Category: Life

Kitty toes, kitty toes, how I love them kitty toes… Except for this morning round about 3 am when them kitty toes were trying to get in my mouth for some unknown reason. When I wouldn’t open my mouth and let them kitty toes in, the owner of them kitty toes gave up and draped herself over my head, purring to beat the band. Well, damn damn DAMN. I had a recipe for crab rangoon, which I made for lunch (healthy and well-balanced, yes?) but the filling isn’t right. And the only recipe I can find is the one with half a pound each of crabmeat and cream cheese, some onion powder, and A-1. But it’s just not right. The filling in the crab rangoon I get at the chinese restaurants around here are sweeter, somehow. Which is not to say that the crab rangoon I made was all bad, ’cause the wonton part was light and flaky, as wontons should be, so I nibbled around the edges mostly. I’ve spent the entire day doing laundry. I should have taken a picture of the computer room, with the laundry spread all over the place in huge piles. I started doing laundry at 6 and it was almost 11 before I was done with the sheets and towels and could begin on the clothes. Doing laundry and surfing the web while ignoring the fact that my desk drawers are in desperate need of cleaning, that’s what I’ve done with my day. The spud is bored already. Day 1 of summer vacation, and she was on me like a buzzing little gnat. "Can we go here? Can we go there? Can we go everywhere? Do you have to stay here and do laundry all day? You said we would go to the cat store and pet the cats today" and so forth. She knows better than to actually bust out with the "I’m bored!" because the last time she did that, I found something for her to do, and that something was walking around the backyard (this was 2 1/2 years ago when we still lived in an apartment) picking up cigarette butts and throwing them away. She hasn’t claimed boredom since. Some lessons last a long, long time. I made her help me with the laundry, anyway. So Fred just arrived home, flashed a big wad of money at me (they got bonuses at work today) and decided he needs a new bed. The bed he sleeps on now (I know y’all are aware we sleep in separate rooms) is one he had as a child, and it’s gotten rather creaky and saggy over the years. He hasn’t been sleeping well, so he grabbed the spud and went to the bed store around the corner, where we buy all of our beds (well, the one in the master bedroom and the spud’s bed). Then he’s off to Wal-Mart for sheets, and at some point they’ll be back here to eat the ham I’ve been baking for two hours. They’ll have plenty of ham to themselves, too, ’cause the very thought of ham for dinner makes me gag. Okay, I’m off to finish making dinner, clear a path to the junk room (where we’re going to put Fred’s old bed) and do more laundry. Oh, my glamorous, glamorous life. Jealous?]]>

My Day in Pictures (and some blathering text)

I got up this morning at 6:00 and have been on the go ever since. Okay, maybe there was plenty of time for goofing around on the computer, but not as much as I’d like, believe you me. So, the entry will be mostly pictures. Enjoy! I was still running around trying to get the house ready for the cleaning lady when she showed up, surprising me once again in my nightgown. I hurried into the bathroom and got dressed in a semi-dressy shirt and black pants, then blow-dried my hair and put on makeup. Let me say that again: PUT ON MAKEUP. Why? you ask. Because I had the spud’s 5th grade awards ceremony to attend, and there was a "reception" beforehand. Goober that I am, I worried for days about what to wear, and when I showed up at the reception, it became apparent that I could have worn anything from jeans and a t-shirt to a business suit, to a prom dress, and been right at home. I sat and chatted with a few mothers, watched the spud and her friends eat, then snapped a picture of them before we moseyed off to the gym.
That’s Laura on the left, the spud in the middle, and Becca on the right. Becca reminds me, for some reason, of Julia Stiles. Before we headed off to the gym for the awards, I snapped a picture of the spud with her teacher, Mr. Stone. Then off to the gym the other mothers and I traipsed, the gym, the wonderful NON AIRCONDITIONED gym, to sit our asses on the hard metal bleachers, to fan ourselves and sweat a great deal, and shift back and forth from one cheek to the other to distribute the pain evenly and mutter under our collective breath "Come on already, we know you think the kids are great, we know you love them to death, shut the fuck up and give out the freakin’ awards!" Which they finally did, each 5th grade teacher – of which there are 5 – taking his or her turn. (That’s the principal yammering at the podium, and the 5th grade teachers and one other teacher sitting there looking bored and hot) The spud won a Presidential Award for Outstanding Educational Improvement. When finally (thankyoujesus) it was over, we ran home quickly so that the spud could change into her beloved shorts and t-shirt, and fifteen minutes later, we were out the door to meet Rachel for lunch at O’Charley’s, which I had never been to before. It was packed, and very noisy. I had the O’Charley’s club sandwich, which I know you were dying to know. After O’Charley’s, the spud and I hit FoodWorld, where I purchased some much-needed toilet paper, Tylenol, and another plant, Mexican Heather in a hanging basket. I love this plant because of the tiny purplish-blue flowers which can be found in the midst of all that dark green. Then we went to Alabama Framers to pick up Fred’s birthday presents (the framing part on each of these pictures are the presents for this year; I gave him the Escher print and the Gump poster for his birthday last year). The print on the far left (by the kitten) says "Failure: When your best isn’t good enough"; the one next to that says "Defeat: For every winner, there are dozens of losers. Chances are, you’re one of them." Those two, he’s going to hang up in his office. The next picture down the line is Escher’s Drawing Hands print, and on the end at the far right is a picture of a field of poppies which is actually my picture. I’m going to hang it over the tub. Rather, I’m going to have Fred hang it over the tub for me. Forrest Gump is Fred’s favorite movie, and he couldn’t find this particular poster anywhere. I found it online, and now that it’s framed, we’re going to hang it in the library. The Escher print will go by his desk, I think. So, it’s 3:00 and I’m waiting for Fred to get home. We’re going to go swimming, eat dinner, and veg in front of the TV to watch Friends, Frasier, and ER. I suggest you do the same. —–]]>

