Author: Robyn

adorable Frannie and his Tubby shirt. Thirdly, we watched The Restaurant the other night, and it was DAMN good, definitely a show worth checking out. No surprise there, since Mark Burnett’s involved in it. And that cute little Rocco isn’t terribly hard on the eyes, either. At times he strongly reminds me of Benjamin Bratt, whom I’ve never considered all that good-looking before. On Rocco it’s hot, though. Go figure. Fourthly, Last Comic Standing is pretty damn good as well, although I hate that Dave Mordahl (sp?) is gone, ’cause I love him. Dat Phan was a lot funnier last night than the night he beat Dave, I’ll give him that. Lastly, cat pictures: Poo in a hamper! Tubs in the hamper! (And Spot in the cat bed) Same picture, different angle! Spot watching bird. Bird not looking very scared.

* * * I’m out of here for real. See you on the flip side!]]>

this, all I can say is, it’s a crapshoot. Sometimes you do little work and end up with the best kid in the world and sometimes you work your ass off with the disciplining and teaching right from wrong, and you still end up with a monster. Fortunately, I ended up with the former. It’s not always wonderful and it’s not always horrible – for the most part it’s a mix, and sometimes it’s horrible for days with the occasional dash of wonderful, and sometimes it’s vice versa. And you never know in advance which it’s going to be. ‘Cause that’s just life.

* * * Furio from The Sopranos: Strongly reminds me of Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation: Discuss. * * * I have a million zillion things to do today, and I feel like I don’t have time to do them all, although that’s silly. I have a hair appointment at 9:30, have to go by the spud’s school and pick up her schedule, go to the post office, come home and write out the bills that will come due while I’m gone, try to run the vacuum over the downstairs, print out the postcard labels, give Miz Poo lots of love, and god knows what else I need to do. Okay, I’m off to have my hair cut and colored. Ah’ll be bahk. * * * And now I’m back. I just spent half an hour adding people to the Go Fuck Yourself ‘burb. The first order of business when I get back from Maine is to put that page in some kind of order, ’cause it’s just a mess with people listed willy-nilly, and my inner organization queen is having a fit. (I just drown her in chocolate and ignore her most of the time) I picked up the spud’s schedule for next year and wrote out a $175 check for school fees and the like. Did my parents have to pay that much in school fees when I was a kid, or is it just because we live in Yuppietown and the spud is in band? Lordy. * * * We went to the lake by UAH to feed ducks over the weekend. At one point I looked up and saw this coming toward me: Unfortunately, the little bitty babies are faster than they look, and I wasn’t quick enough to grab one and cuddle it and love it forever. Before we fed the ducks and geese, though, we settled down to eat our lunch. I had to keep a wary eye on this guy, though: Because he kept panting at us and wagging his tail, and I just KNEW that if I didn’t keep an eye on him, he’d come over and nip at my ass. I also made sure to occasionally say “You back OFF, mister!” in my Mean Momma tone. Luckily, it worked. * * * I was reading magazines last night, since I’m trying to catch up on my magazine reading before I go to Maine (though I don’t think it’s going to happen), and I came across a picture that made me laugh out loud. It was a picture of Julia Roberts and whatshisface, Mr. Julia Roberts, walking along, and the expression on her face, well, I’ll let you judge for yourself. At first glance she looks perfectly normal, but look closer, and I think the word I’m looking for is “crazed”, because that by hell is a crazed expression she’s got going on. Hee! Damn do I love US. When it was a monthly and then went to a weekly magazine, I hated it and thought it sucked, but now I think it’s better than even People or Entertainment Weekly. * * * Speaking of the entertainment world, we were talking about Katie Couric last night in bed (not in a pervy way. We were both fully dressed, so get your minds out of the gutter), and Fred said something about the colonoscopy Katie Couric had done some years back. “When are you supposed to start getting those regularly?” I asked. “40? 45?” “I think it’s more like 50,” Fred said. “She was NOT 50 when she had it done!” I said. “No, she had it done younger because of Frank.” “Frank?” I said, confused (ie, my normal state of mind) “Yeah, Frank Gifford. He died of colon cancer, right?” “Okay, first of all she wasn’t married to Frank Gifford, that was Kathie Lee, and secondly FRANK GIFFORD ISN’T DEAD!” “Oh.” But I couldn’t leave it alone. “She was married to Jay Monahan. And they had two little girls, one of whom is named Ellie.” You know what I’d like to know? I’d like to know WHY ON EARTH Katie Couric’s late husband’s name and the name of her little girl are burned into my memory. Why? Will I ever need that information again? Can I delete it and replace it with something more important like the location of Liberia and Libya? Please? * * * Alrighty, it’s time for lunch, so I’m going to go eat and then pay bills and do the ten thousand things I still need to do before I leave tomorrow. Expect entries to resume around August 4th (though it could be a day or two later). I’ll try to post to the notify list at least a few times while I’m in Maine. Until then, y’all behave yourselves. If you can’t behave yourselves, email and tell me all about it. And if I die in a huge fiery crash on my way to Maine, you can comfort yourselves with the knowledge that my last word was probably “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”]]>

