Category: Life

My god, I am so embarassed. I was designated to choose colors for the offices which would be unoccupied for the time being, along with paint colors for the hallways and bathrooms. There’s an office up near mine that will be empty, and rather than choose a simple off-white or cream color for it, I decided to be daring. "I’ll choose this pretty green color," I said to myself. "I mean, green is a pretty, soothing color. And we don’t want it to be too dark, so this one right here will be just perfect." Yesterday, they painted the office with the aforementioned "pretty green." :

"HOLY CRAP!" I screamed when I saw it. "That’s so fucking ugly!" Fred said, "Yeah, I told everyone you picked it out. We couldn’t believe it." If you look closely at the picture, you’ll note that it’s very close to the color of bile. I swore up and down that I hadn’t picked that hideous color, but in retrospect, I must have. But it looked so purty on the little piece of plastic…

Luckily, they’ve agreed to repaint the office off-white. For which I am thankful, because I could only imagine how many times I’d have had to hear "Oh, Robyn chose that color. Makes you wanna vomit, doesn’t it?"

This is Fred’s office, which I am currently sharing with him. I like the colors he chose, although his stepmother did the actual choosing so he doesn’t deserve the kudos. He’ll have more room once I move out with the fax machine, credit card machine (that’s it, on top of the fax in the middle of the picture), and printer. This picture doesn’t really do justice to the chaotic mess that is Fred’s office right now.

No, I didn’t put up this picture for you to admire the toilet (lovely, isn’t it?), or the blue tile (which looks much uglier in person), or even our trusty little plunger (six men in this office, you know). I put this picture up so that I could tell you a story. When the lady from the rental company was coming through our office, before they began work, she noted that the doors on the bathrooms weren’t "up to code", that is, wheelchairs couldn’t fit through the doorway. So they expanded the doorways of both the bathrooms, one of which you see above. Look closely at the picture above. You’ll note that a wheelchair could, in fact, fit through the doorway. However, once the person in that wheelchair goes through the doorway, what are they supposed to do? There’s no room for the wheelchair to turn around. And there sure as shit isn’t any way the door’s going to close with a wheelchair in there. But, ya know, they can go through the doorway; that’s apparently the important thing!

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At the dinner table:

the spud: What does "MI 10 cents" mean?

F: In Michigan, you can take this bottle to the recycling center and get ten cents for it.

R: When I lived in Rhode Island, I always saved up all my cans and bottles and took them to Maine with me, and returned them. I’d have, like, a trunk full of cans and bottles and I’d get a dollar-fifty for them.

F: Aren’t you glad you don’t have to do that anymore?

Yes indeed.

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So Fred called the "Who wants to be a Millionaire" number last night, and answered all three questions correctly. They put his name in for the random drawing, and he waited excitedly from noon to 3:00, but they never called. The bastards. It was nice to daydream about it, though. Except that Fred said I couldn’t go to New York with him because I had to stay home and be one of his Lifelines. "You’re too smart to waste sitting in the audience!" he said. Sweet, isn’t he? I’d still like to visit New York someday, though.

Couldn’t you just see me in New York City? Someone would glance at me and I’d get all paranoid. "Fred! I think she’s gonna rob us! Look at her looking at me! Call the cops! Help! Help! Police! SOMEONE WANTS TO ROB US! For the love of GOD, won’t somebody help us?!?!" "Jesus Christ, Bessie, she’s 90 years old and blind to boot." "Yeah, well, I still don’t trust her." That, or I’d be the total hick. "Lookit them buildings, Fray-uhd! They’s so TALL! And look! A homeless person. Give him money, Fred! Give him money!" Ih. You know, this paragraph just doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Let’s just leave it at that

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sure couldn’t be around the Boys without supervision ’cause she’d probably be dead within the hour. It was a really difficult decision, but I think it’s for the best. It’s funny, though, how much I miss her. I only held her for about five minutes at the store Saturday, but I came to love her so much in that short period of time. As much as I wanted to adopt her, though, I realized this wasn’t really the ideal environment for her. Okay, enough of that before I start getting all teary-eyed. Speaking of kitties, Spanky is doing this weird thing where he can apparently see into another dimension and it’s kinda freaky. Five minutes ago, he was sitting on top of my monitor when he turned and began staring at…nothing. He was so fascinated by this particular nothing that he jumped down onto the floor and followed it around for a while. Just wandering around the computer room, staring at a fixed spot of nothing for several minutes before he curled up under the end table by the couch. I know I’ve mentioned that we’re remodeling our office space at work. They turned empty warehouse space behind our offices into 3 more offices and a conference room, and now they’re working on the front area; ie, the area that comprised our entire office before we added on. Friday we had to move everything from the front part of the office to the new, back part of the office. In other words, 6 people and their accouterments are crammed into 3 offices and a conference room. We have a lot of stuff, between the 6 of us. And, to add to it, a new guy started Monday, so it’s really 7 of us and all our crap. It’s a joy, I’ll tell you that. I’m in Fred’s office, and — have I mentioned? — I love that man with all my heart. But. There really is such a thing as too much togetherness. I really really really am needing my space, people. Needing it a lot, in fact. Yeah, yeah, woe is me. We could be in a 500-foot apartment, and my parents could be living with us, and I could be dying. I know I’m a big ol’ bitch, whining about needing space while I’m living in a big-ass house, when all over the country far more deserving people are making do without pools and Jeeps and 4 pain-in-the-ass-but-still-really-cute cats. I’m aware of that, okay? But still, I’ll be glad when life goes back to normal. That’s all I’m saying. —–]]>

