Entertainment Weekly. Renew your subscription, and give a FREE one-year subscription to someone as a Christmas gift!, they said excitedly. Even though my own subscription didn’t expire until sometime in 2002, I still considered that a pretty good deal. I mean, a year’s subscription of a weekly magazine is pretty damn expensive. I renewed my own subscription and sent the free one-year subscription to Debbie, whom I assume has spent this past 9 1/2 months greatly enjoying her weekly infusion of celebrity gossip. Today, I get in the mail a concerned letter from Entertainment Weekly. Hey, it says, remember that FREE one year subscription you sent to your sister for Christmas last year? Well, it’s about to lapse, and Debbie will be cut off from her link to the world o’ celebrity gossip! Wanna renew it? Renew it? I can do that? Well, sure I can. Except that THIS time it ain’t FREE, of course. Bastards. It’s like those drug dealers who give you a free rock or two (or so I’ve heard) and then want you to start paying. Time to go cold turkey, Deb… I was listening to Ace and TJ the other day when I was out walking (Monday, I think), and TJ, who’s the funny one (well, they’re both funny, but TJ carries the zany part of the act) started saying “crack cocaine”, and every time he said it, he said it faster, until it was one word – crackcocaine – and with a stronger and stronger southern accent, until it got to be particularly funny. I guess you had to be there…

* * *
The New York 3Day was scheduled to take place the 21st – 23rd, beginning at Bear Mountain, and ending in Manhattan’s Bryant Park. I wonder how many walkers, crew members, volunteers and their relatives might be missing or dead.
* * *
How much does it tick me off that our insurance doesn’t cover my birth control prescription? And how much does it also tick me off that the damn pharmacist has decided to give me only one pill pack at a time, instead of the three my doctor directed so that I wouldn’t have to get a refill every month? Maybe the pharmacist thinks I’m one-a them loose women who gets extra pill packs so she can hand them out to other women, willy-nilly, and encourage them to go have sex with strange men. I believe I’ll be switching my pharmacy to another one very soon… Has anyone out there tried the Instead cup? Is it hard to get the hang of it? Is it hard to insert, and does it feel weird? Tell me about your experiences, please. I got a free sample of three, and I’m a little leery of trying right now, for reasons which you don’t really want to know. (Psst! It’s ’cause I’m on a heavy day, and the little instruction book says you should try on a light day.) Okay, I’ve shared enough for today, I think. —– Previously 2000: WHEN WILL THE SUFFERING END???]]>


here, and you can give blood locally – contact your local hospital or health care system. “These acts shattered steel, but they cannot dent the steel of America’s resolve”

* * *
The spud was practicing her flute two nights ago, and she was in the midst of a verrrrrry long song, wherein she repeated the same loud, ear-piercing note over and over for, well, forever. Miz Poo, who had been snoozing peacefully on her pillow, finally lifted her head and shot a look of disgust in the direction of the flute-playing. That’s pretty much how we all felt. I dreamed last night not of burning towers or cities that looked like war zones, but that Fred had gone out, in the middle of the night, and adopted a little tan weiner dog, and I woke up to find the weiner dog – Howard – curled against the back of my legs, and when I moved my legs away from him in surprise, he responded by pooing on my pillow and stomping away on his stubby little weiner-dog legs. I also dreamed of third-world prisons. In fact, I was imprisoned in a nameless third-world prison, along with Henry Rollins. We spent the whole time screaming about the rats. Hank, I was displeased to find, was just a big baby about that sort of thing.
* * *
You know what really gets me? When I was younger, I had a finely honed instinct for when things were about to go to shit. A sixth sense, a feeling that something was going to happen, that “waiting for the other shoe to drop” feeling before something happened. The day Reagan was shot, I was home sick, and I had a jittery, unsettled feeling most of the morning, until I saw the news reports on TV, and then that feeling was gone. The day the Challenger blew up, I had the same feeling all day at school, until we found out what had happened. But yesterday morning, I slept in an extra twenty minutes or so, and when I rolled out of bed, after petting and talking to Miz Poo for another ten minutes, I was in a great mood. Looked forward to lifting weights and maybe cleaning the bathroom (looked forward to getting the bathroom clean, I mean. Not the actual process of cleaning the bathroom, because I’m not some sick person who enjoys cleaning) and doing some reading. I had not the slightest inkling of what was happening as I walked downstairs and set the litter boxes out to soak in the back yard. Not a clue as I sat down at the computer and checked my email. Just a day like any other, right? —–]]>


September 11, 2001

In memory.







