Category: Life

I am married to a crazyman. When I got home from work today, the temperature outside was about 67. The temperature of our pool was 73. After Fred replaced the cartridge/filter thingy (that’s the scientific term), I helped him take the solar cover off the pool, and sat outside and kept him company while he cleaned the pool. Then we went swimming. The water was 6 degrees warmer than the air, but it still felt ungodly cold. Fred swam around, saying "What? It’s nice! I’m not cold at all!" while I sat in the shallow end–the end where the sun was still shining–and shivered.

After abuse like that, I was just not up to cooking dinner (but then, I never really am!). So Fred took the spud to Bruno’s (grocery store) and picked up some damn good fried chicken, okra, rolls, and devilled eggs. I just love it when I don’t have to cook. After dinner, what did we do? Did we sit in front of the television near a roaring fire and sip hot cocoa? Why, no. No, we did not. Instead, I sat shivering under a blanket outside while Fred and the spud went swimming again. The outside temperature was something painful like 58, but the pool temp was still 73. I sat and whined about how cold it was for about ten minutes, then escaped inside to lay under the comforter on our bed and gradually warmed up a tad.

Until Fred came inside and put his icy-cold hands on my neck. Gave me goosebumps, he did, the bastard. God, I love that man.

Fred was needing his cigarettes, and he’d left his only pack at work (he’s back to full-time smoking) so I rode with him to the store and then we drove up the street to the neighborhood with the really big houses. They’re very nice houses — and huge — but they’re on 1/2-acre lots, and I think we agree that we’d like a little more land than that.

I don’t know why we’re talking about buying a bigger house. We’ve been in this house less than two years, and it’s more than big enough for us. This Spring, we actually put our house up for sale and looked at many, many houses trying to find one we liked. We found a few we liked, but there was always just one thing we didn’t care for. The house we liked the most was on an incline, and everyone in all the surrounding houses could see directly into the backyard. After about a month, we took our house off the market and decided to stay here. Then we had the pool put in. Now we’re talking about how nice it would be to have a really big house… Wishy-washy, we are.

Fred took the spud out to buy a pumpkin for Halloween today. They picked out a perfectly round (well, at least on one side) one, and it’s huge. The spud has decided that she’s going to paint the pumpkin, rather than draw a face and have us carve it. That should be interesting!

Nighty-night.

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Oh, I so do not want to go to work tomorrow. I can’t believe how fast this damn weekend flew by. I slept in ’til 8 am this morning, which means I’ll have a hell of a time falling asleep tonight, and will really not want to get up tomorrow. After I showered and got dressed, I had to run to Bruno’s (grocery store) to pick up mushrooms for breakfast.

Fred makes an excellent Sunday big breakfast. He heats up frozen hashbrowns, and adds cut up tomato, kielbasa, onions, mushrooms, and eggs, and mixes it all together. It’s heavenly, and extremely filling. After we eat breakfast on Sunday mornings, we loll about on the bed and moan about how full we are.

I spent the rest of the day just puttering around the house. I cleaned the kitchen, supervised the spud in making chocolate chip cookies ("You break the dough off and then put it on the cookie sheet. Then you put it in the oven. Set the timer for 11 minutes, spud. Okay, go play." Obviously we don’t make the homemade kind, but damn they’re good). Fred and the spud watched Turbulence (with Ray Liotta and Lauren Holly) in the early afternoon, while I sat in front of the computer and read Moira’s archives (link removed; site no longer exists). Once they finished their movie (they watch movies at a volume that shakes the house), I went to take a nap. Fred disappeared downstairs to take a nap also, and the spud played in her room.

Oh, what a glorious nap I had! I dozed off with Spanky sleeping on my hip, and I fell asleep for 15 minutes, woke up, turned over, fell back asleep for another 15 minutes, and so on for about an hour and a half. It was one of the better naps I’ve had. And what was better, each time I fell asleep for 15 minutes, I had a short, vivid dream.

Which brings me to my next subject: I’ve been dreaming about journallers.

Two nights ago, I dreamt that I was house-sitting at Kymm’s house, watching and feeding her cats, and an hour before she was due home I realized I really needed to clean before she got home, so I was running around cleaning like a madwoman. Last night, I dreamed that Beth and Al were going to meet in person and Fred and I had to be there because something bad was going to happen and we had to stop it. What bad thing was going to happen, you ask? Fuck if I know. I just remember a feeling of doom as we raced down the highway.

