It really looks like it might be “the one”. The inside needs repainting and new blinds, but that’s something that’s doable. The backyard is bigger than the one we have currently, there’s a nice deck and a couple of big trees, there’s room for a pool if we so desire, a small garden, a rose garden, a bulb garden, and plenty of bird feeders. The house we’re in now is, quite frankly, the big house in a neighborhood of smaller houses. The house above is the smaller house in a neighborhood of big houses. I think I like that better. I’m just ready for the whole house hunting thing to be OVER. So I’m going to go to Maine and not think about it for nine days. Speaking of Maine, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this, but there will be no entries while I’m there. I’m not taking the laptop. I AM taking the digital camera and an entire box of disks, though, so there’ll be plenty to feast your eyes upon when I get back. Plus I’m taking this newfangled thing they call “pen and paper.” I understand you make marks on the paper with the pen and then can transcribe said marks onto a computer. I don’t know about this new technology… I was freaking out earlier today, because it seemed like I had an assload of stuff to do (and with my ass, that’s a lot of stuff!) and was afraid I’d forget something while packing. Which is stupid, ’cause god knows if I forget anything – showed up with one pair of clothes and nothing else – I’d still be okay. I’d just be doing a lot of laundry. Okay, that’s it. I’m off to spend some time with Himself, finish up some laundry, and worry about what I’ve forgotten to pack. I’ll see you on the flip side of June!]]>


The back yard is a bit larger than ours, there’s a cute deck, and – as the realtors put it – “mature trees” in the front and back yard. And the porch on the front isn’t much to write home about, but it’s a porch! Let’s see, what did I do today? The spud’s laundry, began packing the spud’s bags, and… well, a little cleaning, but that’s about it. What the hell was I going to write about? Oh yeah. Did y’all see Fear Factor Monday night? For the uninitiated, Fear Factor is a show where they start out with a group of 6 people and have them do scary things the first day. Whoever can’t or won’t do the first scary thing gets disqualified, and the rest go on to do another scary thing, and so forth until there’s one person left standing, and who wins $50,000. The host of the show is Joe Rogan, formerly of Newsradio, who seems particularly smarmy as hosts go. Give me Jeff Probst any ol’ day. ANYway, this week, the first scary thing the group had to do (it’s a different group of people each week, did I say that?) was jump from the roof of one semi to another while both were in motion. Calm down, they were safety harnessed up. Though it would have been much cooler if they weren’t. Damn, that would be an excellent show, if people could die in the process of doing the scary things. Would as many people be interested in the $50k, I wonder? After the first round, there were two guys and one girl left. The next morning, they ended up in a mausoleum. The scary thing they had to do was get in this huge container and be covered by worms for 4 minutes. (The people last week had to get in a container and be covered by rats) The girl of the group immediately screeched and covered her mouth and acted all freaked out like a wimpy girl. Now just let me add here that I understand wimpy girl behavior – I am, in fact, guilty of wimpy girl behavior myself. However, if I were competing for $50,000 and knew beforehand that I would have to do scary things, I would steel myself to DO scary things, and instead of screaming and running around in circles, I’d give Smarmy Rogan a stoic smile and ask if I could go first. Smarmy Rogan went on to tell the contestants that some of them might have to actually EAT some of the worms. There were three pieces of paper in this big bowl of worms, containing instructions on how many of the worms the contestants had to eat – 0, 1, or 5. Screaming freaky girl started CRYING. “Why are you crying?” Smarmy asked. “Is it because you’re a freaky vegetarian and can’t bring yourself to eat any living thing?” While FreakyScreamyCrying is, in fact a freaky vegetarian (oh shut up, I understand one would be a vegetarian, but Kimmie from Survivor 2 has tainted all y’all with her annoying self), the reason she can’t face eating worms is because they’ll make her throw up. So one of the guys goes first, draws the “Eat no worms” paper, gets in the container, gets covered with worms, and bitches about how they’re biting and hurting him. FreakyScreamyCrying continues to blubber like a big wimpy girly-girl, holding her hands up to her mouth and reeling around and just generally acting like a total fucking idiot. This is where I lost it. “SHUT UP!” I bellowed at the TV. “SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU BIG STUPID CRYING SNIVELING DRAMA QUEEN BITCH!” Why the FUCK do people have to make such a FUCKING production out of shit? I mean, either DO IT or DON’T, but don’t snivel and sob and act like a big fucking idiot about it, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. Sniveling and sobbing, she drew the “Eat 1 worm” (I think), and sniveling and whinging, she quit. Girls like that, they give us all bad names. ]]>