Michigan J. Frog Hello My Baby!

* * * Pet store kitties are here. * * * Almost looks like he expects that box to take him somewhere, doesn’t he? ]]>

Crazy Cat Ladies Society. You bet your ass I’ll be requesting one of those shirts for Christmas. Speaking of shirts, have you bought your Tubby shirt yet? Sundry did. If you bought a Tubby shirt, take a picture of yourself in it (or if you bought something else, take a picture of yourself holding it), and send me the link. Or the picture, and I’ll post it. Heh. I could put up a separate page and call it “Tubby Lovers.” Bet that would get me some interesting Google hits.

* * * I watched the Affleck/ Lopez interview last night before bed. As I watched, I thought to myself “You know, maybe he really doesn’t have such a big head…” and then they showed him next to Jennifer Lopez and holy COW the man has a humongous noggin. If I were Jennifer Lopez, I would be VERY frightened at the thought of birthing an Affleck baby, if noggins like that run in the family. “Noggin” is a funny word, no? Anyway, it’s not like there was any exciting, shocking information disclosed during the interview (she does the cooking, he doesn’t do the dishes, she loves being “the caretaker”, he wears the pants), but it was interesting to see the two of them together. She was a giggling fool, but she seems to have stopped with the constant and annoying “Y’know what I mean?” which was so apparent in the Diane Sawyer interview. Ben Affleck referring to Matt Damon as “A weepy, weepy man” cracked me up. * * * I have a bunch of reader questions that I haven’t answered and they’ve been sitting in my “questions” folder for months and months (I did answer a few of the health/ weight related questions in my diet journal a few days ago; you might be interested in those). Reader Pauleen asks: You and Fred seem to have the best relationship. I wish my husband and I were as “friendly” as you guys. Anyway, I was wondering whether you and Fred ever argue. Is there anything about him that really gets on your nerves (and vice versa)? We bicker from time to time, but we rarely actually argue. There are little things about him that get on my nerves and vice versa, but if I could change one thing about him, it would be the farting. He’d probably say the same about me. * * * Reader Aly asks: How did you come to the decision to publish a public journal – not only this one, but also your OFB chronicling your weight loss efforts? [snip] I was wondering what made you want to go public. You and Fred both go to great lengths (and I’m glad you do) to protect the obvious personal information in your lives, like address and phone number, but you’re so open and honest in your journals about other aspects of your lives. Y’know, that’s a good question. I know that I had been reading other journals for at least a year, and talked about starting my own for probably 6 months before I finally sucked it up and bought the domain. I can’t say for sure what made me want to start my own journal – I think that a large part of it was seeing whether I could come up with something to write about several days a week, and I actually wrote almost every day for the first few months before going to a Monday – Friday schedule. What made me start my own diet journal was that I was simply afraid that diet-and-exercise talk in the regular journal would bore the hell out of people, so I pretty much split that part of my life off into another journal. As far as being open and honest in our journals, I do have to say that it’s always easier to be open and honest when you’re sure that no one you know in real life is reading. I’ve had to go back through my archives at least three times to delete stuff, unfortunately. Once when I discovered that a member of Fred’s family was reading his journal, once when someone Fred works with discovered his journal, and once when a member of my family (other than my sister Debbie, to whom I gave my url years ago) emailed to claim that they’d found my site by