Category: Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Lights are on, ain’t no one home" Bass was giving me the eye, and I wanted to hang around and see if he’d invite me to party with he and the boys, but I also knew that Fred would be worried, since from Atlanta to Huntsville was a 3-hour drive (sh’yeah, I WISH), and I picked up the cellphone to call him… And he woke me up. Damnit. Now I’ll never know if Lance was going to put the moves on me! They came today and finished putting up the fence on either side of the house (the neighbors on either side of us already had fences, so we just attached to theirs – with their permission, of course). It took them all of 2 hours, and now we have a completely fenced-in back yard. I opened the door for a little while so the cats could go outside, and they weren’t sure how to react. We’ve been in this house for almost a month, and they haven’t been able to go outside that entire time. Maybe they’ve forgotten that they ever were able. The spud has picked up THE MOST ANNOYING FUCKING HABIT of cracking her knuckles FIFTEEN THOUSAND TIMES IN A ROW, and she ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS does it where I can hear, and every time she does it, I bellow at the very top of my lungs "STOP THAT!!!!!", and she says "Oh! Sorry!", and yet six seconds later, she does it again. I think I’m going to sell her to the gypsies. I doubt I’ll be updating tomorrow before we leave for G’burg, and most likely I won’t be updating on Monday, either, since that’s the day we’re coming back. ]]>

bat lady whom he hit, who immediately tried to tell him the whole thing was his fault, has some hoity-toity name, like Colleen Van Andersen Floopenheimer. Of the Madison Van Andersen Floopenheimers, you know. With a name like that, you’d think she’d be driving something better than an ’86 Olds. (Ooh, Fred’s on the phone with Geico, and they’re claiming they’re not going to pay for his car rental, because it’s more than $20 a day. He’s promising to get nasty. I love that man, love him to pieces, ’cause you KNOW if it were me I’d be going "Oh, you won’t pay? Um, okay…") I wonder how it is that I managed to miss out when everyone else was getting the nerve to stand up for themselves and be assholes when necessary? For instance, this morning, I drove my Jeep – you know, the Jeep we just spent $800 on to have all the maintenance work done on it? – to the grocery store (Lucky Charms, if you MUST know), and I was not one-tenth of a mile down the road, when the Jeep dinged at me, and announced that it was low on coolant. Hm. Coolant. Didn’t I see "coolant" on the list of thousand-and-one things they charged us for? Why looky there, yes I did! They charged $13.95 for coolant, and a scant fifteen hours later, I seem to be low on coolant. For a few seconds, I thought about driving down the road to the dealership and throwing a hissyfit. But after I talked to Fred, who told me that we had a thing of anti-freeze in the garage (me: "Anti-freeze is the same as coolant?" Duhhhh), I shrugged it off and didn’t bother to do any such thing. Which means we got GYPPED for $13.95, and I didn’t do anything about it. Because I’m a wimp. And lazy. Actually, I think that it’s my essential laziness that kept me from going to the dealership (and the fact that I didn’t want to fight the traffic to go down 72 to get there) more than my wimpiness. I have to keep up my Laziest Gal in the South title, you know.]]>

service me, bitch! (if I had a dollar for every time I heard THAT….) light at me for, oh, about 5,000 miles, and I decided that RIGHT NOW NOW NOW is when it needed to be taken in and serviced. Especially if we planned to use to to get to Gatlinburg this weekend. So, we went to Enterprise Rent-A-Car yesterday, and rented a Mitsubishi Montero Sport. A white one. It’s nice and all, but it ain’t no Jeep Grand Cherokee. I followed Fred to the car dealership this morning, where he dropped off the car, and then I drove him to work. Later, he called to tell me what the estimate was for the tune-up and everything else that needed to be done. Eight. Hundred. Dollars. Apparently the shitheads who owned the Jeep before us never had any kind of maintenance work done on it whatsoever. Jayzus. At least they were done by 4:30, so I can give the keys to the Montero to Fred, and drive the Jeep if I need to go anywhere. Today, if you’re dying to know, was a very good mail day. First, at the po box, I found a lovely surprise waiting for me from the lovely and thoughtful Athena. Also, I received the Richard Simmons autobiography (shaddup! I love me some Richard Simmons) from beloved reader Dawn, who saw the book on my wish list and offered me her copy. I would, of course, be remiss whilst mentioning mail if I didn’t give Miz Moira big thanks for all the cool stuff she sent from Alaska a couple of weeks ago. Almost makes up for the pain of not being able to go myself. ::sniff:: So thanks, Athena, Dawn, and separated-at-birth twin sister Moira! I love mail, have I mentioned? Then in the afternoon mail, I received many magazines and nary a bill. I love mail days like that! I’ve been hard at work (slight exaggeration, perhaps) over the last few days writing thank you notes to the people who are sponsoring me for the 3Day. I have 40 sponsors, and I received my first donation back in January, and I just now am starting with the thank you notes. How stupid am I? My hand isn’t terribly happy, believe you me. So if you sent in money to sponsor me, your thank you should be arriving this week or early next. If you didn’t send in money to sponsor me, what are you waiting for?! 🙂 Okay, I’m off to write some more thank you notes. That’s all the entertainment you’ll be getting from me today!]]>

