Category: Life

We really couldn’t get a good picture of it, but they shaved her poor little chin. From the right angle, it looks like her lower jaw was removed or something – I hadn’t realized just how thick her fur is. Not only did they shave her chin and give her a shot, but we also have to give her oral medication, wash her chin twice a day, and put medicine on it. It’s going surprisingly well, probably because there are two of us doing it. I said to Fred last night “You’re not allowed to die before me, because there’s just no way in hell I could give the cats their medicine without you to help me.” How do people do it without help? I mean, if you’ll recall, I wasn’t even able to get a pill down the throat of Tubby while Fred was recovering from surgery and he had to do it. I’m useless when it comes to certain things, I’ll admit it. When Fred got back from the vet, Miz Poo got out of the box, her eyes big and dark and her ears held out to the sides, as if there was something not right, but she just couldn’t put her paw on it. She followed me around from room to room and then sat and stared at me, as though I held the answer. My poor baby! Fred and I compared this vet’s bill to the one we got when he took Fancypants a few months ago, and saw that the new vet charges less for almost everything – including a single charge of $30 for the office visit and examination. The old vet charged $17 for the office visit, and another $20 for the examination. PLUS, they gave Fred the name of someone who’ll come feed the cats while we’re in Gatlinburg in October, so we don’t have to impose on his father to do it. Too cool. * * * Currently reading: Mother of Pearl, and likin’ it, to my surprise. I’ve been eyeballing it as I drew closer and closer to it (y’know I’m still trying to finish off the shelf of books I started a few months ago), thinking “Oh maaaan. I don’t REALLY want to read that, do I?” I mean, it’s one of the Oprah’s book club books. But I’m really liking it more than I thought possible. I guess there’s more to life than Zany Chick books. Not that Zany Chick books don’t have their place, but you can’t live on a steady diet of Zany Chick books any more than you can survive on a diet of Ring Dings and whoopie pies. Well. Maybe you could, and you’d probably die happy… Okay. Shut up, Robyn.]]>

a frog a few weeks ago. Who am I to judge? As we rounded the corner, she pointed to another yard. “I was scared of those dogs, too, until I saw that they wouldn’t leave the yard.” I nodded my understanding, and as we walked a bit further, she told me that she was going to go home and get an umbrella to defend herself in case she needed it, and finish her walk. She pointed out that just opening the umbrella would scare off any marauding pups, and if that didn’t work, she could stab them – using both her arms, she lunged forward in a violent stabbing motion – and then run away. We approached the corner of her street, and a tiny dog came running at us. I watched her carefully to see if this dog – who was the size of my foot and a miniature something-or-other, something with a lot of hair and a bow on it’s head – was going to freak her out. It turned out that she knew this dog, whose name was Gizmo, and after I petted him on the top of his head and waved in her direction, I went on my way. Heh. You thought I was going to say that I’d thrown myself in the path of an attacking dog, didn’t you? Silly readers.]]>

Fred’s entry Saturday. I’m just as glad I had no idea it was going on. Later Saturday morning, Fred and the spud went off to Wal-Mart, and I settled my lazy ass down in the chair in my bedroom to read. After about an hour, I heard the distinctive thumping of a cat running his fat ass as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. It didn’t sound like he was running for the sheer joy of running, or like he was chasing another cat. No, it sounded like he was CHASING something, probably something scary that would cause me to scream and run around in circles. I saw a big white blur as he pounded into the bedroom and was hidden from my view on the other side of the bed. “Oh, fuck,” I muttered and got up to investigate. A large dark blur – something frog sized – was running under the bedside table. Tubby blocked it’s passage on one side, whereupon it ran in the other direction, only to be blocked again, and then it disappeared under the bed. “TUBBY!” I bellowed, and he turned to look up at me. He meowed bitchily. I stomped my foot at him. He meowed bitchily again. “TUBBY GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!” I ordered, and grudgingly he did. My heart in my throat, I reluctantly got on my stomach and peered under the bed. There was a lot of cat hair, several earplugs, a Puffkins magnet, and on the far side sat Spot, who blinked sleepily at me. No frog. No nothing. I sat up and puzzled over it. Maybe the dark thing I’d seen had been Spot’s hindquarters? I could have sworn that Tubby had been the only cat running, but Spot is fairly light and maybe the pounding sound of Tubby’s stubby legs hitting the floor drowned out any sound Spot had made. It was possible, maybe. I looked under the bed again, searching for anything frog-shaped. I looked at Tubby, who was sitting right outside the bedroom door. I looked at Miz Poo, who was sniffing wildly along the path from the door to the bed. I looked under the bedside table, the other bedside