searching on their name (which is impossible, since I never used their full name anywhere on my site). At this point, though, I’m of the “fuck it if they don’t like it” attitude and I won’t be removing anything else from my journal. Hm. Did that answer the question? Let me know if it didn’t, Aly! * * * Reader Lindsey asks: How did your cats get their nicknames, specifically Miz Poo? I have no idea how Miz Poo got her nickname, although it probably started with baby talk along the lines of “She’s a little pootie-pie, isn’t she? Oooooh, such a pootiepootiepootie! That’s MIZ Pootiepoo to you!” and so on. Yes, I’m a dork. Spot doesn’t really have a nickname, although Fred calls him “Buhhhdy” sometimes if Spot’s being particularly friendly (“friendly” for Spot includes not screaming and running for cover if you twitch your foot in his direction). It’s fairly obvious where Tubby got his nickname, I think, although I think it can be pinpointed to me saying something along the lines of “Get your tubby ass out of my way!” to him (Why must cats always walk 6 inches in front of you and then suddenly stop with no warning? Why?). Spanky is usually called “Boodie-boo”, which also came from baby talk (this time from Fred, who would say “Who’s a boodie-boo? Who’s a boodie-boo?!” to Spanky when he was little). We also call him Gomer because Spanky’s got a total “Duh?!” look on his face 99% of the time. And lastly, Fancypants. I remember this, because I’m the one who came up with the nickname. We were laying in bed one night talking about Fancypants, who was swishing and prancing across the end of the bed, meowing his sad, high-pitched meow. “He’s such a sassy thing!” Fred said. “Look at him!” “He’s a Fancypants,” I said, and Fred responded by laughing long and loud, and deciding that that was the perfect name for him. * * * Reader KAPD asks: Just wondering how long you’ve worn contacts, I’ve considered them, and just curious about your level of prescription? I got my first pair of contacts when I was 13. They were wickedly expensive – maybe $75 or more per lens? – and the first time I had to take them out myself, it took me about an hour, because the thought of touching my eyeball freaked me out. Still does, actually. Though sometimes they can be a pain in the ass (“Then you’re putting them in the wrong place, Robyn! Haha!”), I much prefer them over my glasses. And since I know nothing about how to read a prescription, this is what mine looks like (why did I blur my name? I have no idea. It seemed like a good idea at the time): * * * Reader J asks: What do you do with your flock of kitties when you go away on vacation??? I just got ours back from a boarding facility – I think they hated it, I worried, etc. Usually, we have Fred’s father come and feed/ scoop a couple of times (depending on how long we’ll be gone), and it usually works out pretty well. They check to be sure all the cats are present and accounted for, and we know that if the house has burned down or been broken into they’ll give us a call. When we went on vacation last Fall, we hired a girl who worked at our vet’s office to stop by and do the feeding/ scooping for $10 a day, not because Fred’s father and stepmother don’t do a perfectly good job but because it’s a bit of a trek for them to come from their house to ours. Unfortunately, the girl doesn’t work at the vet’s office anymore, and we don’t know how to get in touch with her, so we’re back to asking Fred’s dad to do it. Have a burning question? Ask! * * * This picture reminds me of the part in Casino when De Niro does the The dealers are watching the players. The box men are watching the dealers. The floor men are watching the box men. The pit bosses are watching the floor men. The shift bosses are watching the pit bosses. The casino manager is watching the shift bosses. I’m watching the casino manager. And the eye-in-the-sky is watching us all. voiceover. The Momma is watching The Poo. The Poo is watching The Tubs. The Tubs is watching The Bird…. ]]>

