Author: Robyn

is rather annoying. And next time they do a bit about the "Dumbing-down of America" on Dateline or 20/20, she could be point number one. Well, looky there, I guess I did have an opinion. Who else needs to be smacked? Oh, Joan Rivers and hellspawn Melissa "riding mommy’s coat-tails" Rivers. My blood pressure is rising at the very thought of them. They both need to be smacked, hard and repeatedly. Madonna needs to be smacked. She used to be so cute, way back in the ’80s. Now she’s become just scary-looking, and I don’t think I need to bring up the fakey British accent. I didn’t intend for this entry to become a rant about who needs to be smacked, believe it or not. Tell me who you think has a smack-me face. A woman who used to work for our main customer died Monday. She’d been battling leukemia for a long time, and I’d occasionally get forwarded emails from Fred, with instructions to send a card or flowers from the company. The funeral is later today, and Fred came into my office this morning to make sure I’d sent flowers. I had, and he said "Did you send a wreath with a banner that said Jesus called and she answered?" I grinned at him and said "That’s so mean!" He tilted his head to the side and smiled at me "Haven’t you ever seen those?" he asked. He went on to describe a funeral wreath he’d seen once, while wandering around a Florist shop (note to self: find out what Fred was doing in such a place). He said it was a big, circular wreath on a stand, and the banner had glittered letters spelling out Jesus called and he answered. In the bottom curve of the wreath (he swears this is true) there was a child’s toy telephone. I spent five minutes gasping about how awful it sounded, and another five insisting I want one at my own funeral. So, I’m peeved. Well, I’ve been peeved, but just thinking about it gets me peevish all over again. As is my way, I didn’t get into watching Once and Again until about halfway through the season – or rather, taping it Monday night and watching it during the weekend – and I like it a lot. Last Monday, I taped it as usual, but there was apparently some sort of power surge which made the cable go out, and so I only got the first 15 minutes of the show. The rest of the show is nothing but static. I really want to know what Lily decided to do about Jake and the restaurant. So, I got a card in the mail a few weeks ago telling me that my census form was on the way. A week later, I received the census, filled it out and sent it in the next day. A week after that, I got another card in the mail informing me that they’d sent my census form previously, and I really should fill it out. Now I’m being subjected left and right to fucking census commercials all over my TV. You know, if I’d realized how ANNOYING they were going to be, I’d have lined the litter box with it for a few months before filling it out. That’s what I get for being conscientious – harangued to do something I’ve already done. Where are my kudos, census people? The commercial that pisses me off the most is the one where the single mother has to take her kid to work with her at the restaurant, because she couldn’t get anyone to watch him – I haven’t memorized the story, either her babysitter crapped out on her, or the kid couldn’t go to daycare, something like that – and the implication is that things will IMPROVE for her once everyone fills out their census form and mails it back. Come closer, y’all, because I’m going to share a well-kept secret with you. Ready? Can ya stand the excitement? Here it is: your government doesn’t give a flying fuck about daycare for your kids. Not a single, solitary flying fuck. Things aren’t going to change for that single mother once her census form is filled out and mailed back, and she’ll probably be waitressing her fingers to the bone for the rest of her days, or until she finshes school in eight years – because surely she can only afford to attend school part-time, if that – and gets a halfway decent job in an office with a lecherous old asshole who subjects her to his ham-handed advances and talks about his "weenie" all the time. Of course, by then her kid will be old enough to be in school, so she’ll only have to put him in daycare for a few hours after school, and if she’s lucky his school will run an after-school program. Unfortunately, working with some asshole will horrify her so that surely she’ll have to turn to shots and then full glasses of bourbon to numb the horror, and she’ll die in a tragic car accident on her way home because she’s been nipping at the booze all day so she won’t have to think about the abhorrence that is her life. And her asshole boss at the restaurant who gave her such a hard time for bringing her kid in to work will shake his head and mutter something lame about how she was always such a hard worker. Just so you know. Did y’all see the new millionaire last night? I didn’t think for one minute that guy was going to go all the way. I thought he might, if he was lucky, get to $16,000, but all the way to a million? No way. It was kind of nice seeing a winner get that emotional about winning – I didn’t see the second winner, but the first one looked like he didn’t much care about winning. The guy last night was crying, though. It was cool. Almost made me glad Fred forced me to watch with him. Almost. So, my sister emailed me last night and made some corrections to my clothes-whitening formula. According to her, you can actually put your detergent in with the bleach and dishwasher soap. It doesn’t sound like she lets hers soak for an hour, either, since she said "Damn, it must take you hours to wash your whites!" A couple of people asked whether it has to be Cascade, or if another type of soap will do, and the answer is: I dunno. I emailed Deb and asked her, but she decided to be all selfish and GO TO WORK (where she has no internet access)(that bitch), so it’ll be this afternoon or tonight before I get an answer. Heather is going to try Electrasol and let me know how it goes, and I’ll pass it on to y’all. Anyone else got interesting cleaning/ housekeeping tips? Let me know! I’m all about the interesting tips. Okay, I’m done rambling. Y’all have a good weekend. I’ll see you Monday, if not before. —–]]>

