Month: December 2000

retro-lunch (’80s music) on WZYP while I was running around today, and learned that guilty feet, in fact, have no rhythm. Just something you might want to keep in mind. Okay, look, I can’t stand it. I took some REALLY cute pictures of the cats (by which I mean, of course, "I took a lot of pictures of Miz Poo and maybe one picture of another cat"), and I must share them. I MUST, or my head will pop off. You understand, right? I know you do.

Checking something out from atop my monitor

Atop my monitor still.

In fact, all the pictures of her will be of her atop my monitor.

She was sound asleep and hanging on to the monitor for

dear life so she wouldn’t slip off

This box has been on the floor of the computer

room for about a week now, and every night Spanky lays

in it for hours and hours. I haven’t got the heart to throw it away.

Have a good weekend, y’all!

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So, Robyn, y’all are saying, get any Christmas shopping done today? Well, that’s a good question, it really is. I did go to Hallmark today to check out the pictures frames (and after seeing the prices on them, decided everyone could buy their own damn picture frames for the spud’s picture), bought a little pack of thank you cards, and then ran across the cutest little thing…

Isn’t it adorable? Can you see why I just had to have it for myself? And the candle is of the "Jack Frost" scent, which is very Christmas-y and minty smelling. It’ll go perfectly on the mantel. And while I’m babbling about adorable things, I got this in the mail yesterday…

It’s a Neutrogena sampler pack, with a handy-dandy cute little silver bag to hold everything. I don’t recall ordering it, but I’m sure I followed one of Heather’s Freebies ‘n Dealies links. I sure do love getting unexpected stuff in the mail. Speaking of the mail, I got a box from my parents in the mail today. I assume there’s a present in there, but since EVERY package they sent is taped to within an inch of it’s life, I have no fucking clue what’s in there. I’m thinking of going over to Redstone Arsenal and asking if there are any spare nuclear weapons laying around I could use to open the damn thing. Last week, I called Fred to ask or tell him something (I don’t remember what, obviously), and after a few remarks, he fell silent, only responding to what I said with sounds that clearly indicated he wasn’t really paying attention. Annoyed, I snapped "I’ll let you go, since you’re obviously elsewhere." A few minutes later, he sent me an email with a link, telling me that when I’d said that, he had been in the middle of reading an article about how men only listen with half their brains. Pretty funny, I thought.
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someone sent me an email consisting of the word "sex" typed in about a thousand times – cracked me up, it did – and she only got two chili peppers! As I emailed and told her, I guess I must’ve gotten mixed up and "fuck" is what gives you an automatic three peppers. I could have sworn it was something far less offensive, though… And just so y’all know, when I download my email, I always (well, ever since I got the newest version of Eudora, anyway) open the ones with chili peppers first. What can I say? I’m just the kinda gal who likes profanity in her daily email… I have errands to run, groceries to buy, places to go, things to DO, and here I sit on my ass in front of the computer, checking 3WA for new posts, watching Miz Poo sniff around Fred’s fancified dress-up shoes, dribbling diet coke down the front of me. At least I’ve got a good deal of my Christmas shopping done. That’s only because I could buy it all online, you know, so don’t be too impressed. Have I worked at all on getting my shit moved over to robynanderson? No, I have not, I have done not one single, solitary lick of work on anything resembling my site (except for the kicking Christmas design I did in ten minutes flat last Friday morning, and which makes me feel all tingly and happy inside every time I look at it, because that’s the sort of doof I am). I am just terribly inflicted with a nasty case of the lazies lately and though it’s annoying, I did read three books in two days this weekend, so at least I’m accomplishing something while I sit on my rapidly widening ass all the time. The cats are about to run out of food, and the spud’s hamsters need a new wheel (funny story: the spud takes the wheel out of the hamsters’ cage at night, because if she doesn’t, they runrunrun on it all night long and it goes squeaksqueaksqueak constantly and she doesn’t sleep well. So last Thursday I think it was, the spud calls down to me where I’m sitting in front of the computer (big shock, there), sounding like she’s about to cry, and she comes down and has the hamster wheel in her hands, and it’s squished absolutely flat as a pancake – if I’d been thinking, I’d’ve taken a picture – because when she had taken it out of the cage the night before she’d set it on the floor and in a dazed morning stumble Thursday morning, she stepped all over it and flattened it), I need to order more pictures of the spud to send out as Christmas presents, the stairs desperately need a good Swiffer’ing, and the upstairs could use a thorough vacuuming, since we put the Christmas tree up this weekend (or I guess I should say Fred put the tree up this weekend, and the spud and I decorated it), and the cats have been laying under it, getting fake pine needles all over them, and then tracking them throughout the house. And yet here I sit, typing, typing, typing. 2 1/2 hours later… Well, somehow I managed to get my ass in gear and hit the grocery store, movie store, Petco and Wal-Mart. Going to Wal-Mart at 11:30 in the morning three weeks before Christmas is probably one of the dumber things I’ve done lately. I got a parking space right next to the garden shop by some stroke of luck, but it was incredibly packed in there. I was only going in to buy some plastic balls to hang on the trees (we bought five or six packs of the shiny ones – I’m not sure exactly what they’re made of, but they’re breakable – our first Christmas together four years ago, and the cats just killed the last one we had by bouncing it down the stairs until it shattered). I managed to get a pack of 50 for $6, so I consider that money well-spent. I also needed to get some gift certificates for Tracy’s kids, because I have nary a clue what to get them anymore. Speaking of Tracy’s kids, I was talking to my mother Sunday night, and she said that Tracy had said that his daughter, Mireya, absolutely loved the shirts with cats on them that I’d sent her. I sat without speaking for several long moments as I racked my brain trying to recall shirts I might have bought for Mireya and came up blank. I honestly don’t think I’ve sent anything but money and gift certificates for at least the last two years for either of Tracy’s kids. But hey – at least I’m getting credit for something I didn’t send, so two thumbs up to that! I got an email last night that sent me into a bitter seething rage of jealousy. Is this not the most perfect domain and journal name? Man, I wish I’d come up with that one first…
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Oh, how I loathe the Mad Shitter, let me count the ways… I was sitting in front of my computer Saturday morning, waiting for Fred to get home with the groceries so the spud and I could help drag them upstairs and into the kitchen. As I was busily surfing, I half-heard the spud saying "What are you doing? I hope you’re not pooping…" After a few seconds, what she’d said sunk in, and I whipped around to see the Mad Shitter in the corner near Fred’s desk, hunkering down to lay down the law, so to speak. "You little bastard!" I yelled, and then ran at him. He stayed in position until I was just about on top of him, and then he ran, dropping two turds on his way across the room and up the stairs. You’ll be proud of me, to know that I didn’t run after him, grab him by the nape of the neck and toss his fancy ass out the door for all eternity, but I certainly thought some very mean and hateful things about the little bastard. Moving along… I downloaded the newest version of Eudora and found to my delight that it includes a "moodwatch" deal, where it rates incoming and outgoing email with chili peppers, one being the lowest rating (well, actually none being the lowest rating) and three being the highest rating. I find that I’m really quite thrilled to receive a 3-chili pepper email, and my friend Moira almost always rates 3 chili peppers. Don’t be too impressed though, y’all. Apparently one single use of the word "sex" will earn you 3 chili peppers.