that put the fear of God in them! The sound made them pause their rambunctiousness. They looked at me, looked at each other, then looked back at me. "What the fuck was that?" Stimpy asked, sniffing the air. "I’m snapping at you so you’ll knock it off!" I told him. "Now, stop!" "Oh yes," said Snoopy. "We must stop, or she’ll snap the mighty Snap O’ Doom again!" And then they laughed their kitty laughs before they raced off. The little bastards. My parents and the spud made it back from Nashville around 4:00 this afternoon. They appear to have had a good time, aside from getting lost in the Opryland Hotel (where they only visited, not wanting to shell out the bucks to stay). They hit the Nashville Zoo, Andrew Jackson’s homestead, and a bunch of other places I can’t remember. ]]>

Snoopy two and a half years ago. They keep cats until they’re adopted out. Stopping there was a big, big mistake, because I immediately saw a tiny black and orange girl kitten who locked her eyes on me and called me Mommy. I took her out of her cage and petted her and kissed her and fell in love. She was the sweetest little thing I’ve ever seen and I really really REALLY want her. Fred was not swayed in the slightest from his “No more cats” stance, so I had to put her back. She looked so betrayed. I would name her Molly. Okay, change of subject before I start hysterically sobbing. After we left the cat store, we went to the extreme south part of Huntsville and bought oysters and jumbo shrimp from this tiny store by the side of the road that we only get around to visiting once a year or so. Then we headed back toward home and stopped at a furniture store on the way to order a tv stand for the spud’s bedroom. We originally ordered a tv stand for the spud for her birthday out of this catalog called “Home Decorators (or Decorating, I don’t recall and I’m too lazy to go look).” No, we generally don’t make a habit of buying furniture from catalogs, but we ordered two stands for our VCR tapes and DVDs, and were pretty impressed at the quality. Anyway, they were supposed to ship it a few days before the spud’s birthday, and when it hadn’t arrived a week after that, Fred called them. They had moved the shipping date to sometime in December, and not bothered to tell us. So we cancelled the order. It’s a nice, simple little tv stand, with a place for a VCR and storage space underneath — which she needs, since her grandparents keep giving her Disney movies. MollyMollyMollyMollyMollyMollyMollyMollyMolly. We came home and, since it was past noon and neither of us had eaten lunch, decided to eat a big lunch and then not eat dinner at all. Fred shucked the oysters (is that the correct word? Shuck? He opened them, in any case) and peeled the shrimp. I observed from my seat on the loveseat. He cooked the steak (in the oven, because our gas grill has apparently kicked the bucket) and shrimp and potatoes (regular baked potato for him, baked sweet potato for me), and then we ate. As the cats gathered around the table, taking turns meowing and looking very interested, we ate and ate and ate. The shrimp were excellent, the steak rocked, and the oysters were to die for. If you’ve never tried raw oysters, you are missing out bigtime, my friend. MollyMollyMollyMollyMollyMollyMollyMollyMolly. Then Fred left the cleanup to me (since he cooked)(and thank god almost everything fit in the dishwasher), and came downstairs, puttered on his computer, and took a short nap. I watched “The Bold and the Beautiful” and the last episode of “The Real World” that I taped this week. Is it just me or was Kaia a total bitch who needed a good ass-kicking? I would have kicked her ass but good, let me tell you that. Or I would have said really mean things about her behind her back. One or the other.]]>

Hey, here’s a tip for those of you who are service people and have to go to people’s houses and do things like hook up cable: PARK ON THE STREET, OR PARK FAR ENOUGH BACK IN THE DRIVEWAY SO THAT THE PERSON WHOSE TRUCK GOES IN THAT EMPTY GARAGE CAN GET THEIR FREAKIN’ TRUCK INTO THEIR GARAGE. Can you tell this irks me? Jesus, who the Hell pulls into a driveway, sees a garage door open, no vehicle in that side of the garage, and thinks "Oh, I should pull up here, this won’t be a problem."? ARGHHH.