table, the chair, in the bathroom, made Spot move so I could look where he was sitting, and nothing. Not a thing. I shrugged and determined that Tubby had been chasing Spot. I decided to go eat lunch, keeping an ear cocked for the sounds of running cats. When Fred and the spud got home, I told her to go upstairs and see what the cats were doing. She reported back that they were just laying around (I don’t know what I was expecting her to tell me – that they were rehearsing for their rendition of Cabaret?), so I decided there was nothing to worry about, and forgot about it. We spent the afternoon watching Clockstoppers. Actually, Fred put the movie in and I asked him to turn on the light (it’s closer to where he sits), because I was going to check out a magazine while the movie was on, and he got a disappointed look on his face. “You’re not going to watch the movie?” he said sadly. I felt so bad that I put my magazine down. TEN FUCKING MINUTES into the movie, he disappeared into the computer room and came back out exactly twice during the main part of the movie, for maybe two minutes each time, and then watched the last five minutes of the movie with us. “I was flooping the flibberty-flap,” he said, throwing technical terms at me so I wouldn’t suspect he’d been downloading porn. After dinner, we went upstairs to lay down and talk for a few minutes, and I walked into the bedroom to see Tubby laying and staring at the stuffed animals I have gathered on the floor next to the cedar chest sitting under the window next to the bathroom. Follow? “Tubby’s trying to seduce my stuffed animals again,” I said. Fred went over and patted Tubby. “I wonder if there’s a frog amongst your animals,” he said jokingly. A second later he said “These kind of look like droppings…” And yet another second later, he said “Hey. There’s a mouse behind the trunk!” Sure enough, there was a cute little brown mouse sitting there. We blocked off one side of the trunk, Fred held a Steak-Out cup on the other side, and I used a stick to push the mouse into the cup. He very much did NOT want to go in that cup, either, but he was no match for the stick. Fred covered the cup with a book, and we took him out back to let him free. Fred pushed him through a hole in the fence, and I’m hoping like hell he doesn’t get dragged back into the house again. He sure was cute, though. It was a very productive day for the hunters in the house, apparently. I just hope like hell they don’t bring a skunk into the damn house, because I really WILL ship Tubby’s ass off to you, Nance! * * * Recently, Fred was checking the stats for his site, and followed a link to someone’s links page. They had me listed first, and said something along the lines of “Robyn is hilarious.” They had Fred listed second, and said something like “Fred is Robyn’s husband. He’s just as funny if not funnier than she is!” Fred reported this to me with a self-satisfied gleam in his eye. I just smiled and went about my business. Because I know that Fred thinks he’s funnier than I am. He thinks he’s not only funnier than I am, but WAY funnier than I am. He’s wrong, of course, but it’s always nice to let him have his delusions. * * * I was watching Sex and the City last night, and – this was during Carrie’s party – a man came on the screen next to Candice Bergen. “Hey,” I muttered out loud, since there was no one else around. “That’s Isaac Mizrahi.” A second later, someone mentioned him by name. My question to you is this: Why the fuck do I know Isaac Mizrahi’s name? I know he’s a designer, but since I only buy from my own personal designer – Cheap ‘n Crappy Clothing Iz Us – why would I know the name of Isaac Mizrahi? What does he design, and WHY DO I KNOW WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE? Why is his name and face taking up valuable brain space that could be better served by retaining something useful, like math stuff (of course, let’s not be silly – my brain ain’t made to retain math stuff)? What the chances that I’ll ever ever buy anything from him? I’ll tell you what the chances are – zip, nada, zilch. If I were to win 45 million dollars in the lottery, I MIGHT go from shopping at Wal-Mart to shopping at JC Penney’s for my clothes, but Isaac Mizrahi? I don’t think so. Other designer names that are taking up brain space: Dolce and Gabbana. Vera Wang (probably because every Hollywood starlet who gets married has her do their wedding gown. Plus, I wear Vera Wang perfume sometimes). Donna Karan. Todd Oldham. There are more, but those are the main ones who come to mind. I wish I could go through my brain files and delete willy-nilly the way I do with files on my computer. Of course with my luck, I wouldn’t be paying attention and would accidentally delete something important, like my name, or those pesky “Fred” files. * * * Poor Miz Poo. It appears that she may have developed herself some chin acne. If it’s not one thing – her eyes – it’s another, ain’t it? Fred’s taking her to the vet tomorrow. I hope it’s acne, and not something nasty and highly infectious that she’s passed on to me. Poor Miz Poo. Poor portly, evil Miz Poo. ]]>