Obviously my pissed-off subconscious is telling me to get my ass in gear and catch up on my journal reading.

I was downstairs last night in front of my computer, and the spud and Fred were in the extra room, where we store his Clavinova, and I heard the elephantine sound of cats racing from one end of the house to the other upstairs. I realized "Oh, shit, I left the backdoor open, and it’s gotten dark!" (our back yard is fenced in, so we let the cats roam around the backyard at random times), and I had been downstairs for at least an hour and a half. So there was no telling what manner of creatures they’d dragged into the middle of the living room to torture and kill.

When I got to the top of the stairs I found Tubby huddled there soaking wet, and Mr. Fancypants circling him in a hostile manner. Poor Tubby had fallen into the pool, and it freaked Mr. Fancypants out. Tubby ran under my dresser to hide, and Fred dragged him out and semi-dried him off. Guess what? Wet cats reek, in a big way. He’s none the worse for wear I guess, because when I opened the back door this afternoon, he was the second one out.

Spanky was the first one to fall in the pool — I guess it’s been about a month — and both times cats fell in the pool, it was dark outside. Obviously we need to bring them inside before it gets dark.

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I’m soooooo tired. Fred and I stayed up late last night (11:30! My god, will the insanity never stop?!?!?) and I had to get up at 6:30 to get ready to attend the spud’s game. I tried taking a nap this afternoon, but Spanky was in his "I love my Mama" mood, and kept climbing up on me to purr in my ear and touch my face with his cold paw. So I got up and watched the "The Bold and the Beautiful" episodes I taped this week. Yes, I know it’s cheesy. But I just love that Brooke Logan Forrester. She’s such a ho-bitch, and I can’t get enough of her. What I can get enough of is her new slicked-back ‘do. And that awful Macy. Keep being smug, Macy. You think you’ve won the fight for Thorne, but you’re wrooooooooooooooong. HA. And what’s up with Ridge and Eric being so holier-than-thou? I don’t recall everyone insisting Ridge give Brooke up because his Momma didn’t like it; why can they insist Thorne give her up for such a lame-ass reason?

Ahem. ::blush:: Anyway.

The spud’s team lost their soccer game today, with a score of 3-0. The spud could care less. We’re all just anxious for the damn soccer season to end so we can have our weekends back. When she played soccer last year, her team won every game they played, and then won the city tournament games, so had to continue on to the area tournaments. Soccer didn’t end until near the end of November. Boy, weren’t we sick of the soccer by then.

I applied for an AmSouth credit card a couple of weeks ago because they were giving free t-shirts to anyone who filled out an application. I filled it out, knowing there was no way I’d get a card from them. I have horrid credit; while I was married to the ex, we filed for bankruptcy. Bad, bad, bad with money we were. Proving me wrong, I received an AmSouth card in the mail yesterday.

With a $2,000 limit.

Are they nuts?? Obviously they didn’t even do a cursory background check on me. At least now I can cancel my secured $300 limit credit card that charges, like, 21% interest. I’ll just carry this new card around with me in case there’s an emergency. Uh huh.

I’m kinda bummed. For the last two or three months, I’ve been ordering our weekly groceries online from Kroger. It’s been great; an hour with the program on Thursday mornings, and they arrive that evening between 5:30 and 7:00. The woman who picks out our food at Kroger has been doing a kick-ass job picking out meat and veggies for us, and the delivery charge is only $9.95. I’ve been saving easily twice that, because if I’m not in the store, I can’t make impulse purchases. Last week, they informed us that they weren’t getting enough customers shopping online, so it wasn’t worth it for them to continue. Which means I have to go back to going grocery shopping myself. Damn them!

So here are my answers to Mike’s survey:

1. Would you take the fall for a crime committed by a sibling or parent?: Hell, no.

2. What’s your favorite picnic food?: Fried chicken, hamburgers, potato salad, chips.

3. What television show did you like that got canceled way too soon?: My So-Called Life.

4. Ever get caught picking your nose?: When I was in 6th grade, I got caught by Sandy, who announced it to the class. Bitch. I hope she’s having a hellish life. AND last year I was digging for gold and Fred walked quietly into the room and caught me at it. I am currently extremely careful when picking.