And not only would Fred not run from the paparazzi, I’m amazed that he wasn’t jumping in the pictures of random tourists. Could you imagine getting your vacation pictures back and seeing Fred’s big grinning face standing there? “Honey, who the hell is THIS?!” I stole this survey from Noreen, but I’ve seen it all over the place recently, and god knows how much I love to be one of the cool kids! WALLET: A $5 piece o’ crap that I bought at Wal-Mart, of course. I have more wallets than you can shake a stick at, ’cause I get sick of the wallet I’m using, and instead of going through the ones I already have, I go look for a new one at Wal-Mart or Target, and then don’t want to throw the old one away… HAIRBRUSH: I have several brushes – a round one, a flat one, a regular one. I use them all indiscriminately, which probably explains the usual state of my hair. TOOTHBRUSH: Oral-B Crossaction. Purple and white. JEWELRY WORN DAILY: Honestly, I don’t wear jewelry. I used to wear my engagement and wedding rings, but since I’ve lost weight, they don’t fit anymore. I was wearing cat-paw earrings (errr, earrings that look like cat paws, not made out of ACTUAL cat paws, ’cause that would be weird and creepy) every day for a while, because if I go for too long without earrings, my left ear (the pierced part) tends to grow together. SOCKS: White cotton anklets. They have to fit just right, ’cause I can’t stand it when socks are too big and they bunch at the front of my shoe. Drives me nuts. The only time I really wear socks, aside from exercising, is if I know I’ll be doing a lot of walking – ie, a trip to Wal-Mart. PILLOW COVER: You know, I have no idea what they look like. I think they’re gold, tan and white, but I couldn’t swear to it. BLANKET: A dark red and gold comforter, which I absolutely loathe, because it’s made out of material that grabs the cat hair and won’t let it go unless I walk near it wearing black pants, in which case the blanket throws the hair at me. I plan to hit Bed, Bath and Beyond one of these days and pick out something better, something with a lot of blue, but I haven’t yet because I know I’ll end up spending a lot of money, and we’re still trying to recover from the back-to-back move and vacation. One of these days, though, I’ll take a look at that damn comforter, and I’ll just snap, and end up buying something all flowery and girly. And Fred will be maaaaaaaad… SUNGLASSES: LL Bean sunglasses, which I got from Fred for Christmas last year. Very comfortable sunglasses, which given the price, they damn well should be. Much better than the $10 Wal-Mart glasses I used to wear. UNDERWEAR: (I had to stop and look, actually) Right now, I’m wearing dark purple venezia underwear. I go back and forth between Venezia underwear and my old saggy-ass underwear that’s too big for me. As for bras, around the house I don’t usually wear one. When I have to go out or we’re expecting company, I wear one of the bras I ordered from JustMySize.com. SHOES: When I’m going out, I usually slip on the pair of dark-blue criss-cross sandals I got from Land’s End. When I’m exercising, I wear New Balance 1121s, which are the replacement for my old New Balance 572s, which weren’t giving me nearly enough support. Just so you know.

