Category: Life

Bill and Hillary: The Marriage right now (well, not right this very second, but you know what I mean). I said to Fred "The author may be biased, but he sure makes Clinton look like a lying, cheating, morally bankrupt, skeezy, weak…" I’m going to go read some more and try to get warm. We’re supposed to have a winter storm Thursday night or Friday. It’s brutally cold out there right now, and it’s been flurrying on and off for several hours. Brrrrr. Y’all stay warm, now!
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* * * Okay, I’m back. I was in the doctor’s office until 4:00, then waited around at the pharmacy for 20 minutes, came home, and we ate dinner, and now you’re all caught up!
By the way, I finally gave my url to my sister Friday night. Hi, Deb! She gave my url out to some oneline friends of hers, so Hi, Deb’s online friends! The other night, the spud spent half an hour on the phone chatting with a new-this-year friend, Becca. On her way to bed, she called down to Fred: "Fred, is F-A-G a bad word?" He said "Yeah, you might not want to say it in mixed company." "Huh?" she said, not knowing what that meant. "It’s not a nice word," I told her. "You shouldn’t say it." "Oh." Curiously, I asked "Why? Where did you hear that?" "Becca," the spud said. "She said Britney Spears is one. Well, she said she was an F-A-G -ette." Fred and I couldn’t help ourselves, and laughed out loud. "That’s not nice," I told the spud between giggles. "Don’t say it, okay?" "Okay." Talk about sending mixed messages, eh? Okay, I’m off to read or watch TV or something. Y’all have a nice evening, or day, or whatever it is when you’re reading this. Buh-bye!
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Robyn, you’re saying, you’re always lame. That’s why we love to laugh at you.)
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really like Dr. Webster. He’s so darn nice. Dr. W reminded me that I needed to have a follow-up x-ray to make sure I was over the pneumonia, and then he got his light out to look in my ear. The expression on his face very clearly said "There’s no way this chick has an ear infection; she just finished taking a very strong antibiotic!" He looked in my left ear, paused, and looked again. "Hmm," he said. He walked around me and peered in my right ear, paused, and looked again. "Hmmm!" he exclaimed. Double ear infection, thankyouverymuch. Ironically, it wasn’t until after I’d taken my first dose of the antibiotic he prescribed for me that my ear started hurting. On the good side, he prescribed hydrocodone in pill form for me. Hydrocodone is some excellent stuff. I’m going to go play snood now, and try not to think about my ear. You, however, may worry about my ear all you’d like. G’night. —–]]>

The Ladies’ Man, Sis Boom Bah, Paisley Girl, The Third Heiress, Protecting the Gift, The Mentor, Sick Puppy, Cruddy, Surrender Dorothy, No One You Know, Bitter Ice, Splitting, The Cigarette Girl, Sometimes You Just Have to Make Your Own Rules, and Luann. I now officially have too damn many books to read. All the shelves of a 3-shelf bookcase and the top are covered with books I haven’t read yet. As usual when I have so many books to read, I haven’t the slightest clue what I’ll read next. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes and point!
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Jonathan Kellerman book, a 20-pack of mechanical pencils for the spud, and 6-pack of film. For the office, I stocked up on Coke, paper towels, napkins, and trash bags, which just isn’t nearly as much fun as buying stuff for myself. I hit McDonald’s on the way back to the office to pick up lunch for Fred and myself, and then supervised the unloading of the aforementioned office supplies from my truck (I figure, I have to load the stuff in the cart, unload it for the cashier to ring up, re-load it in the cart, then move everything from the cart to my truck. Should I have to then help haul all that stuff into the office? I think not.). I discussed the many conference table options with the bosses (laminated vs. veneered, how long ’til they’re available, what kind of chairs, etc), ate lunch, and then hit the road again, this time to go back to the office furniture stores I’d previously visited, to get more prices on different tables, and then to the accountant’s office to drop off a copy of our backup disk (very, very scary neighborhood). By the time I made it back to the office, it was almost two, and after six-thousand more meetings about conference tables, I left around 2:40 because Fred was going to stop by Best Buy, and someone needed to be home when the spud got off the bus. Like I said, a fast, busy day. That’s the way I like ’em, but I have a serious backlog of journals to catch up on. I’m sure I’ll get the chance later this week. My left ear is seriously clogged and everything sounds muffled on that side. I need to go back to the doctor, so they can check me and declare me over the pneumonia, and no doubt prescribe more antibiotics for my ear, because I just can’t get enough of those lovely antibiotic-enduced yeast infections. I feel like I spend half my life sitting in waiting rooms. Warning: the squeamish and the male amongst you may not want to read the following. And now, for your singing pleasure (to the tune of "The Song that Never Ends" (which I personally heard sung by Sherry Lewis and Lambchop back when the spud was a little thang)): It’s the period that never ennnnnnds!
Yes, it goes on and on my friends!
My uterus star-ted bleeding, because that’s what it does!
And now it’ll go on bleeding forever, just becaaaaaause!
It’s the period that never ennnnnnds! I’ve been having my period for a week now. I thought it was over Monday morning, but nooooooo, it sure as hell wasn’t. I thought it was mostly over by Monday evening, but two hours after inserting a super-extra-jumbo-humongo tampon, I was bleeding through it. What the fuck is up with that? I was up wandering around the bathroom at midnight looking for more tampons and pads. I finally snarled at Fred "Fuck this, I’m going back on the pill!" When I’m on the pill, my periods are shorter, and I know when they’re coming. First thing tomorrow morning, I’m calling my gynecologist to make an appointment, damnit. Between the pneumonia and the period, I haven’t had sex in forever. No wonder I’m tense. Too much information, right? Oh, you know that’s why you love me! —–]]>