bullets from Rita Moreno, I ducked out of work early yesterday and rescued the kitten. She was sleepy and in pain and couldn’t quite seem to get comfortable, but it appears she still loves me, since she followed me around all day and spent a great deal of time laying on me while she slept. She also spent the entire night stretched out next to me, and first thing this morning she came looking for her dose of love. It’s nice to have my baby back. I’ll shut up about her for a few days, now, since y’all have got to be sick of my yammering about her. Oh, except to mention that the boys were extremely freaked out and kept coming around to sniff her, except for Spot, who would hiss at her and run away. It was nice having half a day off yesterday; very relaxing. I was in a good mood all evening, until I had to yell at the spud to clean her bathroom and bedroom. I’ll have to take a picture of her room sometime when it’s at the height of messiness. The biggest problem is that she has so damn much stuff. I took her to Wal-Mart last weekend and bought a bunch of shorts, since it’s been warming up nicely (although it was cold and rainy both Saturday and Sunday), and she’s mostly grown out of her shorts from last summer. She also needed new socks and underwear, since she has a habit of getting dirt in her shoes on a regular basis, and since it’s red clay dirt, it never ever comes out. Not even with the extra-special clothes-whitening formula I learned from my sister. Listen up, ’cause it works like a dream (Deb, tell me if I’ve got any part of this wrong). You put your clothes in the washer, and then dump in a cup of bleach and a cup of cascade dishwasher soap, and fill the washer up with hot water and let it soak. I usually let everything soak for about an hour, ’cause I’m afraid that if I let it sit any longer, the bleach and soap will start eating holes in the clothes. Then you let it go through the rest of the cycle, and run everything through on a regular cycle again, with Tide (or whatever soap you use, obviously). It’s incredible how white everything gets – but it doesn’t work on red clay dirt. Well, didn’t I get off-track, there. So when we got back from Wal-Mart, I told the spud to get all her clothes out of her dresser and closet, and put them on her bed, and we’d go through them. It took a good hour to go through everything, and when we were done, we had TWO garbage bags full of clothes that were too small for her, or which she didn’t care for. Two BIG garbage bags, can you believe that? And there’s tons left over. Speaking of Wal-Mart, while the spud and I were wandering around searching for the magic spot where they might have stashed the plain cotton shorts, we happened upon the "White Trash" section. My god, people, it was all horrid little babydoll dresses and ribbed halter tops and really short-shorts – I’m talking shorts so short you could wear them to the gynecologist’s and not need to take them off. I was horrified, and so was the spud. She picked a short, filmy, see-through halter dress off the rack and held it up, made a face, and put it back. I mean, I’m no, uh, person who dresses all classy – Audrey Hepburn! – and t-shirts and cotton pants make up the bulk of my wardrobe, but I wouldn’t be caught dead in any of that stuff, even if I had the body for it. On the other hand, I was shopping in Wal-Mart, wasn’t I? What’d I expect, diamonds and furs? —–]]>

really missed my morning cuddles. I know she’ll probably sleep all day, but I’ll be glad to have her back home again. I’ve watched the last three episodes of The Sopranos (god, I love that James Gandolfini!), and I’m finding that I really like it. Yes, I know that everyone has been raving about it for the last year and a half. This is not the first show I’ve stumbled across after everyone else has raved about it for ages, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.