pirated software from one of their auctions two years ago, I’m not holding out much hope. Thank god it was only $11 and not hundreds… Again – CHECK THOSE FEEDBACKS, people! * * * So, contrary to what I previously stated, I won’t be attending JournalCon THIS year, either. It all came down to the fact that it was a choice between my going to JournalCon, or all three of us going to Gatlinburg, and after much discussion we decided it was going to be Gatlinburg. I’m already saving for next year, though. * * * We (Fred and I) watched In the Bedroom last night. I liked it, Fred didn’t. He thought it dragged too much, and whined and moaned about how LONG it was (it’s about 2 hours, for the record). He only was interested in seeing it because he’d heard that one actress smacks the shit out of another, who wasn’t expecting a real slap. Fred also thought it was too jumpy, jumping from scene to scene without any kind of transition, but I think the story was told well. I had NO idea that it was going to end the way it did, and it kind of seemed to strike a false note there, with that happening (heh – I’m trying not to put any spoilers in here, can you tell?). The scenery was awesome – at one point, I yelled to Fred “Hey! I’ve been right THERE! And there, too!”, because the movie was filmed in Maine, and I recognized some of it. There were a couple of goofs – mainly when one character says “But the airport is south of here.” when it in fact is NOT south of where they were starting out from, at least not if they were headed for the Portland airport. That seemed to be an easy thing to check out, and I almost wonder if the director left it in on purpose. William Mapother – Tom Cruise’s cousin – plays Marisa Tomei’s almost-ex-husband. I was amazed at how he had all of Tom’s features – the nose, the beady eyes – but whereas Tom is very good-looking, his cousin is very much not so. Sissy Spacek and Tom Wilkinson were excellent – actually, all the actors in this movie were pretty good. I recommend it, if you’re not the type of person who prefers forgettable action as does someone we all know and love. * * * If you’ve never heard of SHeDaisy, they’re a country group comprised of three sisters, who have had a couple of hits. When their first hit “Little Goodbyes” came out (at least I think it was their first one – and I assume it was a hit, because it was in heavy rotation on GAC), I was absolutely amazed by the resemblance of one of the girls to a famous person. A famous man, to be exact. I submit for your perusal the following two pictures for comparison. On the left, Kelsi Osborne from SHeDaisy. On the right, one Kurt Russell in drag from his role on the craptastic Tango and Cash. You can’t deny the resemblance, no matter how hard you try. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out someday to find out that he’s her biological father or something. Not that I’m saying that Kelsi is manly looking or unattractive – in fact, I think she’s the cutest one out of the three Osborne sisters, but she’s just a dead ringer for Kurt Russell. Could be worse, right?]]>

This is only the breast. Granted, the breast is the biggest part of the turkey, but can you imagine what this guy looked like when he was still alive? They must have pumped hormones into him every 10 seconds – there are entire turkeys smaller than this breast. Looking at this hormone-laden piece of meat makes me… well, it makes me kinda drool, actually. I basted it with Brummel and Brown (for that buttery taste!), and tossed Old Bay and Italian Herb seasoning on it willy-nilly, rather than ruuuuubbing it into the skin. I can’t stand to touch raw meat – remind me to tell the story about the Thanksgiving when Debbie and I were responsible for stuffing the turkey – and it’s not because it was once a living thing or anything. It’s because I can almost see the salmonella running off the meat and running wild across the counters with the sole intent of making me ill from food poisoning. Apparently Fred feels the same way, because when I set the turkey breast on the counter to partially thaw last night (yes, I KNOW you’re supposed to thaw it in the refrigerator, but there’s no way it would have been thawed enough by today to cook it), the frost on the package melted, and Fred said “You’ve got a big pool of salmonella making a run for my bowl of popcorn.” Heh. Anyway, the turkey’s smelling really good right now, and I’m thinking I’ll have to use the leftovers to make some turkey soup for dinner one of these nights. I’d invite y’all – I’m sure there’ll be plenty – but Himself would probably not look kindly upon such a thing. * * * So, now that Athena received the package I sent her last week, I can show you a picture of the funniest damn stuffed lobster I’ve ever seen: I found this guy when we were in Boothbay Harbor – I went into the store to see if they had any stuffed lobsters, because Athena’s baby Ty has an ocean-themed room, and no ocean-themed anything is complete without a stuffed lobster. When I saw this lobster, I fell in love so completely that not only did I buy one for Ty, but I also bought one for ME. (I also bought Ty and his big brother Aidan matching t-shirts with grinning moose mooses meese on them, but forgot to snap a pic.) His name is Looney Lobster, and he’s made by Fiesta� , but I couldn’t find a link where y’all could buy one for yourselves, sorry. You’ll just have to live with that seething jealousy in your hearts, I guess. * * * For some reason, the master bathroom is a popular hangout for spiders. They weave their webs, sit grumpily in them for a day or three, and then move on when they realize that the bathroom isn’t exactly Bug Central. Earlier