Month: July 2000

Big Brother. Oh, I’m all into the reality shows – I know I’ve mentioned Survivor more than once, and I also watch The Real World every week, though I skip Road Rules. But I watched the hour-long Big Brother last Thursday, and ended up reading and only glancing up every once in awhile. My main problem on that show is Karen, who apparently couldn’t wait to trash her husband on national TV. What the fuck is up with that? "Do you still love him Karen?" "No, not at all." Why do some people go out of their way to be as cruel as possible to the people they’re supposed to love in front of as wide an audience as possible? What’s she going to prove by announcing to the world that she doesn’t love him, that he doesn’t like to kiss, and that he’s never complimented her? How do you suppose her kids feel? Four years ago when I had to go to court, in the process of divorcing my ex, one of the questions my lawyer asked while I was on the stand was "Why do you want to divorce <the ex>?" I was at a loss for words. The truth was that we had grown apart and barely talked; I’m fairly certain that he was as happy that the marriage was ending as I. But I couldn’t bring myself to say "Because I don’t love him." It just seemed like a cruel thing to say, with him sitting there. My lawyer finally jumped in after I sat there staring off into space and searching for the words for several moments and said something like "Is it because you don’t want to live with him any longer?", and I managed to answer in the affirmative. Karen strikes me as being the sort of over-emotional woman who’ll spill her guts at the drop of a hat. A loose cannon, I guess you could say. Sure, she’ll living happy now, trashing her husband at the drop of a hat, but I think she’s got a rude awakening coming when she gets back to the real world. Anyway. So, Fred’s parents came over Friday night, and we watched The Hurricane. To my surprise – I only rented it because I knew Fred wanted to see it – I liked it a lot. We watched Boiler Room Saturday, and I liked that a lot, too. In fact, I liked it so much that I didn’t want it to end, and I can’t recall the last time that happened. I watched My Dog Skip on my own, and bawled like the big crybaby I am at the end. That Frankie Muniz is just a little cutie-pie; I just wanted to pick him up and hug him. Luke Wilson is pretty cute too; I wanted to pick him up and do other things to him. I was supposed to do laundry this morning, but since a certain someone didn’t bring the laundry downstairs (though I note that it’s all nicely bagged in laundry bags in the upstairs closet), I’m more than happy to wait ’til tomorrow to do it. ‘Cause that’s just the kinda lazy gal I am.]]>

Miz Poo, who was playing with a toy mouse, knocked it under the couch. I asked Fred to pick up one end of the couch so I could get her mouse out, along with any other mice she and the other cats had knocked under there recently, and he did so. Found under the downstairs couch: 25 toy mice, 5 plastic Coke bottle caps, 1 whopper (the candy), 1 Hershey’s kiss. Found behind the downstairs couch: my most favorite towel ever, a purple bathsheet. That towel’s been missing for about as long as we’ve lived in this house, so I’m going to say around two years. I guess I should clean under the couch a little more often, huh? Miz Poo says, "Have a nice weekend!" No, really, that’s exactly what she’s thinking, despite the evil glare in this picture… ]]>

This morning glory plant just kind of popped out of nowhere, and it’s growing in the gravel along the fence (obviously); it’s doing better than the morning glories we have growing in a planter, and I’m not watering it or feeding it at all. I think, if given a few weeks, it will probably start climbing the legs of the loveseat it’s growing by. I’m curious to see whether it’ll start flowering. Fred is threatening to have the yard guys yank it up, but I’d love to see it covering that corner of the cement surrounding the pool. This would be the spider plant I bought about a month ago. I’ve never seen one produce so many babies, so I’m going to assume it’s happy where it is. I bet it’s awfully root-bound, though. I’ve got a baby spider plant inside, with it’s bottom part in water, but no roots are apparent yet. If I’d had a clue, I would have repotted this plant right after I bought it, because there’s nothing attached to the bottom of the planter to hold water; when I water the plant, the water just pours out the bottom. In spite of my neglect, it’s looking pretty good, though. That’s what I really need – a bunch of plants I can ignore and neglect, and they’ll thrive anyway. And there’s Spanky, looking like a doofus (actually, I think I caught him in a blink), trying to decide whether he wants to come out into the heat of the day, or stay inside where it’s cool (he stayed inside). Spot, laying in his usual place. He’s such a pretty cat, isn’t he? The other cats will deny it, but Spot’s really the alpha cat in this house. The kitten thinks she’s bad, but Spot would kick her ass from here to hell with one paw tied behind his back. Tubby, in his usual spot. He’s probably thinking something along the lines of "Should I eat now, or later? Hm, I think I’ll eat now and later!" The spud’s room, looking like it should. Let me remind you, it took 4 2-hour sessions to get this room in decent condition. It will probably take the spud half an hour to junk it up again. Note the absence of crap on the floor. I hope these are primroses. I just looked online at 43,000 pictures of primroses, and none of them looked like this. But I’m pretty sure that primroses are what I ordered! Anyway, aren’t they pretty? I like them a lot. And of course, no picture-based entry would be complete without a picture of the beloved Miz Poo. I’m not sure what she’s staring at with such interest, but I do know that right after I took this picture, she turned around and tried to eat that lily petal sitting to her right. ]]>