Oh, what wonderfully health-conscious people we are, I gloated. All vegetables that are very very good for you! Well, the main reason we had an all-veggie meal was because I had to do an 11-mile training walk this morning, and the red beans and rice were supposed to give me energy. Which they did. However, about 4 1/2 miles in, the corn and okra section of the meal kicked in. Does everyone know what okra is? I didn’t before I moved to the South, so I’ll assume not everyone does. Okra is a pod-type vegetable that gets slimy when boiled, but is pretty yummy, at least to me. And the pods are filled with little green seed-type, uh, seeds. To put it bluntly, okra helps out if you’re constipated. You always know you’re going to have a nice, clean system the next day if you’ve eaten you a big ol’ helpin’ of okra. Anyway, I was walking along somewhere around mile 4.5, happily listening to my book on tape, when suddenly my digestive system tossed everything down the pipe. And me at least a mile and a half from any bathrooms. I suppose I could have found a tree to go behind, but you know what? I could imagine peeing behind a tree if it was that or die, but I can’t EVEN think about thinking about anything else. I guess I’m just picky that way. Luckily, being the prepared walker, I took my cellphone out of my fanny pack and made a distress call to my wonderful husband, who immediately left work to pick me up and drive me home. See what happens when you’re all braggy and proud of yourself for eating an all-veggy meal? Your digestive system rebels, and you end up telling a million (estimated) people that you had to cut short your training walk for embarrassing reasons. I’ve learned my lesson. I shall brag no further. I walked 4.5 miles today. What’d YOU do? I hit the post office today to check my mail, and found twenty-cent stamps from the wonderful Michele in Texas, who contributed said stamps so that I could send out even MORE postcards. Is she a sweetie, or what? A crazy axe-sharpening, cat-loving and bookworming sweetie. Also in the mail was something I NEEDED without knowing that I needed them – hanteens! Dr. Suzanne from Iowa (whom I did not realize was a doctor), has run many a marathon, half-marathon, and mini-triathlon and knows what she’s talking about. Isn’t she awesome? I can’t wait to try ’em out! What have YOU sent me lately? 🙂 Just kidding! Mostly. The new Janet Evanovich – Seven Up – came out today. Whilst the spud and I were out running errands, I decided to swing by the nearest bookstore to pick it up. I haven’t actually been in a bookstore since, I think, last summer when I was in Maine. Funny story – I went in a bookstore (Waldenbooks, maybe?) in the Maine Mall to buy the newest Harry Potter book for my nephew’s birthday, and of course the guy tries to sell me a frequent shopper discount card or something. “Blah blah blah shop at Waldenbooks?” he said. “Oh, I’m from Alabama,” I said, which is my usual response when someone tries to sell me something in Maine. (On a side note – is it possible to go in a store and just fucking BUY something anymore without them trying to sell you something else? God, I hate that.) “Oh,” he said with much interest. “Do you have a Waldenbooks near you?” “I don’t know,” I said not thinking clearly. “I buy all my books online.” Boy, if looks could kill… So anyway, I walked into Books-A-Million to look for the book, located it, and glanced at the price. And had a heart attack and died. Fucking TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS??? Who the hell pays TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS for a book these days? Why isn’t Books-A-Million out of business, for the love of god?? So we went to Sam’s and got it for $14.78 plus tax. Well worth the 20-minute drive. Lordy, I can’t believe I’m leaving for Maine in three days. Actually, in three days, I’ll BE in Maine. Oh, the lobsters have no idea what’s coming…]]>


Bitch, that’s the obvious choice. Send me your choice (song name and artist), and if I get a wide variety of songs, maybe I’ll make a mix cd and send out copies to everyone who suggested a song. How’s that sound? I’m all about the mix cds, people. We had an all-vegetable dinner tonight, which we like to do during the summer when the veggies are ripe and just picked (don’t we just make you sick?). We had red beans and rice, corn on the cob, okra, sliced tomatoes, and oven baked yellow squash. The instant that we sat down to eat, the cats gathered around us the way they do when we’re eating seafood. I’m so hunnnnngry, Tubby howled pleaseohplease feed me some of what you’re having! Spot did his patented tap-on-the-elbow please sir may I have some more? move. Spanky watched closely for any falling crumbs. Fancypants swished back and forth. For VEGETABLES. I don’t know what they thought we were eating, but they certainly wanted them some o’ that. Fred finally got fed up with them and yelled at them to go away. Spot, the spaz, ran in place for several seconds before running away to hide under the bed. Okay, I know you’re dying to know the house details. Fred and I got a case of the “holy crap, I don’t want to sell!” jitters over the weekend, and were on the verge of yanking the house off the market on Saturday. This was prompted by our realization that where we are now is a really, really good location, as far as being close to stores and restaurants and having lots of places to walk. We stepped back from it and thought about it for a while, and decided that instead of going the fifty acres in the country route, we’d go back to our original plan, which was more land than we have now, with a smaller mortgage. We drove to a large subdivision a few miles from here, and found five houses for sale, all of which we liked by seeing the outside and checking out the flyers. One of them is on half an acre and already HAS a pool and fence, which sounds just perfect for us. I hope we like the inside as well. And as far as the concrete situation goes, after Fred told Jeff that he wasn’t going to pay the $100 (see Friday’s entry), Jeff told The Grimms’ realtor that he (Jeff) would cover the $200. The Grimms agreed to that, and so it’s a done deal. We should get our “sold” sign in the next few days, and on Wednesday we’re going to look at the aforementioned 5 houses we found over the weekend. Y’all, wish us luck. It’s only been since this whole house thing started that I’ve realized that I’m a stress eater. Sometimes all I want to do is bury my face in a box of ding dongs and crawl under the covers.]]>