So Sunday night I was waiting for it to come on, and Fred said "Does someone die in this show every week?" Naturally, my response was, "It’s the mafia, babe, what do you expect?" "Oh, yeah." As we were watching the show, Fred – who was only partly paying attention – said "He (Tony Soprano) has a girlfriend?" So what did I say? You got it: "He’s in the mafia, babe. All those mafia guys have girlfriends!" I’m sure if Fred had said "They use Quilted Northern?" my response would have been "Of course they do, they like soft toilet paper. It’s the mafia, babe!" (Personally, we use Scott Tissue. It’s not the softest, but it lasts forever) (Interesting note: I found this link while was searching for a Quilted Northern link.) Okay, I’m outta here. I get to go get my baby in less than half an hour! Y’all take care. Side note #2: Rita Moreno just walked past our front door, stopped, turned around, stared at our front door, and then walked back in the direction from whence she came, all the while staring at our front door. What’s up with that? Are the dopplegangers for all B-list Hollywood stars converging on Huntsville today? There she goes again, all trying to be subtle in her visor, long black velour top, black leggings, and 30 gold chains. Maybe she’s a contract killer for the mafia, and she thinks I know too much about the inner workings of the mob! She’s here to kill me! I’m going to go duck out while the coast is clear. Everyone else can fend for themselves. —–]]>

away from her, you little bastard!") and then she hopped off to watch the birds flying by the window. This isn’t the first time one of the boys has tried to get some hot kitty love – one night a few weeks ago, I heard a bitchy meow from Spanky and turned to see him nipping at the back of the kitten’s neck, trying to get her to stay in one place while he straddled her. I didn’t think cats did such things once they were fixed. Did y’all see Dateline NBC last night? They were talking about "hidden prejudices", and a "Race Implicit Association Test" developed by researchers at Yale and the University of Michigan. Fred took the test last night, and was informed that his data suggest a strong automatic preference for white. This morning I took the same test, and to my surprise got the same result. I was unhappy, I was confused, and then I stopped and thought about it for a minute. Of course I’m going to have a strong automatic preference for whites. I’m white. To put it bluntly, how am I supposed to identify with a black man when I’m a white woman? It’s a given, isn’t it? I told Fred in bed last night that the more interesting question is, Which of your attributes is more important in your self-identification – male, or white? His knee-jerk reaction was male, but when I asked him who he identified with more, Jane Pauley or Bryant Gumbel, he discovered otherwise. On the other hand, when I asked myself whether I identified more with Stone Phillips or Oprah Winfrey, the answer was Oprah Winfrey. But I identify even more with Jane Pauley. What can you expect? I grew up in a solidly middle-class, very white, neighborhood in Maine. I’m going to show a preference for women; I am a woman first and foremost. I’m going to show a preference for white women, because I am a white woman. I am going to show a very, very big preference for white middle-class women in their late twenties and early thirties. Of course I am; it’s what I know; it’s what I understand and identify with. That is where my comfort level is, and why do I need to feel bad about it? I’m having a hard time writing this. I’m afraid y’all will read this and see it as a very lame attempt to justify racism in this country and in my family. Your opinions do matter to me, and I don’t want to offend anyone. But that said, I have to be honest. Strange black men scare me. I would be terrified to be walking down the street at night and have a black man begin to follow me. On the other hand, I would be just as terrified to have a white man following me. I’ve heard, read, and experienced too much about the random violence of men to feel safe with men I do not know. It’s the unknown, I guess, that makes me uncomfortable. I’ve never been around a lot of black people, and thus I’m not at ease when I am. The spud, however, has three best friends; one is black, one is white, and one is guatamalan. And the spud is far more comfortable around people of diverse nationalities than I could ever hope to be. I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t know how to change my attitude, how to make it so that I’m as comfortable around people of other races and nationalities as I am around whites. I don’t know if that’s a possibility, and I don’t know that I want to change my attitude. At least part of my fear of men, black, white or other, is simple self-preservation. Isn’t it? Or am I trying to justify my actions? I can say that I don’t avoid black men or women in situations where I feel safe – in stores or restaurants. But neither do I seek them out. I would never be rude to someone due to their race, nor would I deny someone a chance at a job or housing based on the color of their skin. I feel like this whole entry is a mishmash of senseless yammering, and I don’t feel I made the points I meant to, but I’m giving up for the time being. Y’all have a nice evening. —–]]>

