Author: Robyn

en masse, buying everything they could get their hands on. I guess it’s not only the weather prediction that drove everyone slightly insane, but also the whole Y2K thing looming over our heads. I worry about it sometimes, but most of the time I don’t even think about it. If we lose power, we’ll each grab a cat and pile blankets on top of us. We have a couple of extra 5-gallon bottles of water, enough canned food to keep us alive for a few days, and enough Ding Dongs to feed a small country. Priorities, you know. ]]>

me this, of course, so I dropped the ball. All was saved; I called and left a message on his answering machine, and he emailed the funeral home address and date of the funeral to me over the weekend. Disaster averted! I don’t know if anyone else saw it last night, but there was a show about Stephen King on The Learning Channel. We set the vcr in the bedroom to tape and prepared to watch The Practice in the living room, until we realized it was a rerun. Quickly, we popped over to The Learning Channel and gazed upon Stephen King for an hour. I love that man. You know, no matter your opinion of Stephen King, whether you think he’s a demi-god, or a hack who should shut the fuck up and go away, you have to admire certain things about him. He’s married to the same woman he married right out of college. He didn’t get a little money and dump his wife for a much-younger bimbo with big boobs and a tiny brain. Nope, he’s still with the Tabster, has been for something like 30 years, and I think that’s pretty fucking cool. Anyway, on the show last night, they talked to many people who have worked with him, and people who knew him when he was a kid, and so on. Prudence Grant was his teacher in high school, and Dean Hall was a friend of his from childhood. They showed footage of the high school he went to. It was pretty damn cool, ’cause guess what? I went to the same high school he went to! Of course, he was something like 15 or 20 years ahead of me, but still. I had Miss Grant for "Death and Dying" my senior year! And she loved me, of course, as did every English-type teacher I ever had. Once, we had 20 minutes to kill at the end of class, so she told us to get out some paper and write haiku until the bell rang. I whipped off about 15 haiku in 20 minutes, and she was pretty damn impressed. In fact, she was so impressed that she remembered and raved to my parents about me at parents’ night. Mr. Hall was not only my American History, Psychology and Sociology teacher, I also babysat for he and his wife several times. He grew up with Stephen King, and in one of King’s books he refers to the "Hall twins" – that would be Mr. Hall and his twin, David. I’m surprised neither of them mentioned me during their respective interviews. Steve and me, we’re practically related. At one point, Peter Straub was on, and he went on and on about how Maine is rural and poor and backwoods and people speak with a distinct accent, and I got all pissed. "Nuh uh!" I snarled at the tv. "Sounds like Alabama," Fred noted. I have to wonder if Peter "I suck" Straub has actually been to Maine. We got the Wal-Maht and the Pizza Hut now, y’know. We pahk ah cahs in the pahking lahhhts and some-a them roads ah even paved, too. ‘Cuss, we still pay fuh ahr doctah visits with goats an’ cows, but civilization dassn’t come quick to Maine, ayuh.

Peeved me a tad, it did. "People talk with a distinct accent" indeed.

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The Bold and the Beautiful, and shaking my head. Only on the soaps is it okay for people to storm over to the houses of their enemies, force their way in, and be insulting and mean. Of course, everyone on the soaps are so freakin’ thin that a good wind will knock them out of the doorway. If someone I really loathed tried to do that, they’d never get past me. I’d set my feet and lean against them when they tried, and they wouldn’t have a chance. Assuming that I opened the door in the first place, that is. And how come Brooke on The Bold and the Beautiful is considered a freak for boinkin’ Ridge, his brother Thorne, and his father Eric (though not at the same time, mind you), whereas over on Guiding Light Reva’s been doing everything Lewis for years, and no one bats an eyelash? It’s not fair, I tell you, and Brooke will have Thorne whether the Forresters like it or not. The bastards. Today has been an incredibly relaxing day, and has included not only much TV watching, but also two naps (they were short naps, so don’t look at me like that), and having my hair colored by Mr. Fred. It was about time, too, since my roots had grown out about three inches. I got my first gray hairs when I was sixteen, and started coloring my hair when I was twenty-one. From what I can see of my roots, it’s obvious that if I let my natural hair color come through, I’d be half to two-thirds gray. I was actually going to let my hair go back to it’s natural color earlier this year. My roots had grown out about five inches before Fred freaked out and told me he’d color my hair himself. I guess he doesn’t want people to think he’s married to an old lady. Anyway, my hair is colored Feria "Brazilian Brown," my soaps are watched, and I only have two months worth of Glamour, Mademoiselle, and Cosmo to read. Oh, and the newest Reader’s Digest. I read an awful lot of crap, but it’s what keeps me informed, people. You know that’s what you love about me, that I can spout details about Teena Brandon/Brandon Teena, because I read all about it way back when it happened, in one of the women’s magazines. The only thing that really pisses me off is all the ads and perfume strips you have to wade through to get to anything of substance. Though I guess "substance" would be a matter of opinion. I woke up with the kitten on my face at 3:30 this morning and the foulest stench wafting around us both. I don’t know how long she was there before I woke up – I’d guess only a few moments – but I think my sense of smell is permanently gone. She’s so cute, though, that you can’t really blame her. Much. Fred and the spud headed for Wal-Mart at 7:00 this morning, hoping to beat the crowds. They were apparently successful (I’m sure here in the Bible Belt that everyone was getting ready for church), and came home with my christmas present from the spud and bags and bags of fruit. Fred’s been having a craving for grapefruit, and while they were at Wal-Mart he bought grapefruit, tangerines, ugli fruit, and a bunch of other stuff that I can’t recall at the moment. The grapefruit was pretty good, but it sure had a bite to it. I’m not a big fan of fruit, when I do eat it I prefer the simple stuff, like apples, oranges, and bananas, with the occasional grape or pear thrown in. I’ve got all my christmas shopping done, except for things for the spud’s stocking, and something for the cats. I’ll be hitting Wal-Mart early one morning this week. Knowing me, it’ll probably be Friday morning. I like to live dangerously that way.]]>