O Brother, Where Art Thou? last night, and found that it was pretty damn funny. Those Coen brothers, it’s all or nothing with them. When they’re good, they’re very very good (Fargo, O Brother, Raising Arizona), but when they’re bad, they just suck (The Big Lebowski, Blood Simple). My favorite line from any movie ever would be Holly Hunter’s “I’ve said my piece and counted to three.” I’m going to use the hell out of that line, especially when Fred’s being difficult, as he so often is. “Vis-a-vis, my progeny!” cracked me up too. I awoke this morning with a gritty-feeling eye. That’s right, children, I have pinkeye ONCE AGAIN. But since I knew the doctor would be telling me not to wear contacts for a week, I did my 10-miler first. I went to the optometrist this time for a diagnosis and medicine, and I must say, he certainly took more time with me than the doctor at the clinic. He actually asked QUESTIONS and made NOTES. At the clinic, the doctor – once he hears “conjunctivitis” takes half a step in the door, peers across the room at my red eye and then runs and disinfects himself before writing the prescription. The optometrist actually shined the little light in my eye and made me look up, down, and all around. I finally had to jerk my head back ’cause my eye was starting to really ache from being open for so long. The diagnosis? Conjunctivitis. Who’d’ve thunk it?]]>


We even liked it more than the house we found last Friday. The downside, of course, is that we’re still waiting around to see if the buyers are still in fact buyers. After Fred told the realtor yesterday that we weren’t going to make any repairs to the house, he was informed that we’re actually required because of the contract we signed to do the plumbing and electrical stuff. The item on the list that was neither of those was the concrete under the pool’s pump, so that’s where Fred made his stand, calling Lynn first thing this morning and telling her. We’re waiting to hear whether or not they’re still going to buy. I hate to yammer and run, but I DID walk 10 miles this morning on my training walk (10.4, to be exact) and I need a little rest and relaxation before I start dinner. See y’all tomorrow.]]>


Well, I got the shirt today (it’s ash gray), and the “A site to soothe the savage beast” text doesn’t show up well at all. I should have done it with white letters, I guess, or put it up top underneath the url. But look at that little face. How can you not see it and just grin like a fool? We finally got the list of demands back from the buyers, as a result of Thursday’s home inspection. They were fairly small and reasonable, but we (I guess I should say Fred) stretched enough when they made their counteroffer to our counteroffer at the beginning, that we (Fred) have decided to refuse to make any repairs. The list consisted of things like, the spud’s bathtub drains slowly, one of the fans in the attic doesn’t work, the concrete under the pump for the pool needs to be replaced, and a couple of other things. But, as Fred pointed out, they’re getting a hell of a bargain on this house already, and they’re trying to nickel and dime us to death. If they think they can get a house this size WITH a sprinkler system, pool, fence, and security system for a better price elsewhere, they should go for it. You can guess how much I’m looking forward to having the house back on the market (though it’s not officially off the market yet), and having to leave the house for an hour at a time whenever anyone wants to see it. Bleh. We’re about to go look at 4 or 5 houses in the Hazel Green area, including a yellow one that sounds absolutely kick-ass. Wish me luck!]]>