5. By which school picture are you most embarrassed?: It’s not a school picture. It’s a picture of me when I was in 8th grade and taking ballet lessons, and I was posing for a picture. Whenever Fred sees it, he hums "No Rain" by Blind Melon (you’ll recall the chunky little girl in the bumblebee outfit from that video). I’m also pretty embarrassed by the original bitchypoo picture.

6. What was your first computer?: A 386 something or other. I bought it from my friend’s husband for $50.

7. What are you completely and irrationally stubborn about?: Neither Fred nor I can come up with an answer to this, so I’m going to have to say I’m always the voice of reason.

8. You’re offered the political appointment of your choosing. What job do you take?: Queen of the World.

9. How would you like to die?: In my sleep, with no pain, and before Fred.

10. You get to plan your own funeral. Who speaks? Who sings? How do you get sent off?: After a small, intimate funeral service, Fred boards a boat in Portland Harbor. He takes the boat miles out to sea, and scatters my ashes over the ocean to the strains of "Tears in Heaven." Then he motors back to shore and spends the rest of his life mourning me.

11. You and a date finish an expensive dinner at a fancy restaurant and discover the waiter has charged you for only one lobster. Do you a) point out the mistake. b) keep quiet and leave a huge tip. c) quickly pay the tab and leave.: First of all, that’s one dumb-ass waiter, charging us for only one lobster when we ordered at least five. But I’d probably point out the mistake. I wouldn’t want to, but my paranoid self would believe 60 minutes or 20/20 was doing an expose on honesty in restaurants.

12. To whom are you most likely to lend money? a relative, a friend, a business partner, or the author of this survey.: I’ll most likely lend money to most anyone who asks, if it’s not too much. If it’s like $100, I’d most likely only lend it to Fred, Debbie, or Liz. Or my parents, of course. Or the spud.

13. Ever changed your website just so you could join a ring?: Nope, but I would.

14. Ever written on a special topic, just so you could qualify for a web award?: Not yet!

15. Ever submitted your own site for a web award?: Nope, and never would.

16. Ever offered a web award of your own conception?: Nope.

17. What’s your favorite flavor of toaster pastry?: PopTarts S’mores

18. Ever paid one credit card with another one?: Hell yes. Not recently, though.

19. Ever been hoopsnaked by a home equity loan ad?: Nope.

20. To what magazines do you currently subscribe?: Oh, let’s see if I can remember them all. People, Entertainment Weekly, Marie Claire, Jane, Glamour, Mademoiselle, Cosmo, Woman’s World, Redbook, First for Women, New Woman, Ladies’ Home Journal, Playboy. I think there’s more, but I don’t recall them at the moment.

21. What’s your guilty pleasure?: S’mores, made in the microwave.

22. What do you do that you do not enjoy simply for appearance’s sake?: Color my hair, pluck my eyebrows.

23. Have you ever taken out a singles ad?: Nope.

24. Have you ever lied in a singles ad?: See #23.

25. When was the last time you bounced a check?: Three years ago, maybe.

26. Have you ever camped out for concert tickets? If so, for which concert?: Nope.

27. What’s the most embarrassing name ever given to you by a significant other?: I’ve never been given an embarrassing name by a S.O.

28. Ever played truth or dare in an effort to get into someone’s pants?: Nope.

29. Did you have sex in high school?: Nope.

30. What’s your favorite drinking game?: I’ve never played a drinking game.

31. What bad habits do you have that no one is supposed to know about?: Popping zits. Don’t get me started on how great it is.

32. Are you completely honest in situations where your name isn’t used?: Sure; why not?

33. Ever urinated in public?: Nope. Never quite mastered the squat.

34. Which celebrity would you most like to see drop off the face of the Earth?: Burt Reynolds. God I loathe his stupid fucking ass. Denise Richards, too. Oh, and Angelina Jolie.

35. Which celebrity would you most like to bring back from the dead?: Rex Harrison. Oh, wait, it’s just his career that’s dead.