The only way you can be removed from this list is to avoid users reporting your site as a source of spam – either by changing your behavior, or by negotiating a cease-fire with the unhappy users. The only thing I can think of is that some sites are seeing my notify emails as spam, and since I’m not about to stop sending those out, I guess I’ll just have to keep re-sending bounced emails. A pain in the ass, but I’ll do it. Because who loves ya, baby? That’s right, no one loves ya like me.

* * * I have something embarrassing to confess. I’ve set the VCR to tape the Ben Affleck/ Jennifer Lopez interview on NBC tonight. Shaddup. Fred can’t stand Jennifer Lopez, but I kinda like her. Whether she’s truly diva-like in real life or not, she seems like the kinda gal who knows how to have fun. I’m not crazy about Ben Affleck though, because his huge face just scares me. Sorry, lovers of The Affleck. * * * There’s a new entry in Not Terribly Crafty, if you’re interested. Since we’ve been spending so much time watching The Sopranos lately and I can’t stand to just sit and watch TV – if we’re watching something I’m not terribly interested in, I’ll read; otherwise I cross-stitch – I’ve been doing a lot of cross-stitching lately. Three ornaments in one week is a personal record, for sure. * * * Because I’m somewhat of a dork, and also because I really REALLY love the Jack Reacher books, I visited the website of Lee Child, and requested a signed picture of him. It arrived the other day, and I was minding my own business doing something, and I felt like I was being WATCHED. I looked down and saw Lee Child giving me the concerned look. I moved the picture to the other side of the desk, and again felt that sensation of being watched. Again, the concerned look. No matter where I moved the picture, his eyes followed me. It was a little creepy, to tell the truth. Maybe I should frame the picture and hang it on the spud’s wall and tell her that Lee Child can see everything she does, and he’ll report to me if she’s misbehaving. She’s almost 15. Think she’ll buy it? * * * Cude ‘n cuddly… Annoying and bitchy… The stuff nightmares are made of. ]]>

Lis, who gave birth to Dustin Andrew at 3:39am on Sunday (July 13th)!! I’m definitely looking forward to cute baby pics. And while I’m offering up congrats, congrats to Jessamyn and Geoff! Babies, babies, everywhere… Lastly (but certainly not leastly) a big, bad WOOT! to Erin, the triathlete, who surely is being coy when she says that’s a bad picture, because it’s about the most adorable picture I’ve ever seen.

