me, for some reason, of Julia Stiles. Before we headed off to the gym for the awards, I snapped a picture of the spud with her teacher, Mr. Stone. Then off to the gym the other mothers and I traipsed, the gym, the wonderful NON AIRCONDITIONED gym, to sit our asses on the hard metal bleachers, to fan ourselves and sweat a great deal, and shift back and forth from one cheek to the other to distribute the pain evenly and mutter under our collective breath "Come on already, we know you think the kids are great, we know you love them to death, shut the fuck up and give out the freakin’ awards!" Which they finally did, each 5th grade teacher – of which there are 5 – taking his or her turn. (That’s the principal yammering at the podium, and the 5th grade teachers and one other teacher sitting there looking bored and hot) The spud won a Presidential Award for Outstanding Educational Improvement. When finally (thankyoujesus) it was over, we ran home quickly so that the spud could change into her beloved shorts and t-shirt, and fifteen minutes later, we were out the door to meet Rachel for lunch at O’Charley’s, which I had never been to before. It was packed, and very noisy. I had the O’Charley’s club sandwich, which I know you were dying to know. After O’Charley’s, the spud and I hit FoodWorld, where I purchased some much-needed toilet paper, Tylenol, and another plant, Mexican Heather in a hanging basket. I love this plant because of the tiny purplish-blue flowers which can be found in the midst of all that dark green. Then we went to Alabama Framers to pick up Fred’s birthday presents (the framing part on each of these pictures are the presents for this year; I gave him the Escher print and the Gump poster for his birthday last year). The print on the far left (by the kitten) says "Failure: When your best isn’t good enough"; the one next to that says "Defeat: For every winner, there are dozens of losers. Chances are, you’re one of them." Those two, he’s going to hang up in his office. The next picture down the line is Escher’s Drawing Hands print, and on the end at the far right is a picture of a field of poppies which is actually my picture. I’m going to hang it over the tub. Rather, I’m going to have Fred hang it over the tub for me. Forrest Gump is Fred’s favorite movie, and he couldn’t find this particular poster anywhere. I found it online, and now that it’s framed, we’re going to hang it in the library. The Escher print will go by his desk, I think. So, it’s 3:00 and I’m waiting for Fred to get home. We’re going to go swimming, eat dinner, and veg in front of the TV to watch Friends, Frasier, and ER. I suggest you do the same. —–]]>

no idea why that is. I just thought y’all would like to know. Had I won the Powerball jackpot last week, Horseshit Alley would be on it’s way to being built. Naturally, my parents and Fred’s parents would highly disapprove, which only adds to the allure. Unfortunately, I didn’t win the lottery, but it’s nice to daydream about it. If I’d won the lottery, I’d start out (after paying taxes, of course) by giving $1 million each to my sister, parents, and grandmother – after consulting with a tax attorney on how exactly to do that so they wouldn’t have to pay taxes on it. Then I’d convince Fred that we should give $1 million to his parents (each set), sister, and pay to have his grandmother moved to her own home with around-the-clock staff. Then I’d put aside enough money so that the spud, Brian, Chris, and Fred’s niece and nephew – Crystal and Logan – could go to any Ivy-league school they wanted, if they could get in, that is. I would not, however, create trust funds for them, because I believe you have to make your way in this world (or marry a really smart man)(just kidding!), and not expect to have your life paid for by your parents. Some of the most obnoxious people in the world are trust fund babies, and I’m not going to be responsible for inflicting more of them upon the world. My next step would be to write a will. Naturally, I’d leave everything to Fred, but if we were to die together or he predeceased me (it’s a word!) I’d leave the majority to the spud, with large amounts going to others in the family. Now, here’s the important stuff, because money makes people do crazy, crazy things. I’d add a codicil to the will stating that if I die under circumstances in the slightest bit suspicious, all the money goes to charity. Of course, the Menendez brothers thought they had a foolproof plan, so you never can tell. Wait, how’d I get so far afield? Actually, the first, the very first thing I’d do after claiming the lottery prize money (hopefully keeping it hush-hush) would be to swing by Fred’s office and watch him do his "Take this company and shove it" dance on the conference room table. Then, after spreading money between family and friends, I’d hire an awesome architect to design and build the home of my (our) dreams, complete with lots and lots of land, an olympic size pool, and two or three guest cottages on the grounds so y’all could come visit. Oh, and I’d hire a landscaper to come make my grounds pretty with tons of daffodils and lilies and rose bushes. Hey, maybe I could hire Beth to be my landscaper! Of course, I’d buy a yellow Mustang, because it’s my dream car, and whatever vehicle Fred wanted, and then probably a Durango, ’cause we need a family-type vehicle. And then, because I couldn’t just sit around and count my money every day, I’d open a cat store and go around to the Humane Society every month or so, and adopt as many cats and kittens as my store would hold, and I’d keep them until people adopted them and took them home to loving homes. ‘Cause, you know, I am the Crazy Cat Lady, and this way I could feed my kitty jones. Aren’t you glad I have it all figured out just in case? Fred just got off the phone after talking to a customer service rep at BellSouth, and he was not impressed. We have three phone lines, the main one which we use, and two others for our computers. Since we got a cable modem and don’t need the lines, he called to have them cancelled. Well, the Bellsouth chick found one of the other two lines, but couldn’t find the other line, and was just going to leave it at that and hang up. Fred said "So, because of your shoddy recordkeeping, you can’t cancel the second line, and I have to continue paying for it?" I couldn’t hear what the rep was saying, but it appeared that she was backpedalling rapidly. Finally, he asked to speak to her supervisor, and she transferred him, where he sat on hold for 10 minutes. While listening to the same song over and over, it occurred to him that we could use our computers to call the cell phone, which has caller id, and we could figure the phone numbers out that way. Which we did, and Fred hung up, called BellSouth again, and managed to get the same rep, lucky him. When he got off the phone, he called her a not-very-nice name, but from what I could tell, she deserved it. So, I’ve received email after email, and the consensus is that a large number of people keep the address labels and use them, while not sending money to the people who made the address labels. It was what I suspected, but I was glad to have the cold, hard facts to present to Fred. Thanks for emailling, y’all! —–]]>