no idea why that is. I just thought y’all would like to know. Had I won the Powerball jackpot last week, Horseshit Alley would be on it’s way to being built. Naturally, my parents and Fred’s parents would highly disapprove, which only adds to the allure. Unfortunately, I didn’t win the lottery, but it’s nice to daydream about it. If I’d won the lottery, I’d start out (after paying taxes, of course) by giving $1 million each to my sister, parents, and grandmother – after consulting with a tax attorney on how exactly to do that so they wouldn’t have to pay taxes on it. Then I’d convince Fred that we should give $1 million to his parents (each set), sister, and pay to have his grandmother moved to her own home with around-the-clock staff. Then I’d put aside enough money so that the spud, Brian, Chris, and Fred’s niece and nephew – Crystal and Logan – could go to any Ivy-league school they wanted, if they could get in, that is. I would not, however, create trust funds for them, because I believe you have to make your way in this world (or marry a really smart man)(just kidding!), and not expect to have your life paid for by your parents. Some of the most obnoxious people in the world are trust fund babies, and I’m not going to be responsible for inflicting more of them upon the world. My next step would be to write a will. Naturally, I’d leave everything to Fred, but if we were to die together or he predeceased me (it’s a word!) I’d leave the majority to the spud, with large amounts going to others in the family. Now, here’s the important stuff, because money makes people do crazy, crazy things. I’d add a codicil to the will stating that if I die under circumstances in the slightest bit suspicious, all the money goes to charity. Of course, the Menendez brothers thought they had a foolproof plan, so you never can tell. Wait, how’d I get so far afield? Actually, the first, the very first thing I’d do after claiming the lottery prize money (hopefully keeping it hush-hush) would be to swing by Fred’s office and watch him do his "Take this company and shove it" dance on the conference room table. Then, after spreading money between family and friends, I’d hire an awesome architect to design and build the home of my (our) dreams, complete with lots and lots of land, an olympic size pool, and two or three guest cottages on the grounds so y’all could come visit. Oh, and I’d hire a landscaper to come make my grounds pretty with tons of daffodils and lilies and rose bushes. Hey, maybe I could hire Beth to be my landscaper! Of course, I’d buy a yellow Mustang, because it’s my dream car, and whatever vehicle Fred wanted, and then probably a Durango, ’cause we need a family-type vehicle. And then, because I couldn’t just sit around and count my money every day, I’d open a cat store and go around to the Humane Society every month or so, and adopt as many cats and kittens as my store would hold, and I’d keep them until people adopted them and took them home to loving homes. ‘Cause, you know, I am the Crazy Cat Lady, and this way I could feed my kitty jones. Aren’t you glad I have it all figured out just in case? Fred just got off the phone after talking to a customer service rep at BellSouth, and he was not impressed. We have three phone lines, the main one which we use, and two others for our computers. Since we got a cable modem and don’t need the lines, he called to have them cancelled. Well, the Bellsouth chick found one of the other two lines, but couldn’t find the other line, and was just going to leave it at that and hang up. Fred said "So, because of your shoddy recordkeeping, you can’t cancel the second line, and I have to continue paying for it?" I couldn’t hear what the rep was saying, but it appeared that she was backpedalling rapidly. Finally, he asked to speak to her supervisor, and she transferred him, where he sat on hold for 10 minutes. While listening to the same song over and over, it occurred to him that we could use our computers to call the cell phone, which has caller id, and we could figure the phone numbers out that way. Which we did, and Fred hung up, called BellSouth again, and managed to get the same rep, lucky him. When he got off the phone, he called her a not-very-nice name, but from what I could tell, she deserved it. So, I’ve received email after email, and the consensus is that a large number of people keep the address labels and use them, while not sending money to the people who made the address labels. It was what I suspected, but I was glad to have the cold, hard facts to present to Fred. Thanks for emailling, y’all! —–]]>