8:30 this morning. I woke up at 7:15 when Fred went into the bathroom to take his shower, but I was having an excellent sex dream about Ben Affleck and wanted to get back into it. Ben and me, we had sex in the back of a van. Jealous? I would actually have preferred to dream about James Gandolfini – he’s much more my type. Speaking of dreams, I had a dream the night before last that Fred dared me to walk, naked, about a mile down the road to an old gas station. What’s worse is, not only did I do it, but some random guy walked up to me and started messing around with my boobs. I’d like to blame my weird dreams on the drugs I’m taking, but I don’t think antibiotics are supposed to have that sort of effect. I talked to my sister via IRC yesterday, and she said that my nephew is just getting over the flu. Is there anyone who hasn’t been sick in the last month? The flu and bronchitis seems to have run rampant in the on-line journalling community lately.
Here’s a shot of the kitten, "helping" with the laundry.
And here she is, "helping" with the dishes. Not much going on today – it’s Martin Luther King Day, so Fred and I aren’t working, and the spud doesn’t have school, therefore we’re just hanging around the house – so I’ll end this right here and now rather than yammering on about nothing in particular. But then, that would be the norm, wouldn’t it? Have a good day, y’all! —–]]>

got up. What’s up with that? Back in the old days, before the spud was born, I used to sleep until 10, or later. Even after the spud was born, on many mornings I’d get up with her and snooze on the couch for hours (shutup, the apartment was childproofed). On the weekends, the ex would get up with her, and I’d just lay in bed forever. On the other hand, I did take that 2 hour nap yesterday and then went to sleep around 11 last night, so I’m going to guess that I’m still getting plenty of sleep.

So last night, Fred and I were sitting in front of our computers, and had Cops on in the background (yes, we are very lame). At one point, something caught my attention and I turned around to watch for a few minutes. The cops had been called out to a house where an 8 year-old kid had locked his mother out. The kid stood in the window and made faces at the cops and stuck his tongue out. I was just fuming, because I was imagining being in that mother’s position. I said to Fred, "That kid is not nearly scared enough of his mother!" I mean, can you imagine? If I’d pulled anything like that when I was a kid, my mom would have beaten the shit out of me, and I would have deserved it. There were two cops there, one older – perhaps in his forties – and one much younger – maybe mid to late twenties. The older cop wasn’t at all amused, while the younger cop thought it was funny. The older cop broke a window to get into the house, and hunted the kid down and dragged him out from under his bed into the living room and tossed his ass down on the couch. He was none-too-gentle with the kid, I’ll tell you that. I was yelling "Cuff him! Cuff him!" at the TV, and told Fred "They should tell him they’re taking him to jail!" But the kid just wiggled around on the couch and kicked his legs. He was a little scared, but not nearly enough. Kids these days just aren’t scared of their parents, and they should be. Everyone wants to be buddies with their kids, and that does no one any kind of favor. Kids don’t need buddies, they need parents, and when their parents try to be their friend, it’s too damn confusing.

Okay, off my soapbox. Y’all have a good day, now, y’hear?

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had to have more. It’s like me and books. I have a bookcase crammed with books I haven’t read yet, and still I asked for books for Christmas, and used my birthday amazon gift certificates to practically wipe out my wish list. I’m a spoiled rotten brat, that’s what I am. Speaking of the spud’s allowance, the reason I was paying her for the last five weeks is because I am absolutely awful about paying her on time. Every Friday, she says "Can I have my allowance?" and I say "I don’t have it right now. I’ll get it to you tomorrow." And she very forgivingly, with no attitude whatsoever, says "Okay." This goes on for weeks and weeks, until I get off my ass and make sure to have enough money to pay her. Her weekly allowance is $12 (I know! When I was 11, I got something like $1.50 a week, and I was happy to have it!), but she’s required to put 1/3 of it in a savings jar for short-term savings, and another 1/3 of it goes into her college fund, and I never seem to have $4 around when it’s allowance time. I am a bad, bad mother. I discovered this week that one of the good things about having digital cable and a zillion channels, is that one of the HBO channels shows old Dennis Miller Live shows every night at 7:30. Have I mentioned how much I adore Dennis Miller? (I also adore Denis Leary, but that’s neither here nor there) The two shows I caught this week were from 1995, and he had Fran Leibowitz on one, and Sharon Stone on the other. I’m not very familiar with Fran Leibowitz, but she was funny as hell. Sharon Stone was more annoying than anything; I suspect great deals of pot usage before she showed up. She giggled at inappropriate times, and Dennis generally sat there looking befuddled. I love that man, from the top of his getting-old head to the tips of his grumpy-old-man toes. We ended up watching Lake Placid last night, rather than Mystery Men. I liked Lake Placid, but Fred was majorly bummed that it was only an hour and 18 minutes long. I guess he would have been happier if they’d tossed in a few more dead guys. It supposedly took place in Aroostook County, Maine, which as I told Fred "is potato country!" I lived in Aroostook County for two years when I was about the spud’s age. We started watchingMystery Men this afternoon, but I got really sleepy, and went to take a nice long nap nap. Sometimes, there’s just nothing better than a nap on a lazy Saturday afternoon. ]]>