Okay. So I arrive home this afternoon and find a cable truck blocking my side of the garage. The door was open, the space was empty, and yet I could not reach it. No problem. I parked in the driveway behind Fred’s side of the garage, plodded down the driveway to check the mail, and went back to the truck, because – of course – there were groceries to be brought inside. I grabbed several bags, balancing them with the mail and my bag, and – of course – one of the bags broke, tossing boxes and cans everywhere. I swore quietly under my breath and put everything down so I could chase down the rogue boxes and cans, and stuffed them into another bag. I finally got everything under control and walked to the garage door, getting more and more pissed. "Park in my driveway, blocking my spot, you motherfucker. You can take your digital cable and shove it! Who the fuck needs 140 channels anyway?" I growled to myself. I made it in the door, and just stood there because suddenly everything felt really heavy. Was I going to make it up the stairs? (Of course I was, because I’d rather fall backwards down the stairs due to a too-large load of toilet paper and soda than make a second trip downstairs.) Fred heard me, and came quickly down the stairs. He saw the really pissed-off look on my face and shushed me before I could get started. If I were a cartoon, I would have had steam drawn coming out of my ears. I made a few faces at him, then huffed and puffed my way upstairs, dropped everything on the kitchen counters, and hid in the spud’s bedroom until I got my breath back.

Other than that, my day has been pretty good.

I got to sleep in late this morning (until 6:15! I am so bad!), because I took half the day off. The cleaning girly was coming between 11 and 12, and rather than leaving work to come home and let her in, I stayed home and cleaned the spud’s room. And when I say I cleaned it, I mean I cleaned the hell out of it. Took me 2 hours, and when I was done, I had two and a half big garbage bags filled with stuff to give to the Salvation Army. Isn’t that disgusting? She has so friggin’ much crap that I was able to come up with that much to get rid of, and she hasn’t even noticed any of it is gone. One of those bags was full of Barbie stuff. She had, no kidding, 30 Barbie dolls. What’s up with that? The problem is that she gets a Barbie from my parents, her father’s parents, her father, and sometimes my sister for just about every birthday and Christmas. This year, everyone who sends her a new Barbie is gonna receive an old one in the mail. Probably won’t stop them, though.

As I mentioned, we had a woman come to clean today. I let her in at 10, and left for work. Fred came home about 1, since he’s still not feeling well, and she was still here. She wasn’t done until 2:30, and she did an incredible job. The shower I use hasn’t really been cleaned in about 6 months (yes, I know, that’s nasty), and she got it sparkling clean. The cat-hair dust bunnies that were threatening to consume the stairway were gone. She even changed the sheets on my bed! I think I’m in love.

Did everyone enjoy Fred’s guest entry yesterday? I thought he did a great entry, but he wasn’t that happy with it. He informed me that the problem was that I asked him to do it when he’s been doing nothing but sitting on his ass and coughing, so next time I’ll ask him to write when he’s really busy.

So, as you know, my parents are coming to visit tomorrow. They’ll be here for 11 days, and I’m not sure what that’s going to do to my journalling schedule. I’ll try to update every day, but I’m sure they’ll expect me to join them on their visits to my relatives. I may start writing and uploading during the day, but I have no idea if that will happen or not. Stay tuned!

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Fred hit the doc-in-the-box as soon as the office opened and found – to no one’s surprise – that he has bronchitis. The doctor tried to give him a prescription for tussionex (which has lots and lots of hydrocodone in it), but Fred didn’t want it because it puts him to sleep. Some days, the man thinks of no one but himself. Oddly, even though he’s had two doses of the antibiotic, he’s feeling worse instead of better. Because, instead of staying in bed, napping, and eating junk food all day (the Robyn method of dealing with illness), he went out and supervised the pool guy as he cleaned the pool. Then he cleaned the solar cover off and dragged it back onto the pool all by his lonesome, which left him so lightheaded he had to take a nap.

Because I didn’t have to wait for the spud to get on the bus this morning, I managed to get to work half an hour earlier than usual. It was really nice having the office to myself. I got a bunch of bills paid, did a lot of filing, and by about 9:00 was settled in surfing and catching up on journals. That’s pretty much how I spent the day, except for a quick run to the bank.

When I got home, Fred was talking to someone from a maid service — we haven’t really given up looking for cleaners who won’t charge an arm and a leg — and after she left, we went out back and sat on the patio and watched the cats explore the backyard. The weather’s been beautiful for the last several days, sunny and around 75, with a clear blue sky. I’m sure it won’t last for long, but it’s nice while it lasts. Especially considering it’s about 50 in Maine right now. The one thing I don’t much miss about Maine is the cold weather.

Fancypants is the one who likes going outside the most, but I suspect that’s only so he can search for a way out of the backyard. The entire time he’s outside he skulks around the perimeter peering through the slats of the fence. Either he’s trying to get out or he’s selling kitty drugs. He hasn’t tried digging under the fence yet, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.

A few months ago, when the pool was still warm enough to swim in (or at least it wasn’t so cold we’d immediately perish upon contact with the water), the cats were out wandering around the backyard. Stimpy apparently spotted a butterfly or grasshopper flying by and immediately went after it. I swear to you, he was leaping at the very least five feet in the air. Twice he bounced up and flailed his front paws at the butterfly/grasshopper, and on the third bounce, he hit the fence with his back feet and actually ran paralell to the ground for three or four steps before pushing off, flipping over, and finally landing on the lawn. I laughed so hard I almost passed out, and if I’d had the camcorder out there with me, I’d be $100,000 richer, damnit.

For tomorrow, Fred has agreed to write a guest entry. I’m frightened to see what he writes about, but I did inform him that he could write about the wonder that is Robyn. —–

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