Category: Life

See.” I grinned up at him from my nice, warm bed and said "What do you see?" And my husband, who thinks he lives in a musical, burst into song, and to the tune of "Do You See What I See?", sang the following: Do you see what I see? My wife doesn’t love me very much She won’t bring me my lunch My beans My rice And tabasco sauce If I miss it, what a great loss If I miss it, what a great loss My god, I love that man. The whole time he sang, I rolled around on the bed and laughed. He’s so damn funny sometimes. Okay, I’m off until Monday. Go back and read some of the old stuff if you miss me that much! Have a good weekend, y’all. —–]]>

I hate those bitches. Just so you know. Have I ever mentioned that Fred and I sleep in separate rooms? When I first moved to Alabama and in with Fred, we had separate rooms because the spud had no idea that we were romantically involved, and for the first year, we referred to Fred as our “roommate.” After we’d been in Alabama for a year, I approached the spud with “What would you think if Fred and I wanted to be boyfriend and girlfriend?” She grinned and said “Not good!” It took a few months, but she eventually accepted the fact that we were “dating” (though there were, of course, no actual “dates”) – and it was probably another three or four months before Fred actually kissed me in front of her. Hmmm. I seem to have gotten off-track. Where was I? Oh yes, separate beds. So while we were still in the apartment, I would occasionally attempt a “sleepover” in Fred’s room. I usually stayed for an hour before his snoring drove me back to my own room. The only thing I hated about having separate rooms was that after we were done with our nightly cuddling and chatting, I had to get up and leave his room to make the (albeit short) trek back to mine. Let me tell you, it was a lonely feeling, one that I didn’t care for at all. The summer of ’97, while the spud was visiting my parents, he and I went to Florida for four days. Which meant we had to share a bed, since two rooms would have been way more than we could afford. The first night, he snored so loudly that I took my pillow and a blanket and tried to make a go of it on the bathroom floor. When he realized his snoring was keeping me awake, he kindly went out on the balcony and slept most of the night in a lounge chair out there. I think he did that most nights – I don’t know how else we would have ever made it through the trip. When we moved into the house, we decided that we would share the master bedroom. I was sure that the first few nights would be rough, but once I got used to the noise, it would be smooth sailing. Then something happened I hadn’t counted on. He was bothered by my snoring. After a few weeks of not sleeping very well at all, he started getting up in the night and going into the guest bedroom. I was sleeping like a rock for the most part, which was the problem. I snore like a drunk longshoreman on the best of nights, it would appear. Anyway, the guest bedroom quickly became Fred’s bedroom. These days, we lay in bed and talk for at least half an hour, then he gets up and goes into his bedroom. Funny enough, since we’ve gotten married, it doesn’t bother me in the slightest to be sleeping in separate rooms. I love having the king-size bed to myself, though he’s suggested more than once that I should be sleeping in the guest bedroom so he can have the big bed. And he can just keep dreaming. —–]]>

around the neigborhood, and had either grown up or lived in Presque Isle , which is in Aroostook County (and if you’ve been taking careful notes, you’d remember that Aroostook County is potato country!). All he wanted was to know was where I’d gotten the bumper sticker. My name is Robyn, and I’m a spaz, thank you. So, the kitties are all kinds of confused today. Tubby is getting so huge that we really have no choice but to limit his food. Until today, we’ve kept their food bowl filled, and they’ve been able to eat whenever the mood struck them. We took the bottomless bowl away last night, and they seemed a little concerned. This morning, Fred fed them when he got up, and after about twenty minutes I went out and took away what was left. Spot, for one, started following me all over the house, and he never does that. I was afraid I’d get home from work and find that the cats had killed and eaten Fred and/or the spud. They were fine, although once I started dinner they were constantly underfoot. I finally fed them, and the only ones who acted like they were starving were the kitten and Spanky. Tubby and Mr. Fancypants turned their noses up at the cat food at first – I think they thought they were going to get some of what I was making for dinner – then gave in and deigned to eat the stuff. On a cat-related note, I have for some reason taken to calling the kitten "Miss Poopypants." I have no idea why this is, and as a result nicknames with "poopy" in them speak of affection to me. I’m continually restraining myself from greeting my sister with "Hey, Pooper!", or Fred with "Hey, Mr. Poops!" I suspect counseling may be in order.]]>