Google just loves me to death, I swear. And just so you know, it was an entry way back in November when I was talking about Xenical. Oh, and in case you were wondering, according to another page that came up when "fecal urgency" was searched on, The last side effect can be especially embarrassing – fecal incontinence is just a polite, scientific way of saying that Xenical can make you "crap in your pants". I’m so glad we cleared that up. And while I’m a-linkin’, check this one out. My favorite line from this article is At least 24 states prohibit sexual activity with animals, according to the Humane Society of the United States in Washington. Um, AT LEAST 24 states? Why is that not "Every state in the union"? Miz Poo is acting freaky today, running around with her eyes big and pupils dilated, letting out a chirpy meow, and running wildly from one end of the house to the other. I walked toward her with a trash bag in my hand (no, I wasn’t going to put her in it) and she backed away from me with her tail all bushed out. Speaking of kitties, I’m aware that I have been sadly lax about taking pictures lately. Why, by this time in June I’d put up about 40 pictures (okay, perhaps I exaggerate). I vow to you, my faithful readers, to get on it and take some kitty pictures, some morning glory pictures, and a picture of that really cute little pink primrose waving in the wind in front of my window.]]>

exercise tape from Hell yesterday, I called the leader of the exercise, Leslie Sansone, a very naughty word beginning with "c". I mean really – when I’m gasping and sweating, does she have to be so freakin’ perky? I just don’t appreciate that kind of babbling happiness. Also of note is that Florine Marks, the President/ CEO of Weight Watchers was exercising along with Leslie, and at one point Florine says "I can have a Hershey Symphony Bar! I’ve earned it", and if you look closely, you can see the moment after she’s said that, it hits her that she’s supposed to be representing Weight Watchers, and she rapidly backpedals, lamely saying "But, you know, I’d really rather have a nice bowl of cherries or a banana – something that’s good for me!" Which just makes me want to send a truckload of Hershey Symphony Bars to her home, with a note that says "Yeah, right, big bowl of cherries my ASS." So I went to the movie store and rented 6 movies, because much like the book store, or even the online bookstores, when wandering through a movie store, my hands fly out as if independent of my body and grab every movie that looks as if it might be remotely good, and even some which look like total crap. I was only there to rent Hurricane, because Fred mentioned last night that he wants to see it, but I also walked out with Boiler Room, My Dog Skip, Love Stinks, Nice Guys Sleep Alone, and the first two episodes of Sex and the City. Fer cryin’ out loud. Sex AND the City, people. Sex AND the City, NOT Sex IN the City. This has been a public service announcement. (That said "pubic service announcement" before I fixed it. Heh!) Anyway, I have six movies to watch, only two of which Fred wants to see, and I have five days to watch them; they’re due back before midnight Sunday. You’d think I’d watch a movie or two each day and be done well before Sunday. Surely y’all know me better by now? Instead, I’ll completely forget that I have four movies to watch on my own, and sometime Friday I’ll catch sight of the pile of movies, remind myself that I have movies to watch, immediately forget, then end up watching three movies on Saturday and one on Sunday, possibly first thing in the morning so that I can convince Fred to come with me to return movies and then drive through a nearby subdivision to look at the big houses. Mark my words. That’s exactly how it’ll happen. Though Fred will probably be more than willing to accompany me to return the movies so that he can go next door to Kroger and spend money playing that machine which is full of stuffed animals, and you move the claw over and grab it. He likes that machine just for the thrill of the chase, I think, and the opportunity to give the stuffed animal he’s won to me, so he can say "Don’t say I never gave you anything!" But he never gives me flowers. I’m about a quarter of the way through the new Harry Potter. We ordered it from Barnes and Noble, and received it before noon on Saturday. Fred asked the Fedex delivery lady if she’d been delivering a lot of the books, and she said they got totally slammed with about 1,000 from Amazon, and another 3,500 from Barnes and Noble. Anyway, once it was delivered, it sat on the table by the couch for about a day before I decided I wasn’t going to wait for Fred to read it first. He’s in the middle of 43 different self-help books, and wants to finish those before he starts the Harry Potter. In fact, I think I’m going to go curl up in the library and read until Fred gets home.]]>

