June 14, 2002

The Flo Control Project. You’ve gotta check it out – it’s hilarious! So, I have an buttload of pictures to share with y’all, which I’ve been meaning to do and haven’t gotten around to until now, when I can’t think of anything else to write about. Here ya go – and click on the small picture to see the full-sized version, as usual. One morning while my parents were here, before anyone was up, Fred walked past the downstairs hallway and found Fancypants with a baby bird. The bird was unharmed (this was before Fancypants learned to bring them upstairs and kill them at the end of the bed, apparently), so Fred made all the cats come inside, and then he put the baby bird outside under the tree and shut the door so no cats could go out there. Later, he called a vet’s office to be sure that’s what he should have done, and the woman at the vet’s office said to leave the bird alone, and that the mother and father birds would feed and protect it until it learned to fly. I had to go out later that day and run errands, and when I got home, I saw that the bird had wandered across the yard, so naturally I got a picture of the cute little thing. Later, my father decided to create a small nest for the bird and put it back up into the tree, because the one ladder we had fell far short of the nest it had come from. He cut the bottom from a bottle of ginger ale, put some batting and grass in the makeshift nest, tied it to a branch, and placed the baby in the nest. Several times it fell out of the nest, and each time my father put it back in. That evening, we went out to take a look – just before it started pouring rain – and the baby bird had decided it didn’t like the nest, and preferred to stand on the branch, like so: We did let the cats out later while we were sitting out on the patio talking, and Miz Poo thought that perhaps directly under the tree would be the best place to wait and hope for the baby bird to fall out again. The next morning, the baby bird was gone. But five or six days later, I glanced out the front window and saw yet another baby bird (or maybe it was the same one – who knows?). I went out to see if he’d fly away, and he didn’t, although he also didn’t let me get too close. I just stood there for a few minutes talking to him (yes, I’m a freak, I know), and he started scolding me. Well, he’d scold me for a few minutes, and then open his mouth wide as if he hoped I’d feed him. As the day wore on, he moved away from the house and down the street through other yards, and each time I went out I could hear the ever-fainter sound of scoldscoldscoldfeedme!feedme!scoldscoldscold. I hope he learned to fly before one of the neighborhood cats got ahold of him. My mom, the spud, and I went to the mall one day while my parents were here, and I saw this little pig in Dillard’s or Parisian and had to have it. He’s adorable, isn’t he? Miz Poo just loves to lay on the empty shelf on the bookcase and look out the window, and it always cracks me up, I don’t know why. One of our rose bushes bloomed in a big way, so rather than leaving the blooms out for everyone to enjoy, I snipped them and brought them inside so that only we could enjoy them. I don’t think I showed off the smiley-face vase I got from eBay. Very me, no? I actually thought I had more pictures than that, but apparently not. 1. How often do you do laundry? About twice a week – more often if I’m feeling ambitious, but I usually don’t think about the laundry until the laundry basket is full. Actually, I think I only did laundry once this week. I don’t have to do the spud’s laundry – she does her own during the weekend – so it’s just mine and Fred’s I have to worry about. 2. What’s in a typical wash load? Whatever’s dirty – usually pants, shirts, shorts, and underwear. I only have three bras (look, they’re expensive and when I don’t have to leave the house, I don’t wear one, so hush), so I wash them on the gentle cycle whenever I feel they need to be washed. I only wash the towels about once every other week (shut up, no one’s asking YOU to use them, and besides – we’re clean when we get out of the shower or bathtub, so it’s not like the towels get really dirty or anything!), and the sheets about the same. 3. Front or top loader? Powder or liquid detergent? Top loader, liquid Tide. I’ve used other detergents before, but always go back to Tide. 4. Do you use fabric softener in the rinse cycle? Nope – I use fabric softener dryer sheets. 5. Dryer or clothesline? Dryer. I’d like to have a clothesline to at least dry our sheets – I love that outdoors smell – but it’s against the neighborhood rules. One of the downsides of living in a subdivision, don’tchaknow. ]]>

