Category: Life

someone is always insisting upon laying in your arms so she can gaze lovingly up at you. Okay, the rest of this entry is going to be about the most recent Survivor, the season finale of Temptation Island, and Oprah’s book pick for February, We Were the Mulvaneys. If you haven’t seen one or both of the shows, be warned that there are spoilers. Same goes for the book. As far as Oprah goes, sometimes she picks really good books, and sometimes she just misses "good" by a country mile. This would be one of the ones she missed on. By page three, I was ready to throw the book across the room and gouge my eyes out. By page five, I was ready to send hate mail to Joyce Carol Oates. By page seven, Miz Poo was beginning an interpretive dance to indicate to the world at large that WE FUCKING GET IT. You Mulvaneys think you’re hot shit, the non-Mulvaneys in this book indicate many times. Now, why on earth would they be under the impression that the Mulvaneys think they’re such hot shit? Maybe because we’re told over and over AND FUCKING OVER AGAIN how incredible it was to be a Mulvaney, how SPECIAL it was to be a Mulvaney, how every Mulvaney shat gold upon command three times a day. By chapter three, I’d started skimming the story, and I ended up skimming 9/10 of the book. I came thisclose to putting the book down and not picking it back up, but as always, the thought Maybe something interesting will happen in the next chapter – the last chapter – the last paragraph – the last sentence went through my mind, and I was sorely disappointed. I was in Sam’s Club today, and in the book section, they had a pile of We Were the Mulvaneys. As I perused the other books, I kept my eye on that pile, ready to warn away any other customers fool enough to try to buy the damn thing. No one else was that much of a fool, at least not in the five minutes I was around. I can’t remember the last time I disliked a book this much.

* * * Okay, I was wrong, I’m woman enough to admit it. It, in fact, was not Nick in the water with the crocodile, but rather Michael in the fire with the burning hands. Ouch. I will say that I started to like Elisabeth – doofy Immunity Headdress aside – more than I had when she got in the water with Michael while everyone else was standing around scratching their collective ass. As a side note, his hands, with the nasty skin dangling off of them, looked very much like my right foot did when Fred spilled boiling oil on it 3 1/2 years ago. I was cringing in sympathy when he was in the water, moaning in pain. My favorite Survivors recently are Rodger, Alicia, and Keith. (I said I started to like Elisabeth more, not that she’d gotten to favorite status with me). Temptation Island What. a fucking. gyp. MAN. I was SO SURE Valerie and Kaya were going to break up; that’s why I thought they were doing them last! Valerie got all over my nerves in that last show. I mean, I understand that she was worried about what was going to happen with Kaya the next day, but did she need to be such a dishwater dull date for Dano? Poor guy! And Valerie and Kaya were the couple with zip, zero, zilch personality whatsoever. I mean, how fun must they be to hang out with? You’d have to sit there and watch Valerie do her zombie imitation, and Kaya look all shiny with his closeted self. No one broke up. NO ONE BROKE UP. I want all those hours back, damnitall, I was SO SURE there was going to be a payoff wherein one of the couples broke up. GRRRRRR. You’d think at least one of them would have been kind enough to fake a breakup, wouldn’t you? Okay, that’s all I have to yammer about today, y’all. Until tomorrow, BitchyLand… ]]>

Andrew Vachss‘ Dead and Gone. What I can’t explain is why she had no arms and legs, or why it was a comedy. My dream self was horrified, but powerless to turn the TV off. I suspect a dream analyst could have some fun with this one… —–]]>