36. If you found out who really killed JFK, who would you tell first?: Fred, and then the whole world.

37. What’s your favorite comic strip?: For Better or Worse.

38. What was the last thing you purchased at Wal-hypen-Mart? When was that?: Stuffed mice for the cats to play with, a lazy susan for the kitchen table, Conceptrol (contraceptive gel), Astro-Glide, 8 green hand towels, cookie dough, pistachios. That was this morning.

39. If you were afforded the opportunity to sleep with one of your friends, who would it be?: Two of my friends are women, and I’m married to the other. Besides, I’m still a newlywed. I’m not looking elsewhere yet, for chrissake.

40. To what superstition do you most adhere?: None of ’em.

41. Elevators or escalators?: Escalators.

42. How many justices of the US Supreme Court can you name? No cheating (there are nine): Ruth Bader Ginsburg, David Souter, Clarence Thomas. Fuck if I can remember anyone else.

43. What is the name of your congressman? (or similar government representative for those living outside the US and not in some fascist country that doesn’t have a representational government): Bud Cramer. Isn’t that a great Southern, redneck name?

44. What are you a big old geek about?: "The Bold and the Beautiful." I don’t know why, but I love that show.

45. Who makes you laugh?: Fred. The spud. Liz and Debbie, too, but Fred most often.

46. Have you ever been in a band? If so, what was it called?: No, but if I were in a band, I’d call it ToeJam. Or ButtDust. Bitchypoo works, too.

47. Herbivore, carnivore, or omnivore?: Omnivore.

48. When playing tic tac toe, which square do you always fill in first? Do you prefer "X" or "O"?: X in the upper left corner.

49. Does the time 4:20 have any significance for you?: Nope.

50. What was the biggest prize you ever won?: $1000 in the Maine Megabucks lottery. And a big ol’ geeky computer programmer in Alabama

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So, today being Friday, I left work early and went to the movies. I’ve left early on Fridays for as long as I’ve worked there; when the company first started, I was going into work on Saturday mornings and cleaning, and leaving work early on Fridays to compensate. We finally hired a cleaning service about a year ago (and none too soon: imagine what it was like cleaning the bathrooms I have to share with five men. It was pretty rank), but I’ve continued to leave early on Fridays. No one seems to mind. Sometimes I go home, and sometimes I go to the movies.

I went to see "The Story of ‘Us’", which opened today. I walked into the theater, and the youngest person there was at least 20 years my senior. It was a girlie movie. It was about relationships. I couldn’t have dragged Fred to it with all my might, I guarantee you that. I liked the movie. It wasn’t what I expected or hoped for, but I liked it just the same.

If you’re looking for an in-depth movie review, you’re coming to the wrong place, my friends. I can only tell you whether I liked it or not; that’s as deep as my analysis goes. It made me laugh, it made me cry, it made me think, and I don’t resent the $4.50 I spent.

I received my first journal-related email today! Actually, I received two. One was from Fred, and said "Dear Robyn, I read you. You suck. Love, me." Charming, innit? The other was from Stasi of Covet What Was Mine (link removed, since it’s no longer there), and it was lovely. She told me she’d read my archives and that she’d gotten my url off Beth’s message boards. God bless Beth. I knew adding my url to the end of my post would drag in at least one reader. And by coincidence, Stasi’s url was about two down on my "to check out" bookmark list. When checking out a new journal, I prefer to go back in the archives to the beginning, if it just started this year, or to the beginning of the year if it’s been around for ages. If I like the first few entries, I add it to my "to check out" bookmarks, and when I get up to date on a journal, I add it to my "journals" bookmarks, and begin the next one on my "to check out" list.

Fascinating, isn’t it?!

Last night, Fred and I stayed up to watch ER. There was a part where Rebecca De Mornay (I can’t remember her character’s name, sorry) and Dr. Corday are discussing her (Rebecca’s) upcoming mastectomy. "What happens with a mastectomy?" Fred asked, "Does she lose all feeling, or what?" Authoritatively, I replied "Areas of her chest may be numb. I still have a numb spot on my knee where I had it operated on when I was 15." Fred stared at me, amazed. "You do?" he said skeptically. "Let me see." I pointed out the spot next to my knee and ran my finger over it to check. Yep. Still numb. He took a pen and told me to hold out my leg. I did, and leaned back and closed my eyes. (If you’re going to do an experiment, ya gotta do it right) "Do you feel this?" he asked. "Nope," I said. "How about–" "OW! JESUS CHRIST!" I bellowed, jerking my leg away. It hurt like hell. Well, didn’t I feel like a complete idiot as Fred and I fell about the place laughing our asses off.