today, before I vacuumed them up, there were no less than three abandoned fuzz-filled spider webs in the bathroom, and that’s just in the last week. I can understand why they’d set up shop near the downstairs window, the one with the cat door in it, because some kind of bug or another is always trying to sneak into the house there, but in the bathroom? I don’t see it. Considering how many spiders I run across in the house each day, I’m amazed that I was ever scared of them. At this point, I look at them to make sure they’re not poisonous, and if they aren’t (and I haven’t seen a poisonous one yet) I let them go about their business. Sure, if I’m vacuuming or wiping down the baseboards, I suck them up or grab them with my dustrag, but if they’re not in the way and as long as they keep their webs relatively clean – no fuzzies or bug parts hanging around – I could care less. They’re pretty small spiders for the most part – it would probably be a different story if one of those HUGE ones with big, fat bodies showed up next to my desk. Speaking of bugs, while I was in Maine, after we all went out to eat one night, I walked into my parents’ kitchen to see the most ADORABLE little bug sitting next to their sink. It was so cute, sitting there with it’s little antennae waving around as it tried to figure out what planet it had ended up on, that I turned to my father and said “What kind of bug is THAT?” My father looked closely at it, shrugged, and said “Just a bug.” And SQUISHED it with his finger. Poor cute little bug. * * * When I was running around looking for Tubby so I could take the picture for the Theme Thursday yesterday (and for the record, I thought it WAS Thursday yesterday, that’s why I put the picture in my entry), I got some other pretty good pictures I must share. I know you’re amazed – “Cat pictures?!” you’re exclaiming with shock and wonderment, “She NEVER shows us any cat pictures!” Well, there’s always a first time. Doesn’t she look pleased? Spanky’s favorite spot – on the chair in the corner of my room, snuggled under the pillow. He’ll spend all day there sometimes. Another shot of the faaaaabulous Tuberella.]]>

And really, what embodies that topic better than a black and white picture of a black and white cat? * * * With this group always smiling evilly at me, is it any wonder I always feel like someone’s watching me? * * * Fred made a REALLY good choice at the grocery store this week, as far as flowers went. They don’t quite look real, do they? Trust me, they are. And they’re gorgeous, and I love him for buying me flowers that he knows I’ll love. * * * I’m still working on getting those Maine pictures put up. I haven’t actually DONE anything about putting them together you understand, but I’ve been thinking about it (“I really need to get the Maine pictures put up… Hey, is that Welcome Back Kotter?”). One of these days. Speaking of cameras (well, pictures), my father’s birthday is in less than two weeks, and when I spoke to my mother on Sunday she shooed my father out of the room and asked if I could order a camera for him just like mine, and she’d pay me back. So all week I’ve been looking for the best price for the best accessories, and finally decided that my mother could pay for the camera, and Fred and I would give him the accessories that make having a digital camera easier to deal with – the rechargeable battery, the memory stick reader – and that way I know for sure he’ll definitely use his birthday present this year. I’m usually at a loss what to send him and settle for flowers. The camera and accessories will be a big hit, I’m sure. My poor grandmother will probably get flowers again, though. * * * I’m currently reading Choke, by Chuck Palahniuk, the same guy who wrote Fight Club, which I never read. I’m 2/3 of the way through the book, and can’t decide whether I like it or not. Though now that I think about it, I had the same reaction to Fight Club, the movie. And speaking of books, Fred was laughing so hard when he was reading Barrel Fever the other night that I thought he was going to pass out. I think that’s the next thing I’m going to read, because I know I’ll like anything by David Sedaris.]]>

This one is my favorite. * * * While I was scanning stuff, here are a couple of things from last week’s US. Is Meg Ryan a total dead ringer for Nicole Kidman, or what? Those two could be sisters, I swear to god. I think no one ever told Billy Bob that if you ANNOUNCE you’re taking the high road, then you aren’t taking it. If you say, all smug-like, “I’m taking the high road, unlike that psycho bitch I married, with the creepy BLOOD fetish and everything,” that’s just not the same thing as keeping your big mouth shut and actually TAKING the high road. God, this just cracks me up, because Billy Bob reminds me of someone long-time readers know as Tex, and I can totally imagine Tex sitting back, looking all proud of himself and saying, snidely, “I am taking the high road on this one! But let me tell you about the noises she used to make during sex…” * * * Today was my regular errand-running Tuesday, with a cut and color tossed in. I left the house at just before 9, and didn’t get home until almost noon. After the cut and color (during which I continued reading Choke – I’m not sure I like it), I went to the movie store and rented the following: Showtime Crossroads (shaddup) Birthday Girl Clockstoppers In the Bedroom Yes, I’m