NAIL POLISH: I don’t think I’ve worn nail polish once in the last 10 years. The key to all that is Robyn can be found in the words "low maintenance." HANDBAG: I don’t know. Some crappy faux-leather dark-brown Wal-Mart purchase. It works for me, because it has two side pockets, and I use one to hold a paperback and one to hold my cellphone. KEYCHAIN: A yellow VW bug with a clock inside (which I got from Target), a yellow VW bug which I bought in G’burg, a yellow heart-shaped keychain with a smiley face on the front and some saying about god or jesus on the back, and a small silver smiley-face keychain. If it’s yellow or smiley-faced, it’s on my keyring, by god! COMPUTER: I don’t know. Some Hewlett-Packard slow-moving piece of buymeanewcomputerFred shit. FAVORITE TOP: I don’t have one particular favorite, but if it’s an oversized t-shirt, it’s good enough for me. FAVORITE PANTS: Black cotton. Or the one gray pair of leggings that are too big for me. I dress mighty sexy, don’t I? SHAMPOO/CONDITIONER: Right now, I’m using Basic So Straight shampoo and conditioner. When that’s gone, I’ll probably go back to Thermasilk. But nothing can help the horror that is my hair, believe you me. SOAP: Dove for sensitive skin. PERFUME: I have a bunch of perfume at the moment. Sand and Sable and Dark Vanilla are my current favorites, but I also have Manifesto, Love’s Baby Soft, and some Honeysuckle body spray. Oh, and True Love and Ici, too. CD IN THE STEREO RIGHT NOW: The WordGoddess cd. CAR: ’97 Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo, white, and ’97 Jeep Grand Cherokee Limited, amethyst (also known as purple. Fred drives a purple Jeep!) IN THE FRIDGE: A gallon pitcher of iced tea (Fred), diet Coke (me), diet Mountain Dew (spud), water (me), lots of salad fixin’s, carrots, celery, cabbage, milk, organic eggs, leftover taco soup (for Fred’s lunches later this week), and yellow squash. Plus the usual condiments. TELEVISION, STEREO, CELLPHONE: The main TV is a Mitsubishi 60-inch rear projection system (I would personally be happier with a tv half the size, but I don’t get to make that choice), we have a Samsung 19-inch TV/VCR combo in the computer room, and a 27" TV in the bedroom. We hardly ever use any of them aside from the big one, since it’s in the living room. We don’t really have a stereo, and usually listen to cds on our computers, though we have a Bose radio in the computer room so I can listen to the radio during the day. The cellphone is a Nokia something-or-other with a yellow faceplate. I’m sure the yellow shocks you.

* * *
Previously 2000: Look! It’s nay-chuh!



sittin' in a box

Sittin’ in a box… sittin’ in a box… I’m Spot, and I’m sittin’ in a box, yeah baybee…

Layin’ in the sun… layin’ in the sun… I’m Spanky (also known as Gomer), and I’m layin’ in the sun purring my fool head off…

When I was sharing pictures of the stuff I bought in G’burg, I forgot my new favorite shirt! Cute, eh? Jest lahk me.

Know what gets all over my nerves and annoys me to no end? When the phone rings (no, that’s not it, though I’d probably be happiest if the phone never ever rang), and the person on the other end says "May I speak to Fred Anderson?", and I say "He’s not here, may I take a message?", and they say "Blah blah blah", and start leaving their message, and then pause and say "Who is this?"

You know what? IT’S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS WHO IT IS. It’s the fucking person who answered the fucking phone, and since the person you want to talk to is either not home or pretending not to be home, LEAVE YOUR FUCKING MESSAGE, AND DON’T WORRY ABOUT WHO I AM.

One of these days, I’m going to say "The woman who ties him up and beats him, if you must know." Or "The hired prostitute." Or "I don’t actually live here, I’m just robbing the place." Or "Your momma, that’s who!" Or "His girlfriend. He’s not home, so I’m taking the chance to snoop through his house." Or "The dog. Woof!"

Back in my bad-credit days, I invariably pretended to not be me. "Is Robyn there?", the creditors would ask. "Nope! Can I take a message?" I’d always say. It always worked, of course – what were they going to say, "Yes you are! You are Robyn, you’re just lying about it!" You always know it’s someone you don’t want to talk to if they ask for you by first and last name, too. Or if they use your full name instead of your nickname.

Thank god for caller id, y’know? The phone rings, you check to see who it is, and if it’s not for you, you yell for who it IS for, so you don’t have to do that awkward making-conversation thing before handing the phone over.

"Oh, hi Robyn! How’s it going?"

"Fine, fine… And you?"

"…. Oh, just great. Just great." Long pause. "So, uh, is Fred there?"

"Sure, hang on…" Just easier to not answer if it’s not for you, y’know?

My friend Liz’s ex got pissy because I’d call and just ask for her instead of bothering with the small talk. "She never TALKS to MEEEE!", he’d whine. He had a very nasally, whiny voice. I hated his ass, I really did. He didn’t seem to understand that just because Liz was my friend, I didn’t necessarily love and adore him as well. Thank god she divorced his loser ass.