Survivor, getting frisky with Richard. Leave it to me to have sex dreams about the gay guy, huh? Fred said "Maybe it means you’re so confident in your feminine wiles that you’re sure you can "turn" him straight." Yeah, uh huh, I’m sure that’s it. Aside from being gay, he’s not even my type. In fact, none of the guys on that show are my type. He was a good kisser, though, and I’ll leave it at that. God in heaven, Walter got laid. We have no one to blame but ourselves. Billy Ray Cyrus – don’t act like you don’t know who he is – is apparently back with a new look (it’s possible he’s been back for a while, but I haven’t watched the country video channel for a long time). He grew a beard to cover that pretty face, cut the hair some, and now he looks, according to Fred, like nothing so much as a BeeGee. See for yourself. So, I was catching up on my journal reading the other day, and whilst perusing Freak Magnet, I came across the following: On a completely unrelated note: I’ve decided if my cat Zilla could talk, he’d constantly be saying "I see dead people." I mean, if you live alone and are at all easily freaked out, don’t get cats. Zilla seems to like to do this thing where he’ll get all comfortable in my lap, purring away contentedly, and suddenly his head will whip around and he’ll be staring over my shoulder with wide, terrified eyes. "What?!" I ‘ll screech and turn around (because even if it’s a big bug, I’d like to know about it) and there will be absolutely nothing there. When I turn around, Zilla will be back purring contentedly, eyes closed in my lap. It’s almost like he’s channeling the spirit of one of my younger brothers. I had a mouthful of water I came very close to spitting out onto my keyboard, but somehow managed not to (though a large amount of it went dribbling down my chin onto my t-shirt). I sat, re-reading the paragraph over and cackling loudly for a good five minutes or so before reading it to Fred, and cackling some more. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been drifting off to sleep, my hand resting on Miz Poo, who’s curled up in her favorite sleeping place, between the two piles of pillows on my bed, when suddenly she comes wide awake and stands straight up on her hind feet, her eyes big and dark, staring at something I can’t see. It always startles me awake, and it usually takes me a good half hour to get back to sleep. As you can see, we had a very relaxing weekend here at Casa Bitchypoo. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, there’s nothing around here but sleeping cats, as far as the eye can see. Miz Poo always takes the opportunity to check out the "watering hole" in the bathroom, and sometimes even drinks from it. When she’s not busy slurping up water in the shower, that is. Speaking of Miz Poo, I locked her into the extra room downstairs this morning. I tried to get her out of there before I shut the door, but she scampered off playfully, and since there are so many boxes and bags for her to hide behind, I shrugged and shut the door, figuring I’d go fold some clothes and then open the door and see if she wanted out yet. Except that by the time I’d gotten the clothes folded, the fact that she was locked in the extra room had fallen through one of the holes in my swiss cheese-like memory. An hour later, while surfing the web, I got to wondering where she was, and it all came back to me. I ran to the extra room and opened the door. She trotted out, her tail held up, and – eyes wide – began telling me of her horrid experience in the room, in the dark, all alone. She chirped and purred and rubbed against me for ten minutes before calming down and falling sound asleep on her pillow on my desk. So, I’ve started buying a lot of tictacs lately, and I noticed yesterday that you can collect tictac points and get cool stuff, so I checked it out, and found to my amazement that you can save up 400 points (there’s 1 point for each little tictac container) for a Sony Discman portable cd player! Woohoo! Then I found that you have to send everything in by the end of January 2001. Ah well. I guess I’ll go for the 50-point watch, instead…]]>