done. And I made the appointment for next time before I left, ’cause if the appointment is made, I’ll force myself go. Once I left The Big Tease (yes, that’s really the name!), I stopped by to get the new glasses I picked out yesterday.

I’m not sure why I bothered buying two pair, except they were on sale. I only wear glasses at night for an hour or less after I take my contacts out and very rarely when I feel like my eyes need a break from the contacts for a day. The final verdict is in, and we’re not going to Florida this weekend. We are, however, going to Gatlinburg, Tennessee next weekend. We’re leaving Thursday and coming back Sunday night. And in the meantime, we’re going to rent a 2500 square foot chalet with a pretty good view, 4 bedrooms, a pool table, a ping pong table (Fred found it important that y’all know all the details), and a hottub on the deck. It sounds like there’s a lot to do in Gatlinburg, so it should be fun. I’m sure there will be plenty of pictures! Here’s an interesting question for y’all. When you get those "free" address stickers in the mail – you know the ones I mean, the ones from the Veterans or from the North Shore Animal League – do you keep them even if you don’t send them money? I do, and I use them, but a certain someone seems to feel that it’s akin to stealing. Even though I didn’t ASK for the address stickers, even though I’ve never sent money to the people who send me address stickers, because all they’ll do is buy more supplies to make more address stickers with the money I send. So what about y’all? Do you keep and use them without paying, send money and use them, or just toss them? I’m really curious, so email me and tell me, won’t you? —–]]>

Godiva from everyone, and cards from Fred and the spud. What more could a mother hope for? In Maine, my mother, grandmother, and Debbie seem to have had a good time. They, along with my father, Brian, and Randy and his girlfriend went out to lunch at a nice restaurant. I’d begin a rant about my asshole uncle, but I’ll save that for another day. After leaving my eye appointment this morning, I ran to the grocery store and bought me a plant. Naturally, this was the nosy result. The plant is what I would have called a spider plant, but according to the tag, it’s an airplane plant. Okay, the links I found have indicated they very well may be one and the same. In any case, I have to decide where I want to put it. I need to research whether it’ll be okay hanging outside, or if I should bring it in. If I need to bring it in, I’ll have to do some rearranging, because there are only so many places in this house the cats can’t get to, and the last time I brought home a spider plant, the cats ate it down to little spiky nubs in three minutes flat, the little fuckers. —–]]>

Also, which was entirely expected, there were a few foul-ups. One of the other phone tree parents lost her list, and no one had a master list detailing who was to call which parents, so I told her the names and numbers of the other two parents, and she called them to see which parents THEY had to call, and narrowed down which parents were on her list.

It occurs to me suddenly that y’all canNOT possibly be interested in this kind of detail about this stuff. Moving on…

The spud looked mighty tired when she stumbled off the bus. She said she didn’t get much sleep last night, so she’s taking a nap now. She’s a bit stuffed up, though I’m not sure whether it’s because she’s developing a cold or is suffering from allergies. Almost the first sentence out of her mouth was "We saw a LOT of homeless people!" followed by detailed descriptions of each homeless person she saw. The highlight of the trip, from what she told me so far, is that she, Ella, and Anna stumbled into a leather shop which was selling instructional posters on smoking pot, and were immediately hustled out by Michelle before they could look around any more. Poor Michelle! I should call her and demand "What the Hell is this I hear about you dragging my daughter into a leather shop??"

Damn, it’s good to have her home. I worried about her the whole time she was gone.

I finally, FINALLY called and made an appointment to have my eyes checked. It’s been 2 1/2 years since my last eye exam, and thus I’ve been wearing this pair of contacts that long (though I take them out every night, you understand). I think it’s time to retire them and get a new pair. I also called to make an appointment for a cut and color (uh, hair. Not eyes). My gray roots have grown out about two inches now, so I guess it’s time. I just realllllly hate going to have my hair done. If I were a guy, I’d shave it all off. Hell, if I weren’t afraid Fred would freak out and run away screaming, I’d shave it off. Ah well. Maybe next life.

Okay, I’m outta here. See y’all Monday, if not before! —–

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