embarrassed that I rented the Britney Spears movie, but I couldn’t help it. If I didn’t watch it, there might be a pop culture joke down the road I wouldn’t understand. Besides, I think she’s just as cute as she can be, so y’all shut the hell up about it. It couldn’t POSSIBLY be any worse than A Walk to Remember, now, could it? (Famous last words!) I don’t know why I rented so many movies – I’m sure that this week will be just like every other week, where we’re scrambling to watch all our movies before Sunday, which is when they’re due back. Of the five I rented, Fred only wants to see two (Showtime and Clockstoppers) and the other three are ones that I want to see. I might be able to convince him to watch In the Bedroom or Birthday Girl with me (but I’m not holding my breath on that), so I need to either watch them during the day, or after he’s gone to bed. I hope they don’t all suck. * * * I forgot to bitch about the fact that Fred killed off my Petunias (the potted ones) while I was in Maine. So, yeah. Fred killed my Petunias by not watering them, and I came home to a pot of crispy flowers. I cut them back and fertilized the hell out of them, so I’m hoping they’ll come back. Fingers crossed, y’all! To make up for it, he (after some nagging from me) planted my butterfly bush in the yard. It wilted almost immediately, but it seems to have perked up a bit after I watered and fertilized it. * * * And by the way, that non-butterfly bush I mentioned in last week’s entry is NOT a marijuana plant. I got enough emails suggesting I was running my own little pot farm that I got worried and looked up a picture of one. As you can see, not even close. None of you fooled me with your protestations of not really knowing anything about marijuana plants, either. Ya damn potheads! 🙂 * * * I’m making a mix cd for a swap on the TMS list, and now that I’ve downloaded all the songs, I’m listening to them before I burn them to CD. Burning them to CD is going to be fun, because once AGAIN my cd drive isn’t working – this is the second computer I’ve had that this has happened to me on – so I’ll have to ftp everything up and then download it all over at Fred’s desk to burn it onto CD. ANYWAY, I’m listening to the songs I’m planning to burn on this CD to make sure they sound okay – you never know what you’re going to get from Grokster – and I’ve realized that I like some really depressing songs. What’s up with that? If I think of it, once the person I’m sending the CD to receives it I’ll post the list of songs. Alrighty, that’s it for today. Y’all have a good one!]]>

Friday We had talked about going to the beach Friday morning, but my mother ended up going over to my grandmother’s house for the morning, and had a hair appointment after, so the kids and I just hung around the house. We were all set to go out for lunch – Liz had called in sick to work and needed a ride to pick up her car (long story), so I offered to take her there, and asked if she wanted to go out to lunch with us, and she did – and we were all ready to leave the house, when we realized that my mother, who had taken her convertible to my grandmother’s house, had taken not only the set of keys for her convertible, but also the set of keys for her Camry, and there were no extra keys to the Camry sitting around, so I had to cancel on Liz. Then Brian suggested that we walk to The Kitty Korner, which makes the BEST Italian sandwiches on earth, and get lunch there, then bring it home. The Kitty Korner’s only about a mile from my parents’ house, and it was a nice day out, so I thought that was a pretty good idea. Not only did we walk there (well, the kids rode their bikes), but we also brought my parents’ dog, Benji, with us. Benji hasn’t quite gotten the hang of the whole “stay on the sidewalk” thing, so I had to keep him on a short leash. It was cool, though. I don’t remember what we had for dinner – oh, wait! Yes, I do! We had lobster. My father had bought enough lobster in case my brother, Randy, showed up, and when he didn’t, the spud and I each got an extra lobster. That’s right, folks, I ate THREE LOBSTERS in one meal. I know you’re jealous. ME LOVE LOBSTER, have I mentioned? Saturday Erm. What DID we do on Saturday? I think that’s the day I slept ’til 9, and had a couple of blueberry muffins for breakfast. I went to the grocery store with my mom, then we spent a couple of hours in the pool (and I got my stupid ass a sunburn, because I’m a dumbass, and didn’t stay in the shady part of the pool). At 5, we had a cookout-type thing. Actually, my mother told everyone we were going to eat at 5, so my uncle and grandmother didn’t show up until 5:30, and my brother Randy showed up sometime after that. Oh! The spud made the BEST poppyseed cake I’ve ever had – it was from a mix, with a package of pudding added, but the BEST part was the outside. When you’re making this cake, instead of flouring the pan, you use a cinnamon/ sugar mixture, and when it’s halfway through cooking, you sprinkle the same stuff on the top. It was SO damn good. We managed to finish it off in pretty quick order. If I think of it, I’ll get the recipe put up in the recipe section. If I haven’t by this time next week, someone remind me, eh? Sunday We (my mother, the spud and I) went to the beach! I got a buttload of pictures (still working on that), walked in the water, and wished that I had brought something to change into, because I