done. And I made the appointment for next time before I left, ’cause if the appointment is made, I’ll force myself go. Once I left The Big Tease (yes, that’s really the name!), I stopped by to get the new glasses I picked out yesterday.

I’m not sure why I bothered buying two pair, except they were on sale. I only wear glasses at night for an hour or less after I take my contacts out and very rarely when I feel like my eyes need a break from the contacts for a day. The final verdict is in, and we’re not going to Florida this weekend. We are, however, going to Gatlinburg, Tennessee next weekend. We’re leaving Thursday and coming back Sunday night. And in the meantime, we’re going to rent a 2500 square foot chalet with a pretty good view, 4 bedrooms, a pool table, a ping pong table (Fred found it important that y’all know all the details), and a hottub on the deck. It sounds like there’s a lot to do in Gatlinburg, so it should be fun. I’m sure there will be plenty of pictures! Here’s an interesting question for y’all. When you get those "free" address stickers in the mail – you know the ones I mean, the ones from the Veterans or from the North Shore Animal League – do you keep them even if you don’t send them money? I do, and I use them, but a certain someone seems to feel that it’s akin to stealing. Even though I didn’t ASK for the address stickers, even though I’ve never sent money to the people who send me address stickers, because all they’ll do is buy more supplies to make more address stickers with the money I send. So what about y’all? Do you keep and use them without paying, send money and use them, or just toss them? I’m really curious, so email me and tell me, won’t you? —–]]>

Godiva from everyone, and cards from Fred and the spud. What more could a mother hope for? In Maine, my mother, grandmother, and Debbie seem to have had a good time. They, along with my father, Brian, and Randy and his girlfriend went out to lunch at a nice restaurant. I’d begin a rant about my asshole uncle, but I’ll save that for another day. After leaving my eye appointment this morning, I ran to the grocery store and bought me a plant. Naturally, this was the nosy result. The plant is what I would have called a spider plant, but according to the tag, it’s an airplane plant. Okay, the links I found have indicated they very well may be one and the same. In any case, I have to decide where I want to put it. I need to research whether it’ll be okay hanging outside, or if I should bring it in. If I need to bring it in, I’ll have to do some rearranging, because there are only so many places in this house the cats can’t get to, and the last time I brought home a spider plant, the cats ate it down to little spiky nubs in three minutes flat, the little fuckers. —–]]>

Also, which was entirely expected, there were a few foul-ups. One of the other phone tree parents lost her list, and no one had a master list detailing who was to call which parents, so I told her the names and numbers of the other two parents, and she called them to see which parents THEY had to call, and narrowed down which parents were on her list.

It occurs to me suddenly that y’all canNOT possibly be interested in this kind of detail about this stuff. Moving on…

The spud looked mighty tired when she stumbled off the bus. She said she didn’t get much sleep last night, so she’s taking a nap now. She’s a bit stuffed up, though I’m not sure whether it’s because she’s developing a cold or is suffering from allergies. Almost the first sentence out of her mouth was "We saw a LOT of homeless people!" followed by detailed descriptions of each homeless person she saw. The highlight of the trip, from what she told me so far, is that she, Ella, and Anna stumbled into a leather shop which was selling instructional posters on smoking pot, and were immediately hustled out by Michelle before they could look around any more. Poor Michelle! I should call her and demand "What the Hell is this I hear about you dragging my daughter into a leather shop??"