In Friday’s entry, when I said The third, we liked the house but to get to it, we had to drive past a bunch of rusted-out crappy-looking trailers, one reader apparently took offense. In part, this reader emailed the following: think you are to good for everything don’t you? must be nice to be a stuck-up rich bitch! seems like everything isn’t good enough for u! Finally, FINALLY, someone truly understands me! Just the other day, as I was lunching with my pal Muffy Worthington in the cafe at that department store – what’s it called? Oh yes, Wal-Mart. We prefer to lunch there, because they have FABulous hot dogs, and we like to eat and watch the poor people who HAVE to shop at Wal-Mart, it amuses us so. Why, once I saw a woman with THREE children who were barely old enough to walk, and they were so obviously hers. That’s how you know you’re amongst poor folks, you know – they actually RAISE their own children. How uncivilized. How ::shudder:: gauche. I, of course, after giving birth to my own child – what the hell’s her name again? Starts with a D, I think. A D, or an S, one – handed her over to the nanny. I don’t expect to see the child again – what IS her name? I just can’t recall – except at Christmas and on my birthday (she likes to give me presents and sometimes I allow her to kiss me on the cheek if I’m feeling especially magnanimous) until she’s graduated from college. Oh, I got off the subject. Where was I? Yes, lunching with Muffy. Anyway, I said to Muffy, I turned to her and said, “You know, Muffy – ” Only I wasn’t able to finish the sentence that first time, because Muffy spilled coffee down the front of her mink coat and said “Oh fiddlesticks!”. When I pointed out that she should just give the coat to a poor person, she calmed down. Sending an assistant to the cleaners with a mink coat is just a pain, and since they’re only $78,000, it’s just easier to get rid of the coat and buy a new one. “You,” she said, snapping her fingers at a girl who worked at the cafe. “Here, take this!” The girl – a snippy young thing – glared at Muffy. “We don’t have a coat check, lady,” she snarled. “Well goodness NO,” Muffy rolled her eyes at me as if to say poor people! I nodded in agreement. “I don’t want to check my coat, silly thing. I want you to have it.” The girl stared at Muffy, and then at the coat. “What is it?” she asked. “Rabbit?” Well, of course we couldn’t help but giggle at that, and finally the girl got mad and stomped off. Muffy handed the coat to her assistant and ordered her to be sure the girl took it and put it to good use. “You know, Muffy,” I began. But again, Muffy interrupted me. “Thing,” she said to another of her assistants. She calls them all “Thing” because she can’t be bothered to remember their names, and who could blame her? I, personally, call my assistants “Hon”, because it adds that personal feel and makes them believe I care about them. Poor people are so funny, aren’t they? Anyway, “Thing,” Muffy said. “Call and see if the workers are through with the foyer yet.” She turned and smiled at me. “Did I mention that the diamonds we floored the foyer with were cutting my feet?” “Yes,” I said. “You’re redoing the foyer floor with black pearls, didn’t you say?” “That’s right,” Muffy nodded. “And it’s taking them forEVer to get it done. I mean really, how long does it take to floor a 3,000 square foot foyer with black pearls, for goshsakes?” I didn’t say anything about it to Muffy, but that’s awfully small for a foyer, don’t you think? Well, to each her own, I guess. “Muffy,” I began for the third time, “I simply MUST ask you something.” “What, darling?” she replied. I leaned across the table toward her. “Muffy, isn’t it just WONderful to be a stuck-up rich bitch?” She smiled at me and tilted her head. The sun glinted off her tiara and shone in my eyes. She patted my hand with hers, inadvertently cutting her hand on my Hope diamond ring. “Robyn,” she said, her eyes glistening with tears as she spoke the simple truth. “It’s not only wonderful. It’s nice. It’s very, very nice to be a stuck-up rich bitch. Not only is it nice to be a stuck-up rich bitch, but it’s also fabulous that nothing is good enough for u.” With that agreed upon, we had our assistants carry us on their shoulders out the door to our waiting Rolls.

Do you see what happens when you don’t read carefully, people? Someone read “crappy, rusted-out trailers”, didn’t pay attention to the “rusted-out” part, and in their mind 2+2=7. Robyn must think she’s too GOOD to live in a trailer! Robyn must think she’s too GOOD to look at trailers as she drives by! I better go send that stuck-up rich bitch an email! I do not, in fact, think I’m too good to live in a trailer. In fact, I spent quite some time at the beginning of our house search trying to convince Fred that we should buy a big piece of land and buy a double-wide to put down on said land, and use the money we’d save so he could retire when he’s 40. Seeing as we live in Tornado Alley, and tornadoes are attracted to trailers, he didn’t go for it. These trailers we passed, these "crappy rusted-out trailers" I mentioned? They were crappy. And they were rusted-out. And in the yard were cars up on blocks and garbage all over the place, half-naked children running around, feral dogs snapping at each other, and men picking banjos. The very worst of backwoods Alabama, in other words. Am I too "good" to live in a trailer? Of course not. Am I too "good" to live in a trailer surrounded by garbage, scary animals, cars on blocks, and men who would exhort me to squeal like a pig? Yes. Yes, I am. ]]>


Loved the inside, loved the outside, loved the yard, loved it, loved it, loved it. But. It. Was. Too. Far. From. Huntsville. Someone, you see, has gotten spoiled with his current 10-minute drive to and from work, and the thought of having to drive any longer than that gives him the willies. Grrr. Fortunately, we have 7 or 8 houses in the Hazel Green area to check out, so keep your fingers crossed for us. Lest I surely kill someone. Oh, and we’ve heard nothing of the results from the home inspection, the freakin’ bastards. And since they have THREE BUSINESS DAYS to bother getting back to us, it could be Tuesday or so before we hear. I don’t need this stress, people. ]]>