you, I put a stop to that right away. If you’ve been taking copious notes, you’ll note that they put me on augmentin a week and a half ago, and it did not the slightest bit of good, so I had to go back and tell them, so they put me on tequin, which still didn’t apparently cure my ear infection. She went back out, conferred with the doctor, and they prescribed (I think) ceptin for me. Can you guess how much 10 days’ worth of this new antibiotic cost? Oh, go on, guess! One hundred and thirty-fucking-nine dollars. I shit you not. If this stuff doesn’t cure me, I’m going to have to have a screaming hissy fit. Between Fred, the spud and I, we’ve spent about $600 on drugs since the end of December, and I’m still not cured, damnit. Yeah, I know, woe is me. The kitten is sitting on the couch looking all sleepy and cuddlesome, so I’m going to go pick her up and cuddle her. Of course, she’ll probably fart on me, but that’s the price you pay for some cuddling.
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darling, I adore your hair like that! It brings out your eyes and the beauty in your face, and every time I look at you, I can barely restrain myself from throwing you to the floor and making sweet love to you!", because personally you think you look kinda cute, but instead he squints at you and says "What? All piled up on your head? I guess it’s okay. I wouldn’t want you to go to the store like that or anything, but it’s okay when you’re slobbing around the house." ?
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ebay crazies today. I haven’t been on ebay in a long time, probably since I discovered the site about a year and a half ago. At that point, I was bidding all over the place for collectible Coke memorabilia. Luckily, I was outbid most of the time, except for an old shot glass and a few other things. Anyway, I was surfing around at firstjewelry.com, looking for a pair of heart-shaped earrings for the spud, for Valentine’s Day. (Side note: I was all kinds of frustrated, because I put "heart-shaped earrings" in the search engine, and only one pair of earrings came up as a match. After much fuming and clicking around, it occurred to me to search on "heart earrings", which brought back 7 pages of stuff) I decided to check over on ebay to see what there was, and there was a perfect pair of dangly heart-shaped earrings, with the auction ending in less than an hour. I bid $9.99, and of course had to re-bid on them, since someone swooped in from out of nowhere and tried to outbid me with only five minutes left ’til the end of the auction. I ended up paying $17, which I still considered a pretty good price. That, along with a couple of small beanie-type dolls, and I’m done shopping for the spud for Valentine’s Day. Of course, after I was done bidding on the earrings for the spud, I went on to find a pair of opal heart-shaped earrings I would have liked for myself, and I argued back and forth (with myself, that is) whether they were too expensive (the current bid was $30) and whether or not they were worth it. I’m proud to say I talked myself out of bidding on them, although no doubt I would have been outbid eventually. Ah, well. It’s been raining like hell here, off and on since last night. There is nary a snowflake to be seen, though. I’m completely heartbroken, can you tell? Don’t you just hate it when you’re downstairs in the computer room with your husband, each of you on your own computer, and he laughs out loud, and you get all excited, ’cause you want to laugh too, and you say "What? What’s so funny?", and he shrugs and says in an offhand voice, "I’m just talking geek stuff with so-and-so", only instead of saying "so-and-so", he says the person’s IRC nickname? I can only assume they’re talking about me.
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Heart and Souls with Fred and the spud (surprisingly, it wasn’t a bad movie at all) while eating a dinner of Fred-made pizza. Let me see, have I covered everything? Snow, sleep, reading, computer, eating. Yep, that’s it. Have a good one! —–]]>

me, I got to go to the gynecologists’ today! I know you’re jealous. Boy, if I could, I’d go every week, oh yes. Between the paper top that hardly covers me, and the flimsy sheet that goes across my lap and doesn’t cover my ass, I’m just in hog heaven, I’m tellin’ ya. If I were in charge of running a gynecologist’s office, I would suggest large cloth tops and lap cloths. I’d also hire nurses who wouldn’t look at the fat patients as if they’re a blight on the face of humanity and should be dragged out back and shot. But, you know, that’s just me. I sure could do without that rectal exam, though – I had forgotten how extremely uncomfortable that can be. So here in Alabama (state motto: We shut down the state for a week when we see two snowflakes in a row), we’re expecting a winter storm. In the Huntsville area (where I am), we’re expecting one to two inches, and the snow should start sometime after midnight. They’ve already cancelled school for tomorrow. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, because if the spud doesn’t have school, it means I don’t have work. I can’t be out there negotiating the scary, dangerous, two-snowflake-covered roads with the spud in my truck! I stopped by Wal-Mart on the way home this afternoon, and my god was it busy. People were wandering around with their carts piled high with chips and loaves of bread, periodically just coming a dead stop in the middle of aisles, directly in front of me, and staring at the canned soup like they had no idea what it was. Just standing there, staring, and not getting the fuck out of my way. Grrrrr. On the upside, they’d stocked the Little Debbie section, so my beloved Devil Cremes were in stock. So I ended up standing in the cigarette aisle to check out – I don’t know if it’s the same in all Wal-Marts across the country, but around here if you want to buy cigarettes, you have to check out at the register by the cigarettes – and ended up standing next to a latter-day Forrest Gump. Now, Forrest is all cute and amusing in the movie, but let me tell you, when he’s standing next to you yammering about snow, Indiana, and work, it’s more annoying, really. You know, I just for the most part can’t stand people. I know you’re surprised, but more often than not these days, I just want to smack people upside the head and tell them to go away. There were two people standing in line in front of me, each purchasing less than 10 items each, and I stood in line for ten minutes – and for once I’m not exaggerating. It was 3:20 when I got in line, and 3:30 when the cashier handed me my receipt. With Forrest babbling in one ear, I was sorely tempted to bellow "Jesus christ, lady, it’s not brain surgery!" Okay, I’m outta here. Everyone try to stay warm, and despite the horror of that whole inch of snow we’re supposed to get tonight, I shall persevere!
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Devil Cremes, which pissed me off to no end, since I stopped at Wal-Mart this morning and they were also out of Devil Cremes. It’s a conspiracy! —–]]>