I was laying in bed the other morning on my left side, when Miz Poo came sniffing along. Most of the time when she finds me laying on my left side, she’s thrilled, because that’s the position I have to be in for her to climb up and drape herself over my head. She won’t do it when I’m laying on my right side, I don’t know why, but I guess I should be grateful ’cause otherwise she’d always be laying on my head and I’d be walking around with a flat head. So on this particular morning, she came sniffing along and stopped at my face, leaning in and sniffing wildly. As I have come to do, I opened my mouth, and she leaned in ever closer, sniffing and sniffing. After a few seconds of intense sniffing, she stopped, backed up a little bit, stared at me, and made a deep groaning noise in the back of her throat. Her eyes went all wide and dark and she took off, running as though the hounds of hell were after her. —–

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Know what I really, really hate? (Y’all are saying "Um, EVERYTHING", aren’t you?) I loathe it when a father is described as "babysitting" his children. God, that just gets all over me. Here’s a tip: If they’re your own children, it’s NEVER "babysitting." That would, instead, be called "parenting." You can thank me later. While we’re on the subject of things that drive me crazy, there’s this thing they do on TV – well, truthfully, until a few weeks ago, I’d only seen it happen on soap operas, but apparently it’s spreading. On Felicity a few weeks ago, one of the characters had slept with her boyfriend’s lab partner and was trying to decide whether to tell him (her boyfriend, that is – one hopes the lab partner would remember on his own). In the meantime he finds out that she had an affair with one of her professors a year or so before they met, and he shows up at her dorm room all upset. "I just found out!" he says. "How could you not tell me about it?!" And she responds by saying "Oh my god, I was going to tell you, I just didn’t know how!" He goes on to say "I know it was before we met, but you still should have told me!" And she gets confused and says "What are you talking about?" Eventually, they get it all straightened out that he was talking about the professor. But here’s what bugs me: he never comes back and says "Wait. What did you think I was talking about??" Honestly, if it were me, I’d realize pretty quickly that she was freaking out that I’d found out about something, and it obviously wasn’t the professor. It just annoys me. I can’t help it, I’m weird. But then, y’all knew that. So. Momma’s got a brand new toy:

It’s my brand-spanking-new Nokia phone – not the $300 one, the least expensive one I could find. It’s the one you can buy different colored faceplates to switch out with the black faceplate it comes with. Naturally, I had to have the yellow one. Cool, isn’t it? Just looking at it makes me all kinds of happy. It’s the little things, you know. I was never a fan of our old Ericsson phone, and when I had a little money in my pocket, I went right ahead and ordered the Nokia from Powertel instead of waiting for Fred to sell the Ericsson phone on Ebay (which he’s been promising to do for three months now). It came via UPS the day before yesterday, and the yellow faceplate, which I bought off of Ebay the same day I ordered the phone, arrived the same day. I’ve been using it like mad all day long. While we’re sharing pictures, here’s one where Spanky illustrates why his new nickname is "Gomer."

And here’s one of Miz Poo, the Mad Shitter, and Tubby. Miz Poo doesn’t generally snuggle up with the boys, but I guess she was in the mood for kitty love.

The Mad Shitter doesn’t even look like a cat laying over there on that pillow, does he? He looks like a dead racoon or something. A dead racoon who could desperately use a brushing. I also spent part of the morning making kitty movies. The first one is Miz Poo being freaked out by a shadow. The second one is Miz Poo and Gomer laying in the sun cleaning themselves. Ignore my dorky voice if you would. Okay, I promise, no more kitty pics for a while. Don’t look at me all skeptical-like. I’m serious!… Well, maybe.

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