Straight Dope from a Bi Chick was going to win. I mean, that’s a journal entry I actually printed out to keep, and I almost never do that! Thanks so much, to everyone who voted for me, and in fact, everyone who voted, period. You like me! You really like me! Ahem. I know it’s kinda goofy that I’m this excited, but what can I say? I’m just a goofy kinda gal. "I Will" is my favorite of anything I’ve written, and it’s nice to find that other people like it too! And congrats to all the other Diarist Awards winners, particularly one Bitter Hag, to whom – as you may or may not recall – I linked months ago, back when she’d just gotten started. I still covet that journal and domain name! Okay, on to other topics… Y’all just crack me up. Of the 24 people who sent me their names and addresses for the free stuff, a LARGE majority said, in effect "Me! Pick me! I love you more than anyone, and I always tell you how awesome you are, SO PICK ME, DAMNIT!" However, here at Bitchypoo Headquarters, the drawing of the names first thing Tuesday morning will be aboveboard, and there will be no favoritism shown, nosirree. But nice try. 🙂 I was at the Madison post office Tuesday afternoon, ’cause I needed to rent a post office box. The post office box I used to have, in Huntsville, was getting to be a real pain in the ass to drive to, mostly because since I don’t work at DI anymore, I don’t have any reason to be in that area of Huntsville, so if I wanted to check the box, it required half an hour out of my day, down the busiest street in Huntsville. The Madison post office is a little closer, and since I go that way at least twice a week, it’s much more convenient. Plus, it’s a lot less busy than the Huntsville post office. So, I rented a box at the Madison post office (PO Box 565, Madison, AL 35758, if you’re inclined to send me love letters), and the guy who waited on me looked like an older, thinner Drew Carey. And I don’t know if he was a tad "slow", or if he thought perhaps I was, but he talked verrrry slowly and thoroughly explained everrrrry detail of owning and using a post office box. "If you get a package that’s too big for your box," he said carefully, "we. will. put. a. yellow. slip. in. your. box. You. should. bring. it. up. to. the. counter. and. we. will. get. the. package. for. you." And, to illustrate, he picked one of said yellow slips up and waved it at me. He felt it important to reassure me three different times that box 565 is a "very good box!" I wondered – silently to myself, not out loud – what makes one post office box better than another. No doubt there’s some sort of post office box hierarchy about which I have no clue. Since I hadn’t yet begun to PMS, though, I found it all rather sweet instead of enraging the way I would have if I’d done it yesterday. Yesterday, I went to the Huntsville post office to close the box I’d been using there – and to get my $2 key deposit back! – and as I walked through the door and glanced to the right, where the little store that they sell stamps and envelopes is located, I recalled why I used to enjoy visiting the post office on a frequent basis back when I worked at DI. Simply put, one of the postal workers is a total cutie-pie. And he’s always so friendly! He reminds me, looks-wise, of Leroy, one of the shift managers I worked with at McDonald’s. Not that you have any idea what Leroy looked like, of course. Good-bye Huntsville postal worker cutie-pie. Good-bye chunky postal worker lady with the poodle perm and big glasses who was also very friendly. And good-bye to those long-ass lines. I’m takin’ my mail to Madison. —–]]>

Do any of you have any clue what kind of plant this might be or where I can find information about it? I got it from Fred’s stepmother last Fall and she said she thought it might be called a "travelling iris", but wasn’t sure. I need to find out what it likes, light-wise, ’cause I’m kicking it outside once the weather warms up some. Have I mentioned how much I adore daffodils? I found this particular gorgeous specimen whilst on my walk a couple of mornings ago. It was just growing on the side of the road, minding it’s own business, not in anyone’s yard or anything. So I took it. How can you look at that flower and not be happy? —–]]>

itchy sandpaper. Yes, I was covered from neck to ankles with an itchy red sandpaper-textured rash. My skin apparently woke up and realized that I’d been smothering it with oil for the last week, and it got PISSED. Oh, it itches. Oh, it hurts. Oh, I AM SUCH A DUMBASS. I know that this will pass and in a few weeks I’ll be back to my normal dry-skinned self, but that’s not much consolation when I wake up in the middle of the night to find that I’m frantically scratching my butt-cheeks. And that wasn’t the last of my dumbassery for Saturday, oh no – of COURSE not. For dinner Saturday night, we had Karawynn’s Ex-Texas Chili (well, not hers, but I used her recipe to make it. You know what I mean). Instead of, as Karawynn suggests, washing my hands with a salt and water paste after chopping the jalapenos, I just used soap. HOURS later, whilst taking my contacts from my eyes while getting ready for bed, can you guess what happened? That’s right, my eyes just about bulged out of my head and started burning, because I’m a dumbass. Not happy eyes, let me tell you. And I got my fingers all over my contacts, so what do you suppose happened when I went to put them in my eyes Sunday morning? That’s right, bulging and burning. I ended up having to throw the contacts away, due to my dumbassery. Lest you think I do nothing but bitch on this page (ha! You KNOW I do nothing but bitch on this page, right?), I will say that my knee is completely better this morning and I was able to exercise as planned. But don’t get me started on the road construction I had to walk around… —–]]>