after 11 last night! Can you believe it? After I paid bills and threw up a journal entry (hm. that doesn’t sound right, but you know what I mean), I went upstairs and wrapped some more presents, got the box of presents ready to send off to my parents, then spent half an hour folding laundry. In the living room, Fred watched ten or fifteen minutes of Truth or Dare before flipping around some more. Once I put the laundry away, I joined him and demanded that he go back to Truth or Dare. It’s one of the movies I always stop and watch if I happen across it whilst flipping channels, because it’s a total trainwreck of a movie. Documentary, I guess I should call it. Through the entire thing, Madonna is just a total bitch. Not that this should shock anyone. I particularly like the part where they’re in Toronto and the cops are threatening to arrest her for public indecency because of the huge masturbation scene during her rendition of "Like a Virgin." Madonna yammers about freedom of speech, and how she has the right as a U.S. citizen to express herself artistically. When did Toronto become part of the United States, again? Then she and her backup singers did a heartfelt chorus of "We Shall Overcome." Poor, downtrodden Madonna. You really have to feel for her, don’t you? I don’t believe I ever mentioned that the other day – the day Tubby peed on the spud’s coat, matter of fact – Fred got home from work to find a note from the cleaning chick: Mrs. Anderson – Your daughter’s blankets are in the laundry room. One of the cats went to the bathroom on them. Summer. Tubby strikes again, damn him straight to hell. About twice a year, he registers his displeasure with something we’ve done, and it usually takes the form of defecating on Fred’s bed. This time, he apparently decided that the spud would be his target. I’m sure he’s reacting (long after the fact) to my parents’ eternal visit and our adopting the kitten so soon after they left. He’s never registered his displeasure on my bed, and I suspect he knows I’d kick his tubby ass from one end of the house to the other and back again if anything of the sort ever occurred. And don’t think I wouldn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that Fred and I have separate bedrooms. Actually, the master bedroom is considered "our" bedroom – that’s where all our clothes are, and Fred showers in the master bathroom – but that’s where I sleep alone at night. Every night after lights-out, Fred and I lay in bed and talk for half an hour or so, and then kiss and hug goodnight, and he goes off into "his" room – a small extra bedroom on the other side of the house – and sleeps there. We have a king-sized bed in the master bedroom, so space is not the issue. Snoring is. And it’s actually not his snoring, it’s mine. I snore like Hell, as well as grinding my teeth almost incessantly. It’s quite a thrill trying to sleep next to me, it appears. Last time we tried sleeping in the same bed, Fred gave up after about forty-five minutes of listening to me snore and grind. Let’s not even talk about my morning breath.]]>

Here’s our lovely Christmas tree. We go for the minimalist look, can you tell? Lights and ornaments, that’s all we decorate our tree with. No tinsel, no garland, none o’ that fancy stuff, no sir! Here’s another picture of the Scrapster. She loves to lay on the arm of the couch next to Fred. Actually, in this picture she’s coveting Fred’s dinner, which was an excellent steak. Fred hit Winn Dixie this evening and bought a ton of meat and vegetables to fill up our new freezer. The one I mentioned as being a tad too large? He bought enough meat to get us through at least a month, and as you’ll note, it isn’t even close to thinking about being filled up. In fact, there’s still room for him to kill me and store my body. You just keep that in mind when I go missing, people. Y’all think I’m joking, but the joke will be on you when I’m not here to entertain you anymore. You don’t see the way he looks at me, as if he’s thinking "If I just knock her over the head a few times, I won’t have to listen to the bitching and whining anymore!" Little does he know that my loyal readers will bitch and whine at him in my stead. Right?]]>