Man. I killed three flies in the computer room this morning (that’s what happens when you leave the door open for the kitties to play outside), and two of them are gone. I suspect one of the cats ate them, which is just gross when you think of how much time they all spend licking my hand. Gah.

But that’s okay – whoever it was will simply half-digest the flies and then barf them back up, most likely on the carpet. You know, the light-colored carpet. Next to the stains caused by half-digested barfed-up grass.

Thank god for Oxi-Clean.


—– Previously 2000: Am I not an ass-kicking WalkAerobics diva?]]>


So this morning, the Karmic Boomerang(TM) whipped around and kicked me in the ass with lightning-quick reflexes. I was walking into the closet to put the clothes basket away, and Spanky was standing there staring into the fourth dimension, where things were going on that only he could see.

"Move, buddy," I said, and when he went on standing and staring, I touched him lightly on the top of his head to bring his brain back into this dimension. Since he’s the jumpiest, most nervous cat we have (except for Spot, who will sit at the food dish and eat, and if he sees you walking in his general direction, he’ll scream and run away), he did a big, goony jump that made me laugh like a banshee. As he ran out of the closet, I put the laundry basket away and bent down to pick up a shirt.

As I stood up, I banged my head on the ironing board. As I said "Ow!" and rubbed my head, I could hear the whiplike sound of the Karmic Boomerang moving on…

So, last night we watched Lost, and then The Amazing Race. Well, we watched Lost together, and then I went upstairs to watch The Amazing Race, while Fred stayed downstairs and watched the craptastic Fear Factor. I liked both Lost and The Amazing Race (how sweet the sound…), but I’d say I liked The Amazing Race more. Why? Well, because there were 11 teams as opposed to 3 teams on Lost, which meant that it was a lot easier to find people to hate on Race.

And find people to hate I did. Why, first off, there was Frank, who was an obnoxious asshole who at one point actually shoved his wife (from whom he’s separated – gee, wonder why?) when she expressed fear at the thought of going across a zipline in a flimsy li’l harness across a deep gorge. Asshole. I’m sure he thought he was being all playful, but I would have decked his stupid ass.

Then, of course, there was Amie. At one point, the teams had to find something Gorge, and they weren’t provided with directions, so as Amie and her poor fiance Paul were driving in circles, they’d occasionally run across (not literally) a local. "Where’s (something) Gorge?" Amie would shriek, with a voice like nails on a chalkboard. The local would shake his or her head that s/he didn’t know, and the bitch would scream "HOW CAN YOU LIVE HERE AND NOT KNOW WHERE IT IS?!" Personally, had I been someone she screamed that at, I would have responded with "HOW CAN YOU BE SUCH A CU– AND STILL BE ALIVE?!"

I don’t use the "c" word lightly, y’all.

Lastly, and only slightly annoying, was the daughter half of the mother/ daughter team, Emily. Emily was apparently not disciplined nearly enough as a child, because she was prone to whine in a loud, annoying voice, "Come ON, Mooooooom! Hurry UUUUUP!" They should have paired Emily with Frank and let him shove HER around.

My current favorites are Joe and Bill (the gay couple), David and Margaretta (the grandparents), and Nancy, Emily’s mother. Everyone else was neither annoying enough or sweet enough to set off my radar.

Moira, I’m thinking we’d kick ass in The Amazing Race 2…

—– Previously 2000: No entry.]]>


What is it with cats and boxes? There’s an empty box lying on the library floor, and they keep taking turns getting in it and just sitting there. Just sitting there, staring off into space! Do you suppose they’re waiting for the mothership to come get ’em?

Last night, we were watching Small Town X (and may I just say that that Head Investigator Gary Fredo is one cute little number), and it went to commercial, and on came this anti-drug commercial, with a teenage-aged boy and his little brother doing things together like brushing their teeth (or shaving, perhaps, I wasn’t watching that closely), and hanging out, and the little brother was watching his older brother play basketball, and just generally sending adoring looks in his direction no matter what he did. At the end of the commercial, one of the older brother’s friends hands him a joint, and he looks all cool, like he thinks he’s the shit, and then he looks up and sees his disappointed-looking little brother looking at him, and the voiceover says something like "if you take drugs because you want to be cool, what about the people who already think you are?", and the older brother continues to look all confused, like "What the hell do I do now?!"