I guess I don’t even need to plant morning glories next year, since they grow wild all over the place around here. Nothing makes me happier on my morning walks than to glance to the side of the road, and seeing tons and tons of morning glories smiling up at me. Speaking of my morning walks, I started out on my usual 4.2-mile walk this morning at the usual time. About two minutes in, I noticed that my stomach muscles were really hurting, and wondered to myself why that was, since I hadn’t done crunches since Friday morning. About a mile later, I realized why it was. Last night, around 8:45, Fred and I headed off to bed. I was in front of him, and as I approached the stairs, I noted in the corner of my mind that Tubby was going up the stairs in front of us. I also knew that on the fourth or fifth step up from the bottom, the phone was sitting there, waiting to be taken upstairs and put back on it’s cradle. Just as Tubby passed the phone, he must have seen it out of the corner of his eye, and was surprised and startled that it was there. How can I do justice to what happened next? What he did was POP up about three feet in the air, startling a scream out of me. He then landed back on the stairs, and immediately did another POP, this one not nearly as high. When he landed from the second POP, he scurried up the stairs and sat at the top, looking confused and disgruntled. Fred and I stumbled around, laughing so hard we cried. And that’s why my abs were hurting this morning – because I’d laughed so damn hard. Not only is laughter the best medicine, it also works your abs! What the hell would we do if we didn’t have our cats to laugh at all the time?]]>

Just screams "Robyn", doesn’t it? Well, shaddup, I like it, and that’s what’s important! They delivered our new couch and love seat today – about time! – and I was stunned at how much smaller they are than the old couch and love seat. I guess that would be because the old couch and love seat are overstuffed furniture upon which you’re supposed to throw yourself and lounge in a lazy manner, where the new couch and love seat are more formal, upon which you’re supposed to sit "like a lady" (as my mother would say), with your ankles crossed primly, and your hands folded in your lap. I think I like ’em, but they’re going to take some getting used to. My computer is getting so freakin’ slow that it’s driving me absolutely batshit, and I’m spending way too much time swearing at it. Therefore, I’m going to end this entry (yes, another damn short one!), and probably turn the fucking computer off until Monday. That’s the plan, anyway. I’d like to get some old shows I taped watched this weekend, along with a few (many) naps, and 40 or so thank you notes written and sent out to the wonderful people who are sponsoring me for the 3Day. I owe many of you emails. Hopefully, I’ll get to them Monday. But don’t hold your breath 🙂 Have a great weekend!]]>

Man, there’s just nothing going on ’round these parts. I believe I’ll share some more kitty pics with you and then call it an entry. Mouseover the pictures for my commentary (though the pics are pretty much self-explanatory). Oh wait, I thought of something. We rented Hannibal and started watching it last night. So far I’m liking it, though to be honest, I don’t know that I care for Julianne Moore as Starling. Her accent tends to come and go, and she’s not nearly as intense as Jody Foster. Though, as Fred pointed out, Jody Foster’s intense in everything.]]>

you dumbass tone. “Who doesn’t?” “Do you ever order from Papa John’s?” he continued. “Yeah!” I said excitedly, as I saw the page of coupons in his hand, and remembered he’d said something about Customer Appreciation. “We do, sometimes!” Wave something free in front of me, and I’ll do backbends to make sure I tell you what you want to hear. He handed it to me and blah-blahed a little more. Hot dog! Coupons for free pizza! “…and we’re willing to give this to you – coupons worth two HUNDRED and twenty-five DOLLARS! – for only $19.95!” he said, aflutter with the thrill of it all. “Oh.” I said with a smile. “You’ll have to come back and talk to my husband about that!”, in my best dang, I can’t make no money decisions without the menfolk around, nuh-uh. Why, oh why, am I such a damn wimp? Why didn’t I just smile, say “No thanks!” and shut the door? Whyyyyyyy? Last week a couple of kids came by, wanting to save me from hell, and when I realized what they wanted, I suggest they come back and talk to my husband. Because he’s really the one in need of saving, I implied. They said they would, but never did. The week before, while Fred and the spud were out bike-riding after dinner, a girl came around trying to sell cookbooks or some such shit. When I suggested she come back to talk to my husband, she hit me with a free booklet and told me that my neighbors had been contributing $1 or $2 for the booklet, “to help with my school expenses.” I gave her $1, and where’d the book go? Why, in the trash, of course. She never came back to talk to Fred about the books, either. The pizza guy, though, came back. Fred dealt with him (hey, I was watching Everybody Loves Raymond) and then came into the living room. “Is there something you’d like to TELL me?” he said, tapping his foot in mock annoyance. Apparently the pizza guy had LIED, and said to Fred “Your wife says you order a LOT of pizza!” “Well, no,” Fred said. “I’ve lost 150 pounds and my wife has lost 125 pounds in the last year, so we don’t order pizza anymore. EVER.” One good lie deserves another, you know. He’s just better at telling people “no” than I am, I guess. When we were shopping for a vehicle for me (we ended up with the truck I had before I got the Jeep I have now), we visited a dealership, where the salesman was pushing hard for us to buy a Camry. “Blah-de-blah blah service!” he said cheerily. “Well, I feel like I’m being serviced alright,” Fred responded. Hee! I guess I need to just stop answering the door, lest a distant relative show up on my doorstep and ask if they can move in with us… —–]]>