medium for about a week now, and have won 10 or 15 games. Not 10 or 15 in a row, you understand, but at least two or three a day. Maybe it’s time I move up to hard. Maybe I’ll just stay at medium until I win a few games in a row. And maybe I’ll actually get off my butt and register the damn thing. Ya think? Fred is all kinds of thrilled and eager for christmas, because he has apparently bought the perfect present for me. You may recall that we said we weren’t going to buy presents for each other. Well, that evolved somehow into we’re going to buy a couple of small presents for each other, and then basically each of us trying to keep up with the other. "How much have you spent?" "$100." "Oh, shit! I better get a few more things…" "No!" "Yes!" And so on. He was going to get me an autographed picture of the cast ofAlly McBeal (I love that Fish!), and a script, but was outbid. Then he got this sudden brilliant insight, and he’s been teasing me about it ever since. He won’t even give me the slightest hint of what it is because he wants it to be a total surprise. Aside from maybe a Litter Maid, I can’t imagine what on earth it is. He just told me that it’s inexpensive "but special." I haven’t a clue what it is. Which is good, because I really like surprises. ]]>

her, and I told them that I needed to talk to the spud and make sure she wanted to go. "Like she won’t want to!" we exclaimed at each other. I bet you can see where this is going. "Spud," I said bright and early the next morning, "There’s a possibility you could go to Maine for a week after christmas. Do you want to?" She thought about it for 20 seconds and said "No." Ironic, isn’t it, that the only thing we didn’t consider ended up being the thing that put a wrench in the works? Come to find out, she’s a bit scared of flying by herself, even though there will be a nice flight attendant to bring her from plane to plane. At least this way I won’t have to worry about the flight attendant forgetting about the spud and her ending up in Paris. But I’m betting by week 2 of christmas vacation, the spud will be desperately wishing she had gone to Maine. I can almost guarantee it. ]]>

Snood suckiness continues. I semi-mastered the easy level and have moved on to medium. After reading that I was playing on easy, Audrey emailed me. "I began playing at the evil level my very first day," she sneered. "And once I was on the phone, not really paying attention, and I ended up with twenty zillion points. The other time, I took a nap and woke up with a million points. I usually don’t even look at the screen while I’m playing. Frankly, Robyn, I’m amazed you can bear to confess to playing on easy. My friend’s nephew is three months old, and he manages medium." She went on in this vein until I ran away crying. Maybe I should start an "I suck at Snood" webring. Just kidding about that email from Audrey, of course. I mean, she did tell me she plays on evil, but she didn’t rub it in. She didn’t need to, I could read between the lines. ]]>

huge. I had wanted something to hold about a month’s worth of meat, frozen vegetables, and bread, but the one Fred ended up buying will probably hold a year’s worth. Last night, as we were laying in bed talking, I said "Promise me you’ll never tip me over into the freezer and shut the top, as a joke." Because I could imagine the scenario where I would be leaning over trying to get something on the very bottom of the freezer, and he would grab my legs and tip me in, thinking it was funny. He was aghast, and said sternly "It wouldnever occur to me to do such a thing! Not ever!" But if I end up MIA, y’all know where to tell the cops to look… As I mentioned, we watched the South Park movie last night. At the risk of making myself look like a lowbrow, white-trash, potty-mouth idiot (too late!), I thought it was hilarious. And when they started singing "Uncle Fucka", I thought Fred was going to pass out, he was laughing so hard. We’re both Trey Parker fans – Fred more than I – and have so far enjoyed everything he’s had a hand in creating. If you’ve never heard the opening song – Shpadoinkle Day – in Cannibal!: The Musical, you’re really missing out. (Note: Fred asked me to point out that Trey Parker not only wrote this song, he also sang it). Fred thinks Trey Parker could write musicals for the stage, and I agree. ]]>

I know what I mean. So, I’m getting a little stressed. I ordered all kinds of Christmas presents from Amazon last week, and only two of them have arrived. I’m waiting on all kinds of gift certificates and cds and movies to arrive here so I can wrap them and send them on to Maine. I knew when I placed the order that I should have had them sent directly, but I don’t really like doing that. I prefer to wrap them myself, then send them all together in a big box. I’m getting to the point where, several times a day, I desperately check the email I’m registered under at Amazon, hoping against hope to find a "We’ve mailed out the rest of your order!" email. With the bitchypoo luck, though, everything will arrive next weekend, requiring that I mail my Christmas packages out Priority mail. Not that I don’t anyway. I’m just saying. ]]>