this .wav Debbie had Brian make for me. I have it set up so it goes off when I have email (which I probably didn’t need to explain). It scares the hell out of me sometimes when I forget eudora downloads my email every ten minutes. And then Miz Poo always lifts her head and puts her ears back – her Evil Kitty look – when it plays. Speaking of cats, I’m about to turn a certain skittyboo out on the freakin’ street if he doesn’t stop wandering around howling his high-pitched, forlorn meow. So, several of the lilies I planted in the backyard have been blooming for the last few weeks, and since I can’t stand to leave anything so beautiful alone, I chopped one of the plants down and brought it inside to stick in a vase, so that it’s perfume may drift through the entire upstairs, and I can occasionally gaze upon it’s beauty while watching TV. Naturally, I took a picture of the gorgeous flowers. (click on the small picture to see the full-sized version, as usual) So, not only did I do a half-assed version of cleaning the house today, but I also didn’t do any laundry, since a certain someone, whose job it is, forgot to bring the laundry downstairs this morning. Now, you may be scratching your heads and thinking to yourselves "God alive, Robyn, just how lazy are you?" Well, pretty fucking lazy; one would think y’all would have figured that out by now. But that (conveniently) is beside the point. The point is that I have to wash and fold and more often than not put away the laundry; should I have to haul it downstairs and upstairs myself? I think not. I tore a small "fast food guide" out of a recent Family Circle magazine, and paging through it, I note that it has no listings for Chick Fil-A, but it has Dunkin’ Donuts. What’s up with that? And how can a chocolate croissant have 400 calories and 25 grams of fat? They’re, like, air and flour, aren’t they? There’s also no listing for Krispy Kreme, thank god, because if I had to think about how many calories there is in a creme-filled chocolate-covered Krispy Kreme, I’d probably flip out and run to McDonald’s and take hostages.
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Big Brother, I heard the sound of fireworks going off. What’s more, they sounded like they were going off on our front porch. “What the fuck is that?” I snapped. Fred, who was laying in his underwear on the bed reading, turned and looked at me, not much interested in the fact that some neighbor kid may have tossed some kind of fireworks on our front porch. I ran down the stairs, looked out the window beside the door to make sure it was done going off, and then opened the door and looked out. There was nothing on our front porch, but the three annoying kids across the street were sitting on the curb, and one of them yelled at another “Don’t set it off so close to their house!” and pointed at me. I slammed the door shut and went back upstairs to read and kind of watch the rest of Big Brother. Fred, for some reason, found it absolutely hilarious that I’d thought someone had thrown fireworks on our porch and gone flying down the steps to check it out. “What did you think you were going to do?” he guffawed. Finally, I snarled “Someone had to give a shit that some kids might have thrown fireworks on the porch!” By 10:00, they’d stopped setting them off, and as Fred pointed out, their father was actually outside sweeping the street. That man is the most anal man I’ve ever seen in my life. It takes him four hours to mow and edge his postage-stamp-sized lawn, because once the mowing and edging is actually done, he runs around with his broom and sweeps up the grass clippings for half a mile down the road, or so it seems. I told Fred I’d love to see what the inside of their house looks like. I’m betting you could bounce quarters off the kids’ beds, and he probably makes his wife wash the dishes with a toothbrush. So, Survivor was good last night, as usual. Joel was really getting on my nerves, so I’m glad they voted him off. And after reading his “final words“, I’m doubly glad. What an ass. And Gervase needs to stop believing there’s no way he’ll be voted off. He’s just asking for it, there. I’m curious, though – how do the people in each tribe know so much about the people in the other tribe? Susan was talking about how this person and that person needed to go, in the other tribe, but I thought the only time they ever saw each other was at the challenges. The merger should be interesting! Have I ever mentioned that I’m kind of a dork? When Fred and I went to Wal-Mart Tuesday, I purchased a snorkel. Around today, I decided I wanted to go for a swim before lunch, and took my snorkel out with me. Once I was in the pool and got my mask and snorkel on, I floated, face-down, from one end of the pool to the other and back again a few times. When next I lifted my head to see what time it was, I found that I’d been floating around like that for over half an hour. I was so relaxed, I was probably lucky I didn’t fall asleep. Which reminds me (the talk of traveling and stuff, I mean) – Fred is, in fact, not going to see Tony Robbins in Denver at the end of this month, so I won’t be accompanying him (since he’s not going, you see). So he called Delta to cancel his tickets, and they credited him the amount the company’s already paid for the tickets, and he found out that only the person/ people who originally ordered the tickets can use them. Which would be he and I! And we have a year to use them! And he’s talking about going to the Bahamas for Christmas! Yeah, I know it probably won’t happen, but a girl can dream! —–]]>

Bicentennial Man was a real tearjerker. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t particularly ever want to watch it ever again, but it was pretty good entertainment while I was folding laundry. Yes, Friday was Laundry Day (though I didn’t put up the graphic), but there’s always the last basket of stuff – mostly towels and sheets – that sits around for several days waiting for me to fold it’s contents and put everything away. I’m amazed that I got around to it on Monday night this week, instead of my usual waiting until late Thursday. Go, me! We left the house around 10, TOGETHER, if you can believe it, which rarely happens. We dropped off the two movies we rented the other day, and I got Scream 3 on DVD, along with four or five other movies. "Robyn movies," as Fred calls them, which means that he has no interest in seeing them ’cause he’s a party pooper. After the movie place, we went to Wal-Mart, so Fred could waste a few dollars on the machines they have there – the ones full of stuffed animals that you use the claw thing to pick up and win. While he was doing that, I ran into the store and picked up a few things (some storage containers for the spud’s room, 4 plain white Corelle dinner plates, a snorkel, and 4 "splash balls". I know you were dying to know) and managed to NOT buy a Snickers bar (kudos to me for talking myself out of buying it). The rest of the day, we’ve been swimming, hanging out and reading. Now I believe I’m going to go pay bills. The excitement never stops here in BitchyLand! Happy Independence Day to the Americans in the crowd. And Happy Tuesday to everyone else!
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