June 13, 2002

Black Hawk Down. That night after Fred went to bed, I watched Vanilla Sky (and freakily, Nance was watching it that very same night! I didn’t hate the movie as much as she did, though. Possibly because I dozed through part of it. Heh.), and last night I watched Kate and Leopold. Tonight, I’ll be watching Monster’s Ball. Y’all, don’t email me and tell me if it sucks, because I’m going to watch it anyway. I mean, I get to see Billy Bob having hot monkey sex! Does it get any better? That was a joke. I actually find Billy Bob a tad creepy. Okay, a lot creepy. And he and Angelina Jolie together is just something I can’t bear to think about. Meg Ryan, if you didn’t know, is in Kate and Leopold, and while it was a cute enough movie – entertaining, yet doesn’t tax the brain – I have to ask one little question. What the FUCK is going on with Meg Ryan’s hair?! After When Harry Met Sally, her hairstyle choices have just gone to shit, and I don’t get it. Who is advising the woman on how to do her hair, and how is it that they still have a job? Does Meg not have eyeballs? Can she not see how hideous she looks? Her ‘do in Kate and Leopold made her look ten years older, and it makes me want to track her down and shake some sense into her. Of course, with Hugh Jackman and Liev Schreiber on the screen, who the hell was looking at Meg Ryan?

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A survey: 1. What time do you wake up in the morning? I try to be up before 8, but the last two mornings I’ve slept until after 8:30, probably because I stayed up late the night before watching movies. 2. If you could eat lunch with one famous person, who would it be? Stephen King, probably, although I’d be an idiot and would just stare adoringly at him and say stupid things like “You write good books.” 3. Gold or silver? I’m not much of a jewelry person, but most of what I have is gold. 4. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? I saw 20 minutes of Attack of the Clones last weekend before the suckiness drove us out of the theater. Before that, I went to see Panic Room with my mother and the spud, which I really liked. 5. Favourite tv show? Friends. It will always be my favorite, no matter how much everyone else think it sucks. 6. What do you have for breakfast? I don’t usually eat breakfast (although I did several times while my parents were here), but if I’m really hungry I’ll make eggs and toast. 7. What would you hate to be left in a room with? A skunk. Or Fred after he’s had beans. 8. Can you touch your nose with your tongue? No, but I can wiggle my ears, roll my tongue, and raise my left eyebrow. 9. Who inspires you? I’m sure there are tons of people who inspire me, but no one comes to mind at the moment. 10. What’s your middle name? Leslie. 11. Beach or city? Beach! 12. Summer or winter? Summer, as long as we have air conditioning. 13. Favourite ice cream? Applebees has a great vanilla bean ice cream that I really like. 14. Buttered, plain or salted popcorn? Popcorn (like coffee) is one of those things that always smells better than it tastes, but if I had to choose, I’d say salted popcorn is the best. Well, except for cheese popcorn, and then you’re moving into a whole new realm. 15. Favourite color? Yellow, of course. You knew that. 16. Favourite car? A yellow Volkswagen Beetle. 17. Favourite sandwich? This reminds me of the Friends episode where the answer to “What is Joey’s favorite food?” was “Sandwiches.” I would say that my favorite home made sandwich is egg salad, and my favorite Subway sandwich (a sub is a sandwich, in my opinion) is the BMT. 18. True love? Well, duh. 19. What characteristics do you despise? Condescension and people who think they’re smarter than they are. 20. Favourite flower? Daffodils or gladiolus. I also like carnations and roses. 21. If you had a big win on the lottery, how long before you told people? I’d wait until right after I claimed it, because I’d be afraid someone would clonk me upside the head and steal my ticket. 22. Fizzy or still water as a drink? Still. A gallon a day, by the way. 23. What color is your bathroom? The walls are a warm cream color – like the rest of the house – and the towels and rug are a smoky gray. 24. How many keys on your key ring? Two – one for the Jeep, one for the post office box. The key to the house is somewhere at the bottom of my purse. 25. Where would you retire to? A cottage on the coast of Maine, but I doubt I could ever convince Fred. 26. Can you juggle, if yes how many? Nope, I’m not that coordinated. 27. Favourite day of the week? Friday. 28. Red or white wine? Gag. Wine’s another of those things I don’t understand. I can’t stand the taste of it. 29. What did you do for your last birthday? Not a lot – but the rest of the world celebrated. 30. Do you hold a donor card? What kind of donor card? Yes, an organ donor card. ]]>

June 11, 2002

Go hither and make your own. Link stolen from… well, everyone’s doing it! And while we’re talking about cartoons, I have to say that Hawthorne from the Sherman’s Lagoon strip is the cartoon character I’m most like.