* * * I don’t remember who recommended the Casey Jones series by Katy Munger, but I must take a moment to send out a big, fat “Thank you!” I was reading in bed the other night, and this passage had me howling: The band launched into a stuttering Isley Brothers medley and my dance partner leapt into action with alarming enthusiasm. I watched, open-mouthed, as Harry Ingram popped into the air, clicked his heels together and swept both arms over his head as if he were a tree being buffeted about by the wind. It was as if his secret ambitions to be a jazz dancer exploded in one terrifying moment on the dance floor. The crowd cleared away as Ingram bowed, twirled, bent and pirouetted his way into our collective memories. I was astonished that such a plump, soft man could sustain the pace – and somewhat dismayed at having to stand there, lamely bouncing my knees and trying to look cool, as my lawyer companion performed an interpretive dance that belonged in a Jules Feiffer cartoon, not on a dance floor in Raleigh, North Carolina. (copyright Katy Munger) There was an even funnier scene further in the book, but I don’t want to ruin it for anyone who hasn’t read it yet. I’m currently working my way from left to right across the middle shelf of my bookcase – it ends up being fairly random, because I don’t keep my to-be-read books in any particular order – so once I finished Money to Burn, I picked up the next book. What are the chances that I would finish reading a book wherein the main character is named Casey Jones, and then pick up a book wherein the main character is named Sam Jones? And further, what are the chances that the authors of the two books I read back-to-back would be co-founders of the web site Tart City? It’s a small, small world, I tells ya. I bought the new Janet Evanovich yesterday while I was in Target, but after having just read two Zany Chick mystery novels back-to-back, I decided I needed to quickly read something else to cleanse the palate, so to speak. I picked up Accidental Courage by Joe Kita, which Fred recently read and liked a lot. Joe Kita’s a writer for Men’s Health Magazine, which is Fred’s favorite magazine (and I even like it, I’ll admit. It’s got a bit of the Playboy tone, only without the nekkid chicks, and that can only be a good thing). If Zany Chick books fall into the Chick Lit category, I’d put Accidental Courage firmly into the Dick Lit category. Don’t get me wrong, there were parts of the book that were fairly enjoyable, but god save me from middle-aged men who whine about how they’re not really living their lives. Heh. That makes it sound like I hated the book, doesn’t it? I didn’t, really. Of course, the best part is that I’ve finished it, so I can start To the Nines. Whee! * * * We’ve been watching The Sopranos – I think I’ve mentioned that – and we’re about a third of the way through Season Two. Last night or the night before, we saw the episode wherein Meadow had a party at Livia‘s house, and the house got pretty well trashed. When Tony showed up to take Meadow home and she started with the attitude, I turned to Fred and said “That is a child who does not fear her parents nearly enough.” When Tony and Carmela (Fred calls her Caramello. Heh.) tried to lay down the law the next morning, I said “Make her clean the house! Make her scrub the entire house!” What was her punishment? They took away her Discover card for three weeks. Puh. Lease. I don’t know about you, but if I’d thrown a party in my grandmother’s deserted house, resulting in vomit, urine, and garbage everywhere, I would have been cowering before my parents with my hands over my heads, and praying that they’d let me live. They’d have taken away my car, grounded me for two weeks, and made me scrub that house on my knees TWICE, at the very LEAST. Take away the Discover Card for three weeks. Jeezus. Who the fuck uses a Discover Card, anyway? We sure do love that Paulie Walnuts – he always cracks us up. We’re pretty partial to Silvio, too. * * * Almost two years ago, I bought the best welcome mat ever (you can see it here). Recently, I’ve noticed that it’s gotten awfully dirty and moldy, and just downright disgusting. I guess the humidity (not the heat!) finally did it in. I tried cleaning it, but it was too far gone. See what happens when you ignore the welcome mat for too long? So yesterday, during a trip to Target, I purchased a new welcome mat. This one’s made to last (or so I hope), and is made of rubber and that stiff bristle-y stuff. When I got home I dropped the mat on the table and went off to eat lunch. Half an hour later, I wandered back into the kitchen to see Miz Poo rolling around on the mat, rubbing her face on it, and purring to beat the band. After rolling around, purring, and rolling around some more, she settled down for a bath and a nap. (Damn she reminds me of Bucky in that picture for some reason) * * * Can this possibly be comfortable? ]]>

Tubby Loot yet? Have you, huh? All the cool kids are buying something. How can you not want Tubby’s bitchy face on the front of your shirt? (Okay, okay, I’ll stop mentioning it. Y’all know where to go if you’re interested in the swag.)