I guess I just have reduced sensation in that area.

Tomorrow, the spud has a soccer game at 8:30, and has to be at the field at 8:00. (AM, this is) And it’s my turn to take her, so there will be no sleeping in, at least not tomorrow, although I guess I can lounge in the bed until at least 7:00. I think I’ll just take a moment to reflect upon how very lucky I am that Fred will actually take turns going to the spud’s games, and dropping her off and picking her up from practice. Too many women end up doing all the kid-related running around with no help from their husbands; not me! ::quiet moment of reflection::

Okay, moment over. Go tell someone you love them.

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So, for some reason I’ve been incredibly weepy the last few days. Driving into work this morning, Pearl Jam’s "Last Kiss" came on, and I got all teary-eyed. I can’t blame it on pms, since I just finished my period last week. Come to think of it, I guess I can blame it on hormones, since I recently stopped taking the pill. Recently as in, I was supposed to start a new pack Sunday, and didn’t. I’ve been on the pill for three and a half years now, and I’d like a break from it. Don’t get your bippies in an uproar, though; we’re not trying to get pregnant. Fred claims to want children — or rather, a child, but you should have seen his face when I suggested we use no birth control at all. His bippies went into a serious uproar, I’ll tell ya that. I thought he was going to clutch his chest and collapse.

Our current birth control is method is the Vaginal Contraceptive Film. It’s a "contraceptive film that has an effective rate as high as 96% when used properly and can be inserted without an applicator." Well, guess what? I have short, stubby little fingers, and have a hell of a time getting it where it needs to be without an applicator.

Isn’t that more than you wanted to know! Change of subject…

Fred is a semi-smoker again. He quit smoking 4 or 5 months ago, cold turkey, but slowly he’s been going back to it. It’s got to be a psychological thing, because the only time he smokes is at work; he doesn’t even crave cigarettes when he’s home. Is it just me, or are smokers cooler than non-smokers? The ex and Fred are both smokers, my sister is a smoker, and I grew up in a house where both my parents smoked. How I never ended up smoking is a mystery.

Actually, it’s not.

When I was 18, I smoked for a week. Ohhh, was I cool, buying a pack of cigarettes at the store and puffing away on my way to and from work. Then I went to a party, and someone noted that I wasn’t smoking right. Not smoking right? What the Hell does that mean? Well, I was drawing the smoke into my mouth and holding it there, then blowing it back out. Smoking does not come naturally to all of us, you see. The smokers at the party stood around me and gave encouragement. "Breathe it in! No, when you drag on the cigarette, breathe it in!" I just could not get the hang of it. I continued for a few more days as a fake smoker, and then on my way to work, I did it right. I breathed the smoke in, alright.

I thought I was going to fucking die. I hacked and coughed and choked and gagged. And unlike those who hacked, coughed, choked and gagged and went on to take a second drag, I quit right then and there. I’m pretty simple in that if something causes me physical pain I tend not to do it again. The above story is also why, when Clinton said he’d taken a puff off a joint, but didn’t inhale, I knew just what he meant.

Today was an absolutely gorgeous 75-degree, perfectly sunny Alabama day. When I got home from work, I opened the back door to let the cats play in the backyard (it’s fenced in so they can’t escape). Minutes later, I looked up to realize that one of the cats had discovered a huge grasshopper and carried it inside. They were all standing around it, taking turns poking at it with their front paws. I shooed them away and herded it outside with my foot. Five minutes later, they’d dragged it inside again. I grabbed it by one leg and tossed it outside. Outside, around the grasshopper, the kitties gathered. "See? It moves. And then it moves again!" Snoopy informed his brothers. He poked at the grasshopper. "What if you do this?" Stimpy asked, sniffing. The grasshopper moved feebly along the ground.

Beth said it best when she said cats do everything by committee. If you want a real killer, you need a dog. I checked on the cats about half an hour later, and there was nothing left of the grasshopper but a few legs scattered across the concrete.