The look he gets on his little crab face right before he pinches someone never fails to crack me up. Reader Dawn became my Favorite Person o’ the Moment on Friday, when she sent me the (now defunct) link to disable the Comet Cursor download prompt. Have I mentioned that I hate those damn things? I thought so. Thanks, Dawn! Is it goofy that I’m concerned about Coleen Rowley‘s career in the long run? That I’m afraid that once the brouhaha has calmed down and everyone’s forgotten her name except in passing, that it may have negative consequences for her career, and very probably will? Go read Dana’s Rules O’ Driving. Go on, now. Unlike Dana, I’m not an excellent driver. I’m an okay driver, sometimes I’m a little too slow and careful, but usually the knowledge that I’m just a so-so driver makes me more vigilant, more aware of my surroundings, and so being aware that I’m not an excellent driver is probably the best thing for us all. And I’d never turn from a non-turn lane. I’d probably be a better driver if I was driving a car, though. Speaking of driving slow and careful – when my parents were here, my father drove through our subdivision at 12 miles per hour. Every time. It was like watching hair grow, riding with the man. And every time I said “You need to get in the right lane, Dad.”, he would respond with “No I don’t. It’s on the left.”, and I would say “No, it ISN’T, it’s on the right”, and I would always be proven right. Who’s going to know where the International House of Pancakes is located, I ask you? Someone who LIVES here and drives by it at least twice a week, or someone who hasn’t been in the area for three years, which is before it was built? That’s what I thought. So, a couple of weeks ago someone somewhere fucked up badly – personally, I blame my former webhosts, hispeed – and people would search on and find the site bulpyong.com, only when they hit bulpyong.com, they would see my site. The fine, useless people at hispeed hemmed and hawed and then determined it was a “dns crossover” that would “propogate out” over time, but here, two weeks later, I’m still getting hits from the Korean google site. You see, bulpyong.com is a Korean site. So Koreans were searching on something that bulpyong offers, and instead of seeing what they wanted, they were seeing the journal of a fat white chick. And when they couldn’t figure out WHAT the hell was going on, they were emailing me. And emailing me. And emailing the motherloving shit out of me. And trying to send me viruses. And emailing me. It was, you can imagine, quite a thrill. And what the hell was I supposed to do? I don’t speak Korean, so they could have been proposing to me, excoriating me, or just asking “What the fuck is going on?” Who knows? It’s a mystery. Now that my ip address has changed because I’ve switched hosts, hopefully that will stop, because nothing chaps my ass faster than getting a bunch of email, getting all excited (“I just got a bunch of email! Whee!”), and then finding you can’t read it or it’s a bunch of attempted virii. Grrrr. ]]>

June 10, 2002

So, yesterday morning, I awoke before 6 am. Not to get up and get going or anything – ha ha! silly readers! To think hat I would get up and get going before 6 am! – but to pee, because I drink a lot of water in the course of the day and therefore am a peeing fool. As I rounded the end of the bed on my way to the bathroom, I looked down and saw a dark shape. “Oh, that fucking bastard Fancypants!” I growled to myself. “It’s not bad enough that he has to poo on the floor outside the laundry room (where the litter box is kept), but to poo in my room! At the end of my very own bed! I’m going to kick his fancy little bastard ass from one end of the house to the other!”, and then I stopped and peered closer at the small dark shape. “What,” I wondered aloud. “Has he been EATING?” For while it was a relatively small dark shape, it was far larger than an average cat poo. And I clean out the litter box every day, so I know whereof I speak when it comes to cat poo. Unfortunately. Not wearing either my glasses or my contacts, and so fairly blind – and the room still being pretty dark – I held my breath so as not to inhale any of the assumed poo stink, and leaned down to get a closer look at the dark shape. It was a bird. A dead bird. A dead bird laying on the floor at the end of my bed. You can imagine how pleased I was. I am NOT picking that up, I thought definitely. “Freeeeeeeeeeeed!” I yelled down the stairs, certain it was late enough for him to be awake and either on his computer or snoozing on the couch. When he came upstairs at my bidding (“What?” he said. “Did Fancypants shit on the floor?” “Oh, better than that,” I replied. “Just come see.”), he was surprised. Miz Poo and Tubby were the only cats in the room, and they were fascinated not only by the dead bird, but also by the large spray of feathers across the bedroom floor. It appeared rather obvious that not only had someone caught a bird, but the bird had been at least half alive when brought into MY FUCKING BEDROOM, and had tried to run for it’s poor little life before being killed and laid on the floor at the end of my bed as an expression of deep and abiding love. While Fred picked up the bird and took it downstairs – after pointing out to me that it was a robin – I got out the vacuum cleaner and vacuumed up the trail of feathers. After sticking the vacuum cleaner in the hallway, I got back into bed and Miz Poo settled down beside me, wanting belly rubs and to purr wildly at me after all the excitement. I dozed off again, and at some point, Fred came back upstairs to take a bath. He was cold from running around in his underwear in an air-conditioned house and was taking a bath to warm up. And because he’s a froufy girly-man. Sometime after 7, he stepped out of the tub, dried off, and headed for the stairs. “Bessie,” he called, stopping before he went downstairs. “Come here.” I groaned, rolled over, grabbed my glasses, and put my nightgown on. At the landing at the top of the stairs lay another dead robin, with another violent spray of feathers. Apparently while Fred bathed and I snoozed, Fancypants (let’s be honest – Fancypants is one aggressive bastard, and none of the other cats has the nerve to actually go after a bird, so it had to be him) captured another robin, carried it inside, killed it, and left it for Fred and I to find. So once again Fred disposed of the bird and I vacuumed up the feathers. “I think Fancypants is sending me a message,” I said. “What?” Fred laughed. “That you’re next?” “Well,” I pointed out. “They ARE dead ROBINS.” If I disappear, I think you’ll know who to blame. Exhausted, after a hard day of murdering small animals.]]>