I turned to Fred and said "He looks all dilemmanated, doesn’t he?"

Fred looked confused. "All what?"

Sometimes you just have to spell everything out for the man.

"Dilemma-nated," I said patiently. "As if he’s struggling with a great dilemma, instead of immediately thinking of the obvious, which would be to hand the joint back and say, with a great look of digust, ‘WHAT, ARE YOU CRAZY?! I DON’T DO DRUGS! DRUGS ARE BAD!’ Dilemmanated."

Robyn And3rson, creator of the future language of America.

Speaking of anti-drug commercials, here’s another one starring Crackhead Bob. The Crackhead Bob commercials are very very sad, but they always make me laugh. NOT because they’re funny, but because they make me think of the time two or three years ago when a Crackhead Bob commercial came on, where Crackhead Bob is speaking, and it’s obvious that the drugs have done some serious damage to the guy, and from across the room, the spud called out with great delight, "It’s Crackhead Bob!"


Hoo doggie, Andrew Vachss has a new Burke novel coming out in September. The 13th Burke novel, according to Amazon, and though I’ve read ’em all, I only own about 4 of theml. I need to rectify that. September’s going to be a good book month, between the new Stephen King/ Peter Straub novel, and now the new Vachss.

I love me some Burke, yes I do.

I note that Andrew Vachss’ publicity tour won’t be bringing him anywhere around here, damnit. Though that’s probably for the best, since no doubt I’d be a blithering idiot if I ever met the man face-to-face.

Blithering idiot is my specialty, you know.


—– Previously 2000: Trip to Tennessee.]]>


Now, because I can (this being MY journal and all), I took pictures of all the stuff I bought in G’burg, and I believe I’ll share said pictures with y’all, you lucky LUCKY people.

Kitty earrings! Aren’t they adorable? I don’t wear earrings very often and when I do, they’re usually the diamond studs Himself gave me for my birthday a few years ago, but it’s not the WEARING of the cute kitty earrings that makes me happy, it’s the HAVING.

An itty-bitty metal sleeping kitten figurine that Fred saw in a store and decided I must have. I love that man, have I mentioned?

If the cat ain’t happy ain’t nobody happy – god knows THAT’s the truth. I love the expression on this cat’s face, and we WERE in the Smoky Mountain Cathouse (my favorite store ever), so I bought it. I don’t know where I’m going to hang it – maybe in the laundry room, near the litter box – because Himself doesn’t like that country look.

I bought this one in May and haven’t hung it up yet. I’m sure it’ll go wherever the other one goes.

Ole Smoky Jellies’ strawberry jam. This stuff is SO awesome. We buy some every time we go to G’burg, and it’s just the nectar of the gods. Maybe next time we go I’ll buy a couple of extra jars to give away.

Stuff for my yellow-stuff and happy-face collections. Here we have a heart-shaped smiley-face keychain, a smiley-face magnet, and a yellow vw bug keychain. ‘Cause god knows I don’t have enough yellow OR smiley-faced stuff!

Fred and the spud went into the Adopt-a-Bear Factory, wherein you choose the body of the stuffed animal you want, then take it to be stuffed, and stick a stuffed heart inside, and have it sewn up, and all manners of things, because the spud really wanted to get one. I went inside with them to see what they had, exclaimed over the cuteness of the gray mice bodies, and went outside to wait and people-watch (people are interesting to watch as long as you aren’t trying to get around them). Fred came out some time later and handed me a bag with the above mouse inside. He’d made me a mouse, which he named Bubba, to go with the bear he made me at the Teddy Bear Factory last year (I’m pretty sure the Teddy Bear Factory has gone out of business, by the way), and named Bessie:

Cute, eh?

More yellow and smiley-face and magnet stuff. The yellow cap is self-explanatory, I think, since it’s the PERFECT shade of yellow. The cut-out cat is a magnet – there’s a store of JUST magnets in G’burg, and I could have spent all day there. Then we have the magnet covered with smiley faces, and in the middle is a magnet which states my life philosophy: "My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance."