* * * Pet store kitties are here. * * * After a great big fuckarow with my email over the weekend (I can’t even explain to y’all what happened, because I have no clue what the hell I did), I am finally set up the way I want again. I never realized just how damn many email addresses I have going on. At the moment, I have 7 email “personalities” set up in Eudora, and that’s just assuming I didn’t forget one or more of them. I have a non-domain email address, a robynanderson.com email address, one for the giveaway list, one specifically for GFY, two for notify lists that I belong to (though I’m trying to get them all changed over so that I only have one notify list email), and one for postcards from Maine. It’s easier to filter all the notify list emails into a certain folder if they’re coming in to a certain email address, y’see. Could I be more boring, yammering on about my email address? Could I? Because I don’t think I can, no. * * * Saturday afternoon I opened the front door to go out and take a picture of the Four O’Clocks I have planted in a pot on the front porch, and to my surprise, standing on the hose which stretched across the front step, was a bird. “Uh, hey,” I said to Fred. “Come here!” He did, and stepped outside with me. The bird looked at me, looked at Fred, looked at me again, and then decided that perhaps we were just a tad too close. He fluttered his wings and flew a few feet away, then turned to look at us. “He doesn’t have any tail feathers!” I said. “Oh, poor bird! What happened to his tail feathers? He can’t fly very well without them!” “I think that’s a baby,” Fred said. It occurred to us that there was a nest in the next door neighbor’s front yard – we only knew that because we could hear the baby birds screaming to be fed on occasion, and there’s a Robin (as opposed to a Robyn) who spends a lot of time looking for food in our front yard. “He’s letting me get way too close to him,” I said. The bird would let me get within a foot of him before he’d flutter away. I followed him across the lawn to a spot underneath the tree he’d fallen out of. “Bessie, leave that poor bird alone!” Fred finally said, so after one last look and a few shots of the Four O’Clocks, I came inside. * * * Yesterday, with Fred itching to get out of the house, we headed for Decatur and took a walk along the walking path at Point Mallard Park. I have no pictures for you, because when Fred grabbed the camera to bring with us, I said “If you’re bringing the camera, you’re taking the pictures!” Sometimes I feel like I don’t get a chance to fully enjoy some of the things we do because I’m so caught up in taking pictures. A few hours later – me soaked with sweat – we arrived home. I put a couple of empty soda bottles in the recycling bin in the garage and then went back out to move my Jeep back a few feet, since it was parked squarely across the hose, and Fred wanted to water the lawn. “Bessie!” Fred called in a low whisper. “Your buddy is back!” “My buddy?” I said, not having any clue what he was talking about. He pointed toward the butterfly bush. I looked, and then looked blankly at him. He pointed again, so I looked closer. ‘Twas the baby bird, hanging out on the butterfly bush. (Yes, it’s a crappy blurry picture) He sat and stared at us, until Fred tried to get him to stand in his hand. The bird wasn’t up for that, and hopped down from the bush, running across the yard. Finally, Fred got him coralled back toward the butterfly bush and then left him alone. From underneath the butterfly bush, the bird regarded us warily as we headed inside. It’s like fuckin’ Wild Kingdom around here, it really is. * * * Those Four O’Clocks, by the way. I had no idea they get so big. For damn sure I’m going to plant them in the ground next year, though, because in the pot they have to be watered almost every day, or they start to wilt. While I’m showing off my garden, check these out. Some gorgeous Glads, aren’t they? I know you’re not supposed to cut them, because the bulb get it’s energy for the next year from the flower, but I couldn’t resist, so don’t give me shit. Seriously, don’t! They’re already cut and there’s nothing I can do to un-cut them! So there! * * * So, remember when I was bitching about how much I sweat these days (a side effect of the Synthroid, I’ve learned)? Y’all probably thought I was exaggerating, so I have proof. This morning, I hadn’t even started cleaning cat cages at the pet store, and this is what I looked like. (No comments about the hair, thank you) No wonder I have to drink almost a gallon of water a day to stay hydrated. * * * The least comfortable place to sleep in the house, yet the most in demand. ]]>