June 7, 2002.

* * * I was reading Entertainment Weekly last night during the commercials (we watched the MTV Movie Awards – the first hour, anyway, and taped the rest, because I want to see Kelly Osbourne singing), and came across this letter in the Letters to the Editor section: The kid can read the word “ass” and doesn’t know what it means? That’s a way-too-sheltered kid, right there. That letter’s an example of someone making up a problem where one doesn’t exist. If my kid said “Mommy, what does ass mean?”, I would say “It’s a word grownups use to mean your butt. You’re not allowed to use it.” Problem solved. Of course, the spud would never say “What does ass mean?”, because not only does she know what ass means, she could probably give you 10 good, solid uses of the word “fuck.” Any child of mine who spends more than an hour total in the car with me on a pms-ing day is going to know most every curse word and how to use it. It’s a skill that can come in handy.

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I’ll tell you what. If you plan to register a domain name, DO NOT REGISTER THROUGH NETWORK SOLUTIONS. I’ve been trying to get them to switch the ip address for bitchypoo.com for almost a week now, with no luck. I couldn’t connect to their “manage account” option for several days – I think it’s my computer, actually, because I was able to connect on Fred’s computer – so I called their customer service number. The woman I spoke to supposedly filled the form out and said it would be emailed to me for verification, and I never saw any such email. Fred tried doing it from work, but Network Solutions said there was some kind of error, so I tried doing it from his computer here at home. Never got the email to confirm. So I just now tried again for the zillionth time, and FINALLY got the fucking email to confirm. This is getting very, very old. So in short, if you’re going to register a domain name, I highly recommend register.com. It took all of two minutes to change the isp for robynanderson.com. If you register through Network Solutions, I swear I’ll hunt you down and bitch-slap you. Don’t test me. Have you noticed I’m feeling rather bitchy today? I think it’s because I’m pms-ing, but not only am I pms-ing, I’m pms-ing bigtime, because I used my birth control to skip my last period – since I didn’t want to be having my period while we were in Gatlinburg, due to all the hot monkey sex that occurs when Himself is around water – and that always makes the pms worse the next time around. Too much information? No such thing. Earlier, while I was searching for links for my rant on Julia Roberts, I happened across one of those fucking pages that has those Comet Cursors installed, and which attempt to install those fucking Comet Cursors on your computer. I clicked “NO, you fucking piece of shit, do NOT install!”, and ever since, every five minutes, I get a popup. “Would you like to install Comet Cursor?” Grrr. I hate those fucking things.
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Have a good weekend, y’all. ]]>