was definitely feeling the urge to do some body-surfing. I didn’t, though. Next year, for sure. We were only there about 2 1/2 hours, and I slathered sunblock all over myself TWICE in that 2 1/2 hours, but STILL managed to get pretty well burned. Damnit. We left the beach and went to Fat Boy Drive-In (which, sadly, has no web presence) for lobster rolls and fries. Then it was home, where we hung out, and my mother took the spud to see the Michael J. Fox movie, the title of which escapes my mind – the one about the mouse. (Don’t email me and tell me what it is – I’m sure it’ll come to me, but I’m not coming back to change this) Debbie stopped by to drop off Brian, and I left around 7:30 to go to Liz’s house for pancit and lumpia. DAMN was that some fine food. I told Liz that someday, when I have millions to spare, I’m going to hire her to come cook for me on a daily basis. Did I mention that I did a lot of eating while in Maine? Anyway, after eating and watching Sex and the City (can I tell you how funny I think it is that Amy Sedaris is on Sex and the City while Fred’s smack-dab in the middle of a heated love affair with the works of her brother?), I headed for home. Monday, our last day in Maine, we (my mother, the spud, Brian, and I) hung around the house for most of the morning before deciding to go to the Maine Mall in South Portland for a while. That’s where I got the t-shirts for Fred, from a booth near the center of the mall. We shopped for a few hours before deciding we’d had enough (especially after my mother bought MORE clothes for the spud. Grrr!), then had lunch at The Muddy Rudder. By the time we got home, it was about 3:00, and so we didn’t do much for the rest of the day until we left the house to go eat dinner at Ricetta’s, home of the cute waiter. We got home at almost 9:00, and didn’t do much before it was time for bed. Tuesday We flew home. It was fairly uneventful, aside from the fact that the plane from Portland to Atlanta was incredibly packed, and the spud and I were sitting nowhere near each other. As we sat in our seats on the plane, before it took off, I decided to throw myself on the mercy of the guy sitting next to the spud. “Hiiiiiii,” I said, uber-friendly and smiling like I knew I was asking a lot of him. “I’m in seat 17C – would you mind switching with me so I can sit with my daughter?” He turned around and looked to confirm that seat 17C was empty, then grabbed his stuff and went back there, without saying a word. I have no idea whether he was pissed, or simply figured that nothing more needed to be said about the matter, but I showered him with “Thank you SO much!”s as he walked away. The rest of the flight was uneventful, and we had a 2-hour layover in Atlanta. We stopped for lunch at TGI Friday’s, at the end of concourse B (I think), and then walked to our gate, B33. We’d been sitting there for about an hour, when the guy working the gate announced that there’d been a gate change, and our flight would be leaving from gate B27. We went to that gate, saw that our flight wasn’t listed on the “Next flight leaving” screen, and decided to find a monitor. Which was many, many gates away. Our flight, in fact, was going to be leaving from gate B5, so we had a bit of a hike ahead of us – good thing we don’t do that carry-on luggage thing! The flight from Atlanta to Huntsville was so empty that the spud and I each got our own row. I love the flights from Huntsville to Atlanta and vice-versa because they’re so short that you no sooner get to cruising altitude than the pilot is announcing that the initial descent into Huntsville (or Atlanta) is beginning. Fred drove up to meet us at the door, we tossed our luggage in the back, and voila! we were home. And this damn entry’s at an end, thankyajeezus.]]>

Tuesday After waking up at some ungodly hour (5 am) in the morning, showering, wandering around to be sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, and waiting for Fred to be ready to go, we left the house at about 6:15. We were at the airport only a few minutes later, and Fred dropped me off at the door, kissed and hugged me goodbye, and was on his way. Don’t email him and tell him what a horrible husband he is – there’s no reason he needed to come in with me, since he couldn’t go past security to the gate. The line at security was long and winding, so I pulled out my book and started reading. It moved slowly, but I eventually made my way to the front, went through the metal detector, and was patiently waiting for my purse to come through the x-ray machine, when I was tapped on the shoulder. That’s right. Wanded again. The flight from Huntsville to Cincinnati was fine, everything was on time, and I had plenty of time to stop and grab a Diet Coke and a danish while I was walking from one gate to another. The plane from Cincinnati was packed, but the most astounding thing happened when I was looking for my seat on that plane. Y’see, I was in seat 17C, which is on the aisle. I walked to row 17, and saw that a woman in a suit was sitting in my seat – 17C – turned sideways and talking to a boy in the window seat. I tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” I said politely. “I think you’re sitting in my seat.” She turned around, looked me over, and carelessly said “Yeah, I’m talking to him about where he wants to sit.” AND THEN SHE TURNED BACK AROUND AND KEPT TALKING TO HIM. I looked at the woman