eye?" When I went to look at her eye, there was a scary brown patch on the surface. She blinked a few times, and it didn’t move; in fact it appeared to be part of her eye. I called and got a 9:30 appointment at the vet’s, and in the interim sat in the library and cuddled with her while entertaining scary thoughts of brain cancer (that, for some reason, being the first place my mind always goes). All the way to the vet’s, she howled forlornly from the cat carrier on the seat next to me. She never sounds so pitiful as when she’s in that thing – and she sure as hell has been in it an awful lot! The vet dripped some fluorescent green stuff in her (the kitten’s) eye, and a nasty-looking ulcer showed up right away. The brown patch, she told me, was blood vessels growing out of the ulcer. Upon closer inspection, she noticed that the kitten had hairs growing funny and poking her in the eye – in both eyes, actually – so she plucked them. We have to medicate both eyes three times a day until Tuesday, which is when she goes in for her fixin’, and then I guess they’ll let us know whether to continue with the medicating. It’s gotten pretty hard to medicate the kitten now that she’s so much bigger. She’s a lot stronger and puts up more of a fight. Fred has been wrapping her up in a towel, though, which works really well, though she does let out those pitiful little meows. My sister is turning THIRTYTHIRTYTHIRTY on Sunday, and I sent her a couple of cards the other day and some money (perfect color, fits great!). One card was from the cats and the other one, the really funny one, was from Fred, the spud, and I. On the front it said As we get older we quit getting visits from Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. Inside, it said The Big Butt Fairy visits us every year though. Just like clockwork. The instant I read the card, I cackled loudly and put it in my cart. Okay, I got off track. So I sent her the cards the other day – overnighted, of course, ’cause GOD FORBID I send them out in time for them to reach her via regular mail – and she thinks that’s all she’s getting for her birthday from us. Silly girl. There are a few more items on the way to you, Deb. And no, I won’t tell you what they are! Happy birthday! Well, let’s round out this kid-and-kitten-centered entry with yet another kitten story. I’m doing laundry tonight, and I wandered over to the dryer to check on a load of clothes, and laying in the basket of clean, warm blankets was the kitten. She was as happy as I’ve seen her, purring her little fool head off and blinking sleepily at me. Let’s say it all together, now: "Awwwww…" Y’all have a good weekend. I’ll see you Monday, if not before!
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online, and then got caught up click around various parts of the state to see where the lowest population is. No surprise, it’s the Northwestern part. One town – whose name I cannot recall – had a population of 8. I also spent some time looking up information on Dover-Foxcroft, which looks like a cute little town. Wouldn’t want to live there, though. Nothing personal, Dover-Foxcroftites, but you’re a tad smaller than the city size to which I’ve become accustomed. Hell, Huntsville is three times the size of Portland, and Portland’s always been "The big city" to me. I obviously don’t have much to say today, so I’ll cut this short. The weather outside is looking pretty nasty and I’m still at work, so I’m going home in case a tornado comes whipping through here. Though with my luck, I’ll be halfway home when it comes for me. Y’all stay safe! —–]]>

Fred and the spud are going to see David Copperfield tonight, and I will have the house to myself for a few hours. Everyone’s invited over to my house for a big par-tay! Bring your own alcohol, though, unless you want to finish off the strawberry dacquiri wine coolers I bought two years ago and only drank one of. There are also some frozen pina colada packets in the freezer I bought last New Year’s Eve and haven’t touched since. Oh, and let’s not forget the remainders of the 6-pack of beer Fred bought last summer when he was craving a beer. We’re total alcoholics, we are. So yesterday, I had to go back to see Nice Dr. Dang for a quick little post-op visit, wherein she glanced in my ear, made sure the tube was still there, and pronounced that my ear looked fine. They’d had to drain a lot of fluid out of my ear, she told me, and then she asked if hearing had come back in that ear. I told her (enthusiastically) that it had come back and then some, and I was extremely happy with the results. She told me I’d need to come back in two weeks for a hearing test, and then again in four months. After I left Dr. Dang’s office, I went to Garden Cove, which is basically a health-food store, but they get a new shipment of fresh fruits and vegetables every Tuesday which rock in a big way. I bought (among other things) romaine and iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, pole beans, and other items which escape my memory at the moment. A cart full of vegetables and fruits which would have cost at least $40 at the grocery store cost less than $20 at Garden Cove. Of course, all the good, fresh vegetables were a tad offset by the creme-filled Krispy Kreme donuts I bought yesterday. So, how long does it take a bird to build a nest, fer crying out loud? Two birds have been building one in the bush in front of my office for a week and a half now. They build a nest there every summer; in a few weeks we’ll be hearing the cheepcheepcheep of baby birdies. Speaking of babies, the kitten is scheduled to be fixed next Tuesday. I’m dreading it so much. I know we have to have it done, but I hate that she’ll be confused and in pain, AND she has to stay at the vet’s overnight, and what will I do when she doesn’t wake me at 4:45, looking for love? Waaaaaah! Yes, I’m a goober, I think we all know that. Okay, I’m outta here. Y’all stop by sometime between 6:00 and 8:00 for a coke and a kitty-rub, won’t you? —–]]>

So Fred is having some personal, uh, ISSUES today, and since (as I’ve mentioned before) he thinks he lives in a musical, he wrote a little song about it.