Thank god tomorrow’s Friday! (Yeah, I know. Poor me. Four day weekend, and a few days of work and I’m whining already)

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So, the lottery referendum didn’t pass. Hmph.

Donald Trump is thinking about running for President; you’ve heard about that, right? I followed a link from Fresh Hell (I’m behind in my journal reading as well as my magazine reading), and read a short article on the whole Trump situation. To quote my favorite paragraph from the article:

Under the headline, “America Needs a President Like Me,” Trump wrote last week in The Wall Street Journal that he is considering a run because, “I don’t hear anyone speaking for the working men and women in the center.”

Yeah. Donald Trump can speak for the working men and women of America. Uh-huh. Gee, wasn’t he born rich? Call me ignorant, but if I want someone speaking for me, I’d prefer it to be someone who’s been a working man or woman, and don’t lecture me on how difficult it is to be a billionaire. Someone who had to work at McDonald’s through high school and perhaps some of college. Have I mentioned that I loathe Donald Trump? I have a knee-jerk tendency to dislike men who dump their wives of many years for a parade of bimbos. Burt Reynolds? Grrrr. He handled that whole situation with about as much finesse as you could possibly expect from a sleazy motherfucker like that. Now, there’s a political ticket the world is looking for! President Trump and VP Reynolds.

Anyway.

Heard about Patrick Naughton, a VP at Infoseek? He’s 32-ish, a was arrested some weeks ago for travelling from the Seattle area to LA with the intent to have sex with a 13 y3ar-old he’d met online. He was arrested because the 13 y3ar-old was actually an FBI special agent. This (link removed) is the affidavit of the FBI agent. I have to ask: Just how goddamn stupid do you have to be to believe anyone on the internet is who they claim to be? I’d like to believe they’ll toss Naughton in jail and throw away the key, but no doubt he’ll get off with a slap on the wrist to victimize more 13 y3ar-olds, this time in person. It’s not like 13 y3ar-old girls are important or anything. (Note: I’m using a "3" instead of an "e" in "13 y3ar-old girls", because I’m tired of the pervy google hits).

I certainly am bitching a lot today, aren’t I?

Well, on to the Stee survey. Because I know you just can’t get enough information about memeME.

1. Would you rather look gorgeous and be retarded, or look retarded and be a genius?: Look retarded, be a genious.

2. If you could bitchslap one actor/actress, who would it be?: Burt Reynolds. If you could call him an "actor".

3. If you could bitchslap one musician, who would it be?: Marilyn Manson (Ooh! Look at me! I’m such a bad boy!)

4. If you could bitchslap one relative, who would it be?: Oh, please.

5. If you had to make-out with one relative, who would it be?: None of them. Just the thought gives me the willies. I’m sure it would give them the willies too.

6. You see a spider on your wall, what do you do?: Squish it with a piece of paper or a tissue, and either flush it or toss it in the trash (but you run the risk that it will come back to life and hunt you down and crawl on you).

7. Washing your privates in the shower: the lean or the fast hand-o’-water transfer?: Neither. I have a detachable shower head.

8. David Blaine or David Copperfield?: Godalmighty, no more magicians. Fred adores all forms of magic, and I’m tired of watching it.

9. You need to do laundry desperately, do you wear dirty underwear or no underwear?: The laundry gets done every Saturday, thank you very much, so I’m never short on underwear. I do spend Sundays commando, though.

10. Julia Roberts: growing more and more beautiful or more and more odd-looking?: She’s gawjuss.

11. Favorite cussword/phrase?: Godalmighty. Fuck, in it’s many forms (motherfucker, fuck that, fucking piece of shit, fuck this fucking fuck, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!)

12. Letterman or Leno?: Leno. He’s nicer to his guests. I’m tired of Letterman’s bitter-old-man routine.

13. Scientologists: quietly creepy or totally wacko?: Creepy.

14. Siegfried or Roy?: I’m not sure which is which.

15. What do you desire sexually that you’re too embarrassed to ever request?: Please. I’m so repressed I don’t know what I desire sexually that I’m too embarrassed to ever request. And if I knew, would I tell you? I think not.