New additions to my Quarry Cats collection. Here we have Carla (left) and Clyde, who are joining…

Cameron, Carl, and Chelsea (and Catalina, though I don’t have a picture at the moment). I love these things, can you tell? Once I’ve rounded out my collection of the cats, I told Fred we should start on the turtles, and put them out in the garden.

Okay, that’s it. I bought a bunch of yellow stuff, smiley-face stuff, and cat stuff. That really shouldn’t come as a surprise to any of you, if you’ve been paying attention…

—– Previously 2000: No entry.]]>


We were driving down the interstate, and came upon one eighteen-wheeler towing another one, which was backwards and therefore facing us, which was a tad disconcerting.

"Fred, make a face like you’re afraid the eighteen-wheeler’s going to hit us!" The great thing about all the weight Fred has lost, is that he’s more than willing to pose for pictures. In fact, you almost have to wrestle him to the ground to get him OUT of the picture sometimes.

Fred the grinnin’ fool in his brand-spankin-new t-shirt. On the front is a picture of him 155 pounds ago. The text (in red) reads "This was me" on the top, and "Before…" on the bottom. On the back is his url. He claimed to feel all self-conscious when wearing this t-shirt, but he must not have been too terribly self-conscious, since he wore it whenever possible.

We saw a lot of infomercials while we were on vacation – most of them while we were waiting around for the stores on the strip to open – and one that caught our fancy was for some sort of monitoring device for the elderly (think "I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!"), and on this infomercial, there was an elderly gentleman clutching his chest and yelling "I’m having a heart attack!" It amused us a lot, and Fred promptly began reenacting the commercial. This is his "I’m having a heart attack!" look.

The spud slept in a murphy bed, which was cool.

The view from our motel parking lot. I didn’t get many scenery pictures this time out, mostly because we didn’t go driving in the mountains where the scenery is prettiest, and also because I didn’t feel like lugging the camera around with me wherever we went.

Fred had his caricature done, and I think they certainly captured him well. The spud also had hers done, and while it doesn’t look as much like her as Fred’s looks like him, it was pretty good. I need to take a picture of it, which I haven’t done yet.

Isn’t this the most adorable little church? It was located between our parking lot and a mini-mall. I doubt that more than 5 people could have fit in this church, but since I wasn’t around Sunday morning at 8:30, I can’t say for sure.

A close-up of the sign announcing that the pastor of the "Little Country Church" is Ronald Reagan.

Another shot from our parking lot. Fred told me 300 separate times on this trip that the reason they call ’em the Smoky Mountains is because the fog looks like smoke. He tells me that very same thing every time we go to Gatlinburg.

As we were leaving Gatlinburg this morning, I took a shot of the gray, drab, rainy day. It was gray, drab, and rainy the entire time we were there, except for about 10 minutes on Saturday afternoon.

Things that sucked about our vacation: We had to walk down a big-ass hill from our hotel room to the strip of junky tourist stores on the strip. Which wasn’t so much a problem, except that Fred felt the need to do a LOT of walking, and insisted until sometime Sunday afternoon that I had to be with him every time he went into town, and the only way to get BACK to the hotel room was to walk UP said big-ass hill, which was lots and lots of fun. Or not.

Also, the moseying, meandering tourists wandering about the streets of Gatlinburg made me want to go on a killing rampage. THEY WALKED SO FUCKING SLOW. I’d walk patiently along behind one group who would meander along, taking up the entire sidewalk, until there was the smallest of gaps, through which I would shoot, almost running, get past THAT meandering group, and immediately get stuck behind ANOTHER meandering group.

How slow were they? Well, try taking 5 minutes to walk 20 feet, and perhaps you’ll begin to feel my pain. Oh, and imagine that there are annoying people in front of you, who gasp and ooh over every crappy Gatlinburg t-shirt they see. And who stop in their tracks to gaze lovingly at each and every store o’ crap they happen across – and there are many, many stores o’ crap in Gatlinburg, which is why we like it so.

But the people. Man, the people have GOT. TO. GO.

Tomorrow, I’ll take pictures of all the stuff I bought whilst in Gatlinburg, if you’re lucky. —–