Himself needed more salad, and I figured if I got a big-ass bag of salad (everything at Sam’s comes in Big-Ass size, you know), he’d be set for a while and I wouldn’t have to buy so much stuff at Publix on my way home. I found a bag of the Spring Mix we both like so much, and it appeared, to my eye anyway, to be about twice the size of the bags we get at Publix every week, and it cost $3.49 for the whole big-ass bag. One little bag at Publix is $2.99, so obviously the Sam’s salad was quite a bargain. It was a good-looking salad, too, appearing to be very fresh, and I didn’t see any of the gross limp stuff you get when bags of prepared salad have sat around for too long. And then the next morning, I was informed by Fred that there wasn’t TWICE as much in the Sam’s salad as in the Publix salad, but rather there was more than THREE times as much salad. For only 50 cents more than the little bag of Publix salad! I believe we’ll be buying our salad at Sam’s from now on. The only thing that really ticks me off about Sam’s is that EVERY time I go there, I make sure to check for cinnamon Altoids because I go through two tins a week (and if you’d like an empty Altoids tin, just let me know!) and they have every single kind of Altoid EXCEPT for the cinnamon flavor, which happens to be the only flavor I care for (for which I care, to be grammatically correct). It’s a conspiracy to keep me from cinnamon-y fresh breath, it really is. Damn that Sam’s. Good salad but no cinnamon Altoids. Where are their priorities, I ask you? I know I have some technically savvy readers out there (pardon me while I kiss reader ass), and I’m sure someone can help me with this. Remember the .mpg I made back in December of Bobby from "The Practice", yelling "You drove him CRRRAZY!"? Sure you do, it’s this one. Well, what I would DEARLY love is to have a .wav of Bobby yelling just the "CRRRAZY!" part, because I’d LOVE to hear that every time I got mail. It would just rock my world, it really would. The only thing is, I have no idea how to convert part of an .mpg to a .wav, which is where y’all come in. If someone out there could help me out, I’d be eternally grateful and hey – I’ll even link to you, if you’d like! Actually, I wouldn’t mind also having a .wav of him yelling the whole "You drove him CRRRAZY!" Hop to it, now! Did y’all watch the Grammys the other night? I didn’t, except for the few times when Fred flipped channels during commercials. Am I interested in the Grammys? HELL no. Am I interested in seeing Eminem perform with Elton John? Not in THIS lifetime. I understand why people are up in arms about Eminem and his doofy lyrics, I really do, but that kid just bores the ever-lovin’ shit out of me. Yeah I know little boy, you’ve had such a rough little white boy’s life, such a sad thing it is. Fuckin’ yawnsville. Hey, remember when Axl Rose of Guns ‘n Roses had those songs with anti-gay lyrics? And remember when Elton John performed on the Freddy Mercury Tribute Concert with Axl and they sang "Bohemian Rhapsody"? Remember that, the whole irony of anti-gay Axl and ultra-gay Elton performing together, oh couldn’t you have just cut the irony with a knife? Hey, I wonder what Axl’s up to, anyone seen him lately? No? Gosh, I wonder why. ]]>

The View, godhelpme, and then the last fifteen minutes of You’ve Got Mail. So, it’s been many weeks since I put my New Year’s resolutions on my page for the world to see. Let’s see how I did, shall we?: Robyn’s Resolutions for 2001 1. I will shave my legs once a week. Har de har. As if. In fact, I’ve only shaved my legs TWICE this year. Shaving my legs is just such an incredibly boring thing to do that I can only force myself to do it when the hair on my legs is about long enough to braid (attractive, yes?). Perhaps when it’s summertime and I wear shorts in public more often I’ll be able to get them shaved on a more frequent basis. Don’t hold your breath, though. 2. I will grow my hair out, because my husband likes it when I have long hair. Yep, still growing. Kinda hard to fuck that one up. 3. I will keep my purse in a more organized manner. Pshaw. Another "as if". I simply don’t have it in myself to stand there at the store after receiving my change and receipt and neatly putting everything back where it belongs while the person standing in line behind me is breathing down my neck. I did get a bigger purse, though, so I could fit a paperback in one of the side pockets in case I get caught standing or sitting in line unexpectedly. That counts for something, surely? 4. I will keep to my downstairs-on-Wednesday, upstairs-on-Thursday cleaning schedule. Um, no. In fact, I came up with a complex cleaning system, where I perform a few certain chores each day (Monday: Vacuum upstairs, clean bathrooms. Tuesday: Vacuum stairs and entire basement, etc.), but it’s not quite working the way I’d hoped. I didn’t dust yesterday as I was scheduled to, and I didn’t clean the kitchen today (my knee, you know). 5. I will have my eyebrows waxed and plucked by a professional at least once. No, I still haven’t done this yet, either, but the year’s still young. I hope to get this one accomplished before the end of the year. 6. I will get my ass in gear, reorganize my site, and move it all over to robynanderson.com. By Valentine’s Day. Nope. Haven’t even started on the reorganizing I’d planned. I hope to buckle down and get some serious work done on it by the first. But who knows? So that’s what, one resolution upheld out of 6? Hey, tons better than my usual record… —–]]>

Knology truck stop at our mailbox. "Hey, I can give him my package!" Fred said excitedly, and ran over to the stairs. I looked closer at the truck. Fred ran to the stairs and snatched up his package – only HIS package, scattering my packages to the floor. "HEY!" I yelled after him as he sprinted out the door. "That’s not the mailman…" How did I know? ‘Cause, um, first of all I can READ, and I was pretty sure the US Post Office would frown on their mail carriers driving vehicles with advertising on the side. And secondly, I’d already gotten the mail when I’d gotten home from running my errands an hour earlier. I’d love to be able to report that Fred ran down the Knology guy and then found to his embarrassment that it wasn’t the mail guy, but by the time he got to the street, the truck was too far away for him to catch up to it. You’d better believe I gave him hell for only grabbing his own package, though. ]]>