standing behind me, waiting to get by, and we rolled our eyes at each other. What I really WANTED to do was say “Well, talk to him all you want, but GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OUT OF MY SEAT, YOU FUCKING BITCH.” But I did not. I also wanted to say, loudly, to the people standing impatiently trying to get by me, “I’m so sorry, folks. This BITCH is sitting in MY seat, discussing with a 10 year-old boy where he wants to sit. I’ll tell you this – HE AIN’T SITTING IN MY FUCKING SEAT!” Again, I didn’t. After three or four minutes of standing and waiting, it was decided where the child wanted to sit, and he slid over into the middle seat, and the BITCH moved around him to sit in the window seat, and finally my seat was free. I had assumed that the woman and the child were together, but I soon found out through some subtle eavesdropping that the child was traveling from San Diego to Maine by himself. And he’d been assigned the window seat, and THE BITCH TALKED HIM INTO SWITCHING SEATS WITH HER. What a fucking bitch. Can you tell I’d like to go back through time and grab her by the neck? Bitch. And I’m not saying “bitch” in a good way, either. Anyway, the flight from Cincinnati was eternal, with a fidgety, annoying 10 year-old boy sitting next to me, constantly leaning over to tell me what page I was reading, and also constantly needing to get up to go to the bathroom or ask a flight attendant for another Coke. But eventually we got there, obviously, and I didn’t see my father or the spud or Brian anywhere, so I thought perhaps they were waiting for me at baggage claim. I was halfway down the escalator when I heard Brian yell “Auntie Robyn!”, and looked over to see him and the spud halfway up the stairs. They met me at the bottom of the escalator, and told me that my father hadn’t been able to find a parking space, so he had let the kids off to find me, and was circling. We waited for my luggage, me trying to explain that there was no way in hell they wouldn’t see the bright yellow duffle bag with “Robyn” on the side of it (I got it at LL Bean’s for the 3-Day last year, and it looks just like this, only with my name on it. And it has wheels! Very convenient, but if you fill it full, it tends to be very heavy, as well). Anyway, we got my bag and found my dad, and hit TGI Friday’s for lunch. When we got to my parents’ house, my mother was in the pool, and so I unpacked and went down to the pool, where I got in for about ten seconds, declared it too cold, and got back out. Debbie showed up a while later and yelled at me for bringing the heat with me. The entire time I was in Maine, everyone kept whining about the heat and humidity, and I have to say that they’re out of their freakin’ minds. It was pleasantly warm, but NOTHING like the sweltering heat we had in Florida, or even like the heat we have here in Alabama, so I think they’re all just a bunch of wimps. Wednesday We (my mother, the spud, Brian, Debbie and I) got going fairly early on Wednesday morning, and headed to Boothbay Harbor. Boothbay Harbor, for those of you who don’t know, is a fairly small, isolated fishing village with lots of little shops and restaurants. You can shop and look at the ocean! Does it get any better? As we walked into town from where we’d parked (we parked in a 2-hour parking spot, but went way over the 2 hours, and still didn’t get a ticket. Yay!), I said that I needed to find postcards, and preferably the cheapest ones possible – not that I don’t think y’all are worth the expensive postcards, but I had 115 to send out, and money doesn’t grow on trees, y’know. The first shop we stopped in had postcards for 20 cents each, or 8 for $1.49. I made a mental note of that, and decided that if we didn’t find them cheaper elsewhere, I’d stop on our way back to the car and buy what I needed. There were some shops with seriously cute stuff, and we had a good time shopping. We stopped for lunch at The Fisherman’s Wharf, wherein I had the crab chowder and a cheeseburger. In fact, except for my mother, we all had cheeseburgers, and when the young, nervous waiter picked Debbie’s cheeseburger and fries up, the plate slipped, and all her food went all over the floor. Naturally, he reacted by saying “Shit!”, and then spend ten minutes apologizing for it, poor kid. He put a rush order on a new cheeseburger for Debbie and then took it off the bill, so we were happy all around. On the way out of the restaurant, we passed a little booth with information about the whale-watching tours, and Debbie grabbed me a handful of postcards, so those of you who got the postcard with the ship on the cover? It was stolen merchandise. Actually, not really STOLEN, because they don’t charge for those postcards, but they also probably don’t intend for people to yank up a handful at a time, either. Anyway, with 20 postcards in my purse, I needed to buy only 100, instead of 115. After lunch, there was more shopping, a stop for ice cream, and yet more shopping. I desperately wanted to get Fred a t-shirt that said “Boothbay Harbor – a drinking village with a fishing problem”, but I was NOT spending twenty bucks on a t-shirt. All the postcards we saw were more expensive than the 20-cent ones I’d seen in the first store, so on our way back to the car, we stopped at that store so I could buy the ones I needed. I bought them (and the guy working the register looked at me like I was a total