16. Maria Conchita Alonso or Rae Dawn Chong?: Maria Conchita Alonso.

17. Gayest cartoon character: Mickey Mouse or Christopher Robin?: Ricky Martin.

18. You’re depressed: do you drink, cover your pain with humor, or take it out on the person closest to you?: The second and third options.

19. Favorite Sutherland: Kiefer or Donald?: I don’t like either. They creep me out.

20. Favorite Corey: Haim, Feldman, or Hart?: Hart. I saw him in concert.

21. Mary-Kate or Ashley?: Both. Kill them both.

22. Do you spend a lot of time surfing the Net because you’re scared of people, or because people are scared of you?: I’m not scared of people, I just don’t care for them in large numbers. Unless they’re reading my journal.

23. What do you sing instead of "pompatus of love" in Steve Miller’s "The Joker"?: I don’t sing along to that song.

24. Best bets in a "death pool" (pick 3): Andy Dick, Robert Downey Jr., Nell Carter, ex-Pogue Shane McGowan, Ronald Reagan, rock group Hanson, Salmon Rushdie, Bob Hope, John Popper, Scott Weiland, Mr. T, golfer John Daly, or that girl from Blossom?: Nell Carter, John Popper, and Andy Dick. Always bet on the fat people and the freaks. (I’m fat, so I’m allowed to call them fat. Sizes 16 and under are not.)

25. It’s 4pm, your husband calls from work to say he’s bringing his boss over for dinner! What do you prepare?: Nothing. My husband is my boss, and he’d never ever ever bring his partners to our house to socialize.

26. Is a dart board really such a bad wedding gift?: Yeah. They might like it.

27. Your ass or your elbow?: My ass. I have a shelf-ass. You could park the entire Stephen King library on my ass, with room to spare. I make myself sound mighty attractive, don’t I?

28. Favorite Wu-Tang Clansman?: Uh…?

29. Will Billy Idol ever make a successful comeback?: He did, in "The Wedding Singer." That’s the biggest comeback he’ll be making, I think.

30. Let’s just say you’re walking home drunk very late from a bar in Madison Wisconsin last week and you see a hundred dollar bill on the ground so you pick it up. A minute later, a very anxious-looking hippies comes by, searching all over the street for something, muttering about "not being able to pay rent". Are you like totally going to hell if you kept the money, planning to spend it at a titty bar in Vegas this weekend?: Unfortunately, I am incredibly paranoid, and if the above situation happened to me, I’d assume 20/20 or 60 minutes was doing some sort of expose ("How honest are drunk people late at night in Madison Wisconsin? Next, with Stone Phillips!") with hidden cameras, and I’d fall all over myself to give the money to the guy.

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Boy did I not want to go back to work this morning. Long weekends always do that to me, and to add to it, Fred and I took Friday off, so it was a 4-day weekend for us. I got into work around 7:45, and found piles of mail on my chair, and two messages from a Racquel in Puerto Rico. Racquel was desperate to place an order for the telnet client program our company sells. I finally got ahold of her mid-morning (today was a holiday in Puerto Rico; betcha didn’t know that), got the credit card number and all pertinent information, HUNG UP WITHOUT RUNNING THE CREDIT CARD, and when I did so, the card was declined. It was really kind of an all-day ordeal, the whole Racquel situation.

It makes me really tense to talk to someone who has a thick accent. I have to really work to understand them, and I don’t want to have to ask them to repeat themselves, because it seems rude. "Excuse me, could you repeat that? My delicate American ears could not understand your loathsome, thick, non-American accent." Not that that’s what I’m thinking. I’m not.

Work went by quickly, especially after my 11:00 dash to Wal-Mart to pick up a bag of Gummy Savers. My current candy addiction, and the grocery store doesn’t carry them.

So if you don’t live in Alabama, chances are that you didn’t know there was a statewide vote on the lottery today. Lots of people want the lottery, and the bible-bangers are up in arms, shrieking hysterically about the lottery being the downfall of civilization as we know it. Personally, I’d like to have the lottery. When I lived in Maine, they had the Megabucks lottery. Match 8 numbers, you win the jackpot. One week the jackpot was up to $8 million. I matched 7 numbers and won $1,000. One more number… It actually took me 2 days to realize how close I’d come to seeing the big bucks, I was so happy to have won the $1,000.