June 5, 2002

26 things you may not know about me (and some that you do)
1. In the middle of my right palm, I have a single, solitary freckle: 2. On that thing dividing my nostrils (the septum? I think that’s what it’s called), I have another single, solitary freckle. My sister likes to point it out to people sometimes. 3. Sometimes I hate my freckles. And sometimes I think they give me character. 4. I wish I had dark-blue eyes, instead of eyes that look bluish sometimes and greenish sometimes, depending on what I’m wearing. 5. I’m a zit-popper. If there’s a zit somewhere on my body, I’ll squeeze it whether it’s ready to pop or not. I spend a lot of time checking myself for zits. Unfortunately, I’ve never been terribly prone to acne, which is why I like popping them so much, I guess. 6. I really like to go out to eat, even if it’s for Mexican food, which I don’t really care for. 7. My favorite kind of food is Chinese, followed closely by seafood. I can hardly ever convince Fred to go out for Chinese, though. Which may be why I’m always craving it. 8. I’m a total sucker for weight loss before and after pictures. I could sit and look at before and after pictures for days – and I don’t care how the person who lost the weight did so. “I ate two crackers and half an apple six days a week and fasted on the seventh”? Great! Let’s see the before and after pictures! The more startling the difference, the more I like seeing them. “I lost 7,695 pounds!” Great! Let’s see the pictures! 9. I think people who publish books about having lost weight without including a LOT of before and after pictures should be tortured to death. 10. I grind my teeth in my sleep. 11. Although I’ve been married for most of my adult life, I can completely relate to this entry of Kymm’s. There were times, during the dead last five years of my first marriage, when I thought “I will spend the rest of my life alone, without someone to love. I will never be held and loved and kissed.” And I believed that, and I was okay with that. For years. I was more alone in a bed with my first husband than I ever was by myself. But then things changed. 12. Miz Poo is my favorite cat (duh!), followed at a distance by Spanky, who makes me laugh awfully hard with his doofy skittishness. I would like Fancypants, except I have a hard time feeling affection for anyone who SHITS ON THE CARPET OUTSIDE MY BEDROOM DOOR. And Tubby drives me nuts. Thank god he gets love from the spud (and long-distance love from Nance). I like Spot, but he’s not the kind of cat you can pick up and cuddle, so it’s a respectful stand-across-the-room-and-talk-to-him kind of affection. 13. Sometimes, when I get a really long email from a stranger that I don’t know how to respond to, I let it sit in my inbox for a long, long time, and every time I see it, I feel guilty, until the time comes that I say “Oh my GOD, I have GOT to respond to this!”, and then I do my best to whip off a response, but I always feel like I’ve done a half-assed job of it. And sometimes, if it’s been long enough, I think “They probably don’t expect a response anyway!”, and quicklikeabunny I delete it before I can change my mind. 14. I have a hard time not responding to email even if it obviously requires no response. If you send me an email thanking me for something, I will often thank you for thanking me, and we will send a volley back and forth until you give up. 15. I’ve been caught up on my email for almost two weeks now. That’s as long as I’ve ever been caught up on email, and I’m hoping like hell I can keep it up. 16. I’m not caught up on my journal reading, though. I’m about a week behind. 17. Sometimes, right after I upload an entry, I think “Oh, shit! I meant to talk about (whatever)!”, and so I open up Dreamweaver and start an entry for the next day. Hell, sometimes I have most of an entry written for the next day by 6 pm the night before. Is that cheating? Who cares? 18. When Fred first started his (now defunct) journal, I was pissy and annoyed and felt like he was stepping on my toes. I’d bet dollar to donuts that he never knew I felt that way, though. 19. In the few weeks two years ago after Fred started losing weight and I got my shit together, I thought I was going to lose my mind, because eating and exercising was ALL he ever talked about. 20. Sometimes I want to bitch-slap Fred for being at his goal weight while I still have 80-something pounds to lose. But he’s so cute that I can’t quite bring myself to do it. The bastard. 21. If I didn’t open the blinds downstairs every morning, Fred and the spud would leave them closed and live happily in a cold, dark house all the days of their lives. 22. The medicine/ supplements I take on a daily basis: birth control pill, thyroid pill (synthroid), evening primrose oil, calcium, magnesium, and glucosamine/ chondroitin. 23. At least twice a week, I choke on the magnesium pill (it’s not coated) and throw it and a big mouthful of water back up into the sink. Yes, I barf it back up. I am a true pleasure to be around when I’m taking pills. Small pills, like my synthroid and birth control pill occasionally get stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I have to dig it off with my tongue. Ladylike gentility, thy name is Robyn. 24. I haven’t had fingernail polish on my nails in about ten years. I also haven’t filed my nails in at least that long. When my nails get long enough to be annoying, I chop them off with the fingernail clipper, and most days I don’t even glance at my nails. Or my ragged cuticles. 25. I am not a girly-girl. Have I mentioned? I put makeup on maybe three times a year. Though I have started using moisturizer sporadically. Does that count? 26. Movie trailers always make me tear up and want to lay my head down on the back of the seat in front of me and sob wildly, but only when I see them in the movie theater. Even if they don’t look that great. And even if they’re comedies (see: Men in Black 2). This is possibly because I know that chances are excellent that the movie can never live up to the trailer. Which makes me sad, because I WANT the movie to live up to the trailer, damnit. That’s all that comes to mind. Don’t you feel enlightened?]]>