freak for buying so many of them), and then we decided to stop in the store next door before heading to the car. Wouldn’t you know it? We walked in the door and found postcards for TEN CENTS EACH, damnit. Obviously, the work of the Karmic Boomerang, set off when Debbie grabbed those free postcards. I don’t recall what we did for dinner Wednesday night, but I’m sure it was mighty damn good. Thursday There wasn’t much to Thursday – we (my mother, the spud, Brian and I) spent several hours in the morning at my grandmother’s house, then took her to her hair appointment (which she has every Thursday at 1:30). While she was there – it takes about an hour – we skipped over to the little mall at Cook’s Corner in Brunswick and visited TJ Maxx. I was looking around, when Brian came over to me. He was holding a football jersey. “Look, Auntie Robyn!” he said, excitedly. “It’s a football jersey! All I’ve ever wanted my entire life is a football jersey!” “Oh yeah?” I said, still looking through the shirts. He went to show my mother, and three minutes later was back at my side. “Look, Auntie Robyn!” he said, excitedly. “It’s a white tank top! All I’ve ever wanted my entire life is a tanktop! I’ve been looking for one JUST like this!” “That looks like something PaPa would wear,” I said (the kids call my father PaPa). He went to show my mother his find, and was soon back at my side. “Look, Auntie Robyn!” he said, excitedly. “It’s a Tar Heels cap! All I’ve ever wanted was a Tar Heels cap!” After several renditions of this particular song, I said “Brian, pick out one thing you want more than anything, and I’ll buy it for you.” He came back with the white tank top. As my mother and I were about to check out, I sent the kids out to the car to start it and crank the air conditioning, and then I ran over and snagged the Tar Heels cap for him, too. He was happily surprised. That evening, we had chinese food for dinner – a buffet – and it was mighty fine, especially the crab rangoon. Okay, this is getting long. To be continued tomorrow…]]>

I had to use two pictures, because I couldn’t decide which to use, so I’m breakin’ the rules. Breakin’ ’em! Both pictures are from Maine. From August 1, the theme is “Adornment”: My engagement ring and wedding band. The picture didn’t come out that well, because the camera refused to focus on the diamond and I couldn’t get it to do so, damnit. In any case, this is the only jewelry I wear, most days. If we’re going out to dinner, I’ll occasionally put on a pair of earrings, but that’s about it. From July 25, the theme is “Home”: Another two pictures I couldn’t decide between. The first, a shot of Fred’s shoulder, because my face fits there perfectly, and when my face is resting on his shoulder and he’s hugging me, I feel perfectly at home. Stop making those gagging noises. The other, a picture of the beach in Maine. ‘Nuff said. 1. Do you have a car? If so, what kind of car is it? We have two cars, both of them ’97 Jeep Grand Cherokees, although Fred’s is nicer on the inside than mine, and also has a sunroof. 2. Do you drive very often? Probably 3 – 5 days a week I have errands to run. They’re usually in the area, though, and don’t require driving for very long. If I go somewhere with Fred, he usually drives. 3. What’s your dream car? A Mazda Miata, yellow. But given the price, I’m more likely to get my second choice, a yellow VW Beetle. 4. Have you ever received a ticket? Yes, a couple of years ago. I don’t remember how fast I was going, but I do remember that I stammered out a dumb-ass excuse and also wasn’t wearing my seatbelt. 5. Have you ever been in an accident? I’ve been in a couple of fender-benders, the most recent one at the beginning of June. Oh! Wait, I had completely forgotten. Several years ago when I was living in Rhode Island, before I met Fred, and while I was driving a Ford Tempo, I was backing out of a space in a parking lot and crashed into a guy driving a Jeep. There was only a dent on my trunk, but I crushed in the side of his Jeep. Since I didn’t have insurance at the time (and it was required to have insurance by Rhode Island law), I followed him to the nearby Jeep dealership and paid cash to have his Jeep repaired (we had, the day before, gotten our tax refund). August 2: 1. What is your lineage? Where are your ancestors from? I’m a total mutt, and have in my lineage: 1/8 Scottish, 1/8 Cherokee, and various parts French, English, and German. 2. Of those countries, which would you most like to visit? Scotland, definitely. 3. Which would you least like to visit? Why? France, because I’m a-scared of the French. They’d take one look at me, turn up their noses, say something cruel and cutting, and I’d be a sobbing mess on the floor. 4. Do you do anything during the year to celebrate or recognize your heritage? Nope. We always have corned beef on St. Patrick’s Day, but I’m not Irish. 5. Who were the first ancestors to move to your present country (parents, grandparents, etc)? Not a clue. Which is sad, because my paternal grandfather did some serious research of his roots and I have a book somewhere of my ancestry traced back ten zillion years. Of course, my great-great grandmother was Cherokee, so I would guess that that part of the family was here long before any of you damn land-stealers were on the scene. Get off my land! For some reason, that made me think of Fat Bastard bellowing “Get in mah belly!”]]>