Like I said, I’d really like to have the lottery in Alabama, and if it passes (as I expect it to) I’ll probably buy 2 tickets a week. But you know what? The greatest thing about the lottery isn’t the winning. I don’t expect to ever win the lottery; no sane person does. The thing that’s so great is that those tickets allow you the luxury of a few hours of fantasizing about what you’d do with all that money.

Me, I’d quit my job. I just have no patience for Grandma who wins the $50 gazillion lottery and continues to work every day from 6 to 2 at the gas station and doesn’t move out of her trailer. Idiocy, that. I also have no patience for those who wail and sob that the lottery will lead to widespread poverty. People who spend money they can’t afford on lottery tickets and scratch-off tickets deserve no sympathy.

Yeah. I’m a bitch.

Nighty-night.

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How hugely embarrassing. I tried to check out my web page this afternoon, and got an error. Called technical support at Interspeed, and they put me on hold forever to go fix the problem. When I was taken off hold, the guy who was helping me said "I have to ask. That’s you, right?" He was referring to the picture on the bitchypoo index page, which until two minutes ago was the "Throw Momma from the Train" picture. Oddly, it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d ever speak to a stranger who’d have seen that picture.

I was ambitious today. I mean, I slept in until 8, which is a good 2 1/2 hours later than I usually get to sleep on Monday mornings, but after that I was ambitious. After my breakfast from McDonald’s, I mean. A girl’s gotta eat. So after sleeping in like a slug, eating a grease-laden bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit and two hash browns, and taking a shower, I. Was. So. Ambitious. Are you ready for this?

I steam-cleaned the arms and backs of our love seat and couch. Yes, I know. Quite an accomplishment. Especially since there was an ungodly amount of cat hair matted all over the aforementioned backs and arms. Truth be told, I thought it would take maybe half an hour. I’d zing and zip that steam cleaner attachment over the nasty cat hair, and it’d be gonegonegone. In fact, it took more like an hour and a half. Not to mention that ten-minute break I had to take to get the Sloppy Joes started in the crockpot. (New recipe. I liked it. Fred did not. He only likes about every fourth new recipe I try) And after that, I vacuumed the kitchen, living room, dining room, and as far into our bedroom as the cord would reach.

After that, I felt justified in lolling about on the bed for the afternoon, reading some of my backlog of magazines. "New Woman", "Jane", and "Marie Claire", to be exact. There may have been napping. There may have been sex. I’ll save the whining about the birth control for another day.

A nice, relaxing, calm, far-too-fast Columbus Day, it was. And I topped it off by dropping a tupperware container full of leftover sloppy-joe meat on the floor and stepping in it. Just like a damn cat, I am. Fred laughed hysterically, I got a tad peeved (I was wearing practically new pants and got sloppy joe sauce all over them), and stomped off to throw my pants in the washer and sit downstairs and sulk for a while. A fun time was had by all.

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So. Welcome to my journal. I’m your hostess, Robyn. Can I get you something to drink? No, I’m sorry. Here at bitchypoo, we only serve Coke and ding dongs. ‘Tis a quiet weekend so far at Robyn ‘n Fred’s house. I try to get all the laundry and errand-running done on Saturday so that I can loll about the house on Sunday. I’m really the laziest person you’ll meet, and can only motivate myself to get important things like laundry, grocery-shopping and other housewifely things accomplished by reminding myself that once they’re done I can lay around and do nothing. I hit Walmart yesterday morning to buy catfood (amazingly, 20 pounds of catfood lasts an entire month for us), and dragged the spud with me. Her hair is slowly growing out after the shoulder-length chopping this summer, and she desperately needed to blow her allowance on stuff for her hair. Which she will promptly lose under her bed and in her toybox, and come beg barrettes and ponytail holders off of me. So, I just got off the phone with my parents. They’re wanting to come visit in November, and we’re trying to pin down the best time. (When my mom first mentioned their potential visit, she suggested 6 days. Then my dad came up with a 10-day time frame that wasn’t good for us, and now he’s suggesting 11 days). And quick like a bunny I emailed my dad and told him that the 11 days he was offering were fine. So, tomorrow’s what? Columbus Day (observed)? I guess I’ll celebrate the holiday the traditional sit-on-my-ass-watch-tv-and-reading way. I’m such a patriot. —–]]>