here for a super-duper special birthday surprise. (Though I don’t know why I you’d really be surprised by this!) You have another birthday present coming, just something little, a few days late. Okay, probably more like a few WEEKS late. Happy birthday!! I think that the spud’s recent worries about my mother dying have entered my subconscious, because for the last two nights I’ve dreamt that Fred died. Both times I woke up frantic, saying to myself "Please tell me that was a dream, please tell me that was a dream…", and almost crying with relief when I realized that it was. I hate those damn dreams. Fred’s mom and stepdad came over Sunday to check out the new house, and they brought house-warming gifts with them – an adorable little wrought-iron hummingbird thingy that you hang outside and burn citronella candles in, some homegrown tomatoes, and Cardinal Vine and Four O’ Clock seeds. Here’s my question, southern gardeners – would it behoove me to plant them now, since we’ve still got a few months of warm weather left, or should I wait ’til next spring? Northern gardeners are more than welcome to make suggestions, too. I went to Sam’s today. Man, I love that store. Where else can you get 38 16.9 bottles of spring water for less than $6? And brand-new hardcover books for less than $15? You’d better believe that when the new Stephen King/ Peter Straub book comes out, I’ll be at Sam’s the moment it opens. Speaking of books, do y’all do this, or am I the only dumbass? Every time I read about a book or someone talks about a book they’re reading that’s really good, I get all excited and think "Oh, that sounds like a really good book!", and then I go to Amazon and add it to my wish list. Jeff Bezos called this morning and told me I needed to either buy stuff off my list or delete some things, ’cause it’s taking up too much server space at Amazon. The wish list that ate Amazon! I was reading one forum or another this weekend (maybe Hissyfit?) and someone mentioned that when s/he is asked for her/his phone number, s/he gives the area code, plus 867-5309. Hee! How hard must it be to do that with a straight face? I usually – I order online a lot, you know – either give out the cellphone number, which is turned off unless I’m using it, or give out (256)555-1212, which won’t get them far, since our number is unlisted. Thus the reason we never get telemarketing calls. I think I’m about to adopt the 867-5309 (I checked to make sure it’s not a working number), and I suggest you do the same. ]]>

Sex-y Fashions"; on the cover was a picture of Sarah Jessica Parker and whatshisname who plays Mr. Big. Please. Oh please, god in heaven, people, tell me that women in Manhattan do not strive to dress like SJP’s Carrie Bradshaw. Please? I love the show (yeah, I don’t give a shit if you think it’s gone downhill, I love the damn show, even though it’s getting a tad predictable, and I just couldn’t take Mighty Big TV’s snarky recaps of the show, because beyond all reason, I love the show and get a little happy feeling when I know it’s about to come on, so shut up.) but every FUCKING time I see SJP perk across the screen with some fucked-up ensemble on her little body, I go into seizures and wonder when the pain will stop. Have I ever seen her wear anything slightly normal? I mean, I KNOW I’m no fashion guru my(blackcottonpantsandoversizetshirtwearing)self, but JEEzus. Jeezus, jeezus, jeezus. And there’s this fucking magazine telling all and sundry how THEY TOO can get the Sex and the City look. Far be it from me to tell the people who dress the women who are supposedly on the cutting edge of fashion anything, but perhaps Carrie could set aside some of that cash she’s blowing on Manolo Blahniks (yeah, I KNEW what they were before the show ever existed, so shut up) and invest in, you know, some JEANS and a few T-SHIRTS? And I don’t mean jeans with big fucking flowers attached all over the place, and if she’s going to wear jeans, could she please not wear them with HEELS? If she wants the doofy flower, she can wear one on the shoulder of her t-shirt, I promise. And by the way, with taste as bad as hers, and a job as a columnist, should she be blowing all that money on Manolo Blahniks, anyway? Does she really make enough? Because personally, the day I spend more than, say, $40 on a pair of shoes (not including my New Balance walking shoes) is the day I have lost my fucking mind and need to be admitted to the psychiatric hospital, post-haste. I’ve for sure got better things to do with my money than spend $400+ of it on SHOES. Miranda would never spend $400 on a pair of shoes, would she? No, she’s far too (for the most part) sensible. Which is why she’s my favorite. You know, I have NO idea what my point is supposed to be. I think I’ll just call it an entry. Have a good weekend!]]>