To the tune of "King of the Road":

My butt’s all red and sore!

Neeeeeed a do-nut for shore!

It’s itching and it bleeds,

It’s got me down on my knees!

Ah, but, there’s a salve that I have found.

Ruuuub it in; the swelling’s down.

I keep the preeeeeeparation folks employed –

King of the ‘roid!

Charming, innit?

Okay, I got this survey from Heather via email, and instead of just filling it out and sending it back to her, I’m going to make it an entry, ’cause that’s just the lazy kind o’ gal I am.

NAME: Robyn

GENDER: Female

LIVING ARRANGEMENT: I live in a house with my husband Fred, 11 year-old daughter, and five cats (four boys, one girl)

YOUR FAVORITE TV SHOW: Friends, first and foremost, followed by Once and Again, and ER.

WHAT’S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD: At home, Kyle from South Park saying "Dude, that kicks ass!"; at work, an Anne Geddes picture.

FAVORITE SMELLS: Vanilla. Daffodils. Burning wood. Fred’s neck at night when the smell of soap and shampoo and has worn off.

WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD: Having Fred mad at me, which thank GOD rarely happens.

BEST FEELING IN THE WORLD: Laying on the bed talking to Fred, giggling about something funny the spud has done, with the kitten laying on me while I rub her tummy.

FAVORITE SOUNDTRACK: Xanadu. Rockin’, man.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE IN THE MORNING: I don’t waaaaaanna go to work! Work sucks! On Saturday, it’s I don’t waaaaanna get groceries! Groceries suck!

DO YOU GET MOTION SICKNESS?: Nope, but the spud used to.

ROLLER COASTERS – SCARY OR EXCITING: Exciting in a scary way.

PEN OR PENCIL: Pen

HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER: I never ever answer the phone when Fred is home. If he’s not home, I check the caller ID and only answer it if it’s him.

FAVORITE FOOD: Lobster, shrimp, raw oysters. And Krispy Kreme donuts.

DO YOU GET ALONG WITH YOUR PARENTS?: Yes, especially since I moved 1500 miles away. I’ve noticed that the further I get from my mother, the more bearable she is.

CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA: French vanilla.

FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR: French vanilla.

CROUTONS OR BACON BITS: Croutons on a salad, bacon bits on a baked potato.

DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE: Nope. I’d prefer not to, given the choice.

DO YOU SLEEP WITH STUFFED ANIMALS: Whichever cats like me at the moment – usually Spanky and the kitten.

STORMS – COOL OR SCARY: Cool, except when they get scary.

WHAT TYPE WAS YOUR FIRST CAR?: A blue ’81 Chevette. I adored that car.

IF YOU COULD MEET ONE PERSON, DEAD OR ALIVE, WHO WOULD IT BE?: JFK, if he’s sharing secrets. If not, Stephen King, so I could gaze adoringly at him and giggle "I’m your biggest fan!"

YOUR FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK: Strawberry dacquiri.

WHAT IS YOUR ZODIAC SIGN: Capricorn

WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE POET: Rollins.

DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI?: Yes, I love broccoli.

IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB, WHAT WOULD IT BE?: I haven’t got a clue. Something that includes a lot of sitting around, web-surfing, renting best-sellers, and petting kitties.

IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR, WHAT COLOR WOULD IT BE?: I do dye it, and I dye it medium brown. I’d love to go blonde, but Fred would have a cow.

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE?: Yes, and still am.

WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?: Some sort of scenery picture Fred bought at a Starving Artist sale. I have a picture of a poppy field that stretches as far as the eye can see, which still needs to be framed. It’s pretty cool.

IS THE GLASS HALF FULL OR HALF EMPTY?: Half full. I’m an eternal optimist, believe it or not.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SNAPPLE?: The kind that comes in the 20-oz. Coke bottle.