* * * I need suggestions for simple-to-use, won’t-take-up-much-space email clients. I want something other than Eudora, because I want to use it specifically for the account dealing with the book, and it was in attempting to install a second copy of Eudora that I fucked up spectacularly and lost my address book, among other things. And don’t say Outlook Express. Anything but, please. Leave your suggestions in the comments, if you would. * * * I was sitting at my desk this morning (big shocker there, eh? I spend most of my days sitting at my desk. I might as well just get a job. Except not.) when I caught sight of something out in the front flower bed. It was moving oddly, so I turned to check it out. At the same time, Miz Poo caught sight of it, and ran, whining and wildly whipping her tail back and forth, to the window. I tried to get a picture, but her head was pretty much in the way. It was a bunny, eating the flowers off our Petunia plants. I snapped several more pictures before I decided I’d go out and see if I could snap a picture of him before he ran off. He froze and stared at me for about a minute, then decided I wasn’t going to go away. He hopped next door and stood and regarded me some more, trying to decide if I was a threat. He was so still he could have been a statue. Finally, he decided I was just too close and he’d be better off further down the street, so off he hopped. Yes, I know that it’s weird that I’m so obsessed when rabbits and squirrels get in our yard, but they’re so little and cute, and y’all know we adore the little cute animals. By the way, this was definitely not the same bunny who was in our back yard the other night – this one was a lot bigger. * * * Ever have one of those days when you wake up, put on your glasses, and trudge into the bathroom? Then you look in the mirror and think to yourself “Hey. I don’t look half bad today. In fact, I look kinda cute!”? And so you pop in your contacts and take your Synthroid and while you’re brushing your teeth, you take a closer look and notice that you have a big red raw spot on the end of your nose, bloodshot eyes, and a ‘stache that desperately needs to be united with wax? Ever have one of those days, or is it just me? Ah well. I’m wearing my yellow shirt, so I’m happy anyway. See how low-maintenance I am? If I was one of those gorgeous girls who placed too much importance on her appearance, I’d be in bed with the covers over my head, sobbing loudly. Me, I just put on a yellow shirt and I’m happy despite the big red spot and lush, thick ‘stache. It’s only a matter of time before I’m going grocery shopping with curlers in my hair, wearing a muumuu, I’m sure. As long as it’s a muumuu with yellow on it, I’ll be happy. * * * 1. Do you remember your first best friend? Who was it? Nope, I sure don’t. I’m sure I had a different best friend for each base we lived on. I remember a Katie and a Candi Rhodes in Kinchloe, Michigan, and a Suzanne Dembinski and Sherri Robertson or Robinson in Guam. There was Karen Frost in Loring, Maine, and a number of others whose names I can’t quite remember. 2. Are you still in touch with this person? Nope, I’m not in touch with any of them. 3. Do you have a current close friend? In real life, other than Fred, I’d have to say that my sister is my closest friend, although we don’t get a chance to talk as often as we used to. 4. How did you become friends with this person? You could say we were born to it. Heh. 5. Is there a friend from your past that you wish you were still in contact with? Why? I’d love to be able to find all those girls on the various bases that were friends when I was a kid, just to find out where their lives took them and where they are and what they’re doing now. Also: 1. What were your favorite childhood stories? The Ramona books, and later, the Little House on the Prairie books. After reading one of the Ramona books, I was under the impression for YEARS that “Quarter past one” was 1:25. 2. What books from your childhood would you like to share with [your] children? I’d love it if the spud loved to read as much as I did (and do), and loved the Little House books as much as I do. 3. Have you re-read any of those childhood stories and been surprised by anything? I’ve re-read the Little House books, and been surprised by how much I still enjoyed them. 4. How old were you when you first learned to read? It was probably somewhere between kindergarten and first grade, but I was desperate to learn to read for years before that. 5. Do you remember the first ‘grown-up’ book you read? How old were you? You bet your ass I do. It was Carrie, and I was 11 or 12. I was just blown away by it – in a good way – which is probably why I still love everything Stephen King writes, whether it deserves it (Bag of Bones the Gunslinger series) or doesn’t (Dreamweaver). * * * A Poo under the desk… And a Spanky atop the monitor, hanging out with the screensaver.]]>