FAVORITE MOVIE: Xanadu. I’ll also always stop to watch When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, and Pretty Woman.

ARE YOU A LEFTY, RIGHTY, OR AMBIDEXTROUS?: Righty.

DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS?: Yep.

IF YOU COULD BE ANY GARDENING TOOL, WHAT WOULD IT BE?: The kind that hires someone else to do the gardening. (I’d say "ho", that’s too obvious)

WHAT’S UNDER YOUR BED?: I haven’t looked, but I’m going to bet there are pounds and pounds of cat hair dusty bunnies and probably 20 ear plugs.

WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE NUMBER?: 9

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CAR/ TRUCK?: Yellow Ford Mustang convertible. I like Camrys, too.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH?: Ice skating; I prefer pairs to singles.

I’m outta here; y’all have a good night!

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I was checking my sitemeter logs this afternoon (I compulsively check the damn things at least four times a day) and realized that when people search for "Brian Boitano" on alltheweb, savvysearch, or northernlight search engines, my page comes up as one of the top ten hits! (I quoted extensively from the South Park song "What Would Brian Boitano Do?" in November) What’s even funnier is that three people today alone not only hit my page after doing a search on Brian Boitano, but they also stayed and looked around a bit.

Sorry, Brian Boitano fans – I don’t know any interesting facts about him!

Work was just heavenly today. I spent the first couple of hours setting up my new computer, which was a hell of a lot easier this time, ’cause when I backed my stuff up on Friday, I backed it up to the network, so this morning I only had to drag it back off the network. It was great; once my network connection was set up, it took me less than an hour to get everything the way I like it.

Fred came home around 9 and worked from home because he was suffering from, as he referred to it, "intestinal distress."

The ad for the new Office Manager ran in the paper yesterday, and when I arrived at work this morning there were about 7 faxes waiting on the fax machine. Through the day more came in, and when I left at 3, we had over 25. It was amazing, the diversity of resumes we received. There were a ton of resumes from people who were way overqualified, and a lot who weren’t qualified enough. I didn’t see any that were just right, but I’m sure we’ll get some in the mail tomorrow. The truly annoying thing was that the ad specifically stated Word, Excel, and Quickbooks proficiency were required, and several of the resumes had not only no Quickbooks experience, but no bookkeeping software experience either.

I really, really don’t want to have to train someone to use Quickbooks. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time; I’d rather not be responsible for someone else screwing it up!

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What About Bob? with Fred and the spud. Fred’s dad and stepmom dropped by earlier, to drop off our joint birthday present – a pressure cooker – which necessitated some running around cleaning so that the house wouldn’t look like a total shitheap. The cats have been wandering out to the back yard, and then back inside to warm their paws when the cold gets to them. In between wanderings, they nap. Sometimes, they lay on the floor and perform for us. Because I’m that kind of gal, I sit and wonder if Fred and I are weirdos, or if everyone has their own favorite cups to drink out of, which they use almost exclusively. Fred’s favorite Robyn’s favorite I have three months’ worth of magazines which are waiting for me to read them. I subscribe to every magazine in existence, it seems, from People to Jane to Cosmo, and everything in between. I was in the habit of stopping to read all my magazines once a month or so, until January, when I got a huge amount of books, and I have so many books to read that I didn’t want to stop reading them to read magazines. The books on the very top of the bookcase are the newest ones, which I will not allow myself to start on until I completely clear one of the lower shelves. I have all sorts of odd little rules for myself. By the way, those bottles in front of the books on the top shelf are Maalox. I bet you’re glad you know that. Yesterday, Fred and the spud were watching Species, which just so happens to have Michael Madsen in it. Or is it Tom Sizemore? (That’s Sizemore on the left, Madsen on the right, by the way) It simply boggles the mind that there’s enough movie work for them both to have halfway decent careers. In FantasyLand, bad boys like Tom Sizemore, Michael Madsen, and James Gandolfini rock my world. Here in the real world, I prefer geeks who look like Bill Gates and Linus Torvalds. Brains and geekiness make my hormones scream. Which is probably pretty clear when you see the man I love with all my heart. In Alabama, or at least in my area of Alabama, the dogwoods are in bloom. From my office (for the next 6 weeks!) I have a great view of the dogwoods across the street. The view more than makes up for the fact that at various points through the day sunlight hits chrome in the parking lot and shines directly and unrelentingly into my eyeballs. Y’all have a good rest of the weekend, won’t you? —–]]>