Damn, it’s good to have her home. I worried about her the whole time she was gone.

I finally, FINALLY called and made an appointment to have my eyes checked. It’s been 2 1/2 years since my last eye exam, and thus I’ve been wearing this pair of contacts that long (though I take them out every night, you understand). I think it’s time to retire them and get a new pair. I also called to make an appointment for a cut and color (uh, hair. Not eyes). My gray roots have grown out about two inches now, so I guess it’s time. I just realllllly hate going to have my hair done. If I were a guy, I’d shave it all off. Hell, if I weren’t afraid Fred would freak out and run away screaming, I’d shave it off. Ah well. Maybe next life.

Okay, I’m outta here. See y’all Monday, if not before! —–

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that the truth. The majority of her chores come after dinner, when she is required to: put the dishes in the dishwasher away, put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, start the dishwasher, wipe down the counters and table, feed the cats, and take the trash out. When she’s motivated – ie, "As soon as you get your chores done, we’ll go swimming/ get ice cream/ watch a movie" – she can finish in ten minutes or less. On the average night, though, it takes her at least an hour to do everything. Poor overworked, abused child… Speaking of the spud, she called last night from DC. Getting her to actually make conversation on the phone is like pulling teeth. "Are you having fun?" "Yes." "Are you obeying Michelle?" "Yes." "Will you be glad to get home Friday?" "Yes." "What did you visit today?" "The White House. The Wall." "See anyone famous?" "No." And so forth. The kitten is obsessed with Coke. Every time I open a can, she’s right there, sniffing at it. I don’t know if it’s the smell, or the sound of the carbonated bubbles that obsesses her so, but she’s always sticking her little moist nose in the hole on the top of my Coke cans. This morning, I took the plate that held my blueberry pop-tarts until I ate them, and poured a little Coke onto it, offering it to her. She sniffed around it for a good, long time before trying a couple of slurps and sneezing. I guess she’s undecided about the whole Coke experience. After being surprised in the shower by the cleaning lady last week, I got up when Fred left for work shortly after 6 am, and rushed around to make the house presentable. No, this is not "cleaning for the cleaning lady", it’s picking up so that the cleaning lady can clean without piles of junk in her way. If it weren’t for the fact that I have to pick up before the cleaning lady gets here, there’d be piles and piles of books, papers, and god knows what else all over the place. Robyn, you’re saying. Why is it that you still have the cleaning lady come every week when you’re no longer working, and could perfectly well clean the house your own lazy ass self? That’s an excellent question. Because I’m the laziest gal in the whole USA, and if it were left up to me to keep the house clean, it would fall into squalor and disrepair faster than you could look up "squalor" on the merriam-webster site to make sure you spelled it correctly (definition of squalor: the quality or state of being squalid. Ah yes, that clears it up). Lordy, I need a nap. Only 8 hours of sleep last night. And the cleaning lady is here, so I need to go stay out of her way.
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American Psycho (Bret Easton Ellis) and False Memory (Dean Koontz). I actually bought American Psycho when it first came out in print, because I wanted to know what all the brouhaha was about. As I recall, I got ten or fifteen pages in, yawned, and stuck it at the back of the bookcase. Now that the movie’s come out, and I’m sure I’ll want to see Christian Bale running around half-naked, I decided to give it another shot because I prefer to always read the book before I see the movie. I’m something like twenty pages in, and I can barely contain the constant stream of yawns. Fred checked ahead for some murder scenes and said that the one he came across was incredibly graphic, so I guess I’ll stick with it. Ih. The Koontz book, on the other hand, is shaping up to be pretty good. I’m only about 1/4 of the way in, but it’s creepy as all get-out. I was actually creeped out before I started reading the book, because I read the cover, which said that one of the main characters suffers from autophobia – fear of one’s self. Could you imagine what it would be like to be afraid of yourself, scared to look in the mirror? The only way to get away from yourself is to commit suicide, and that only gets you away from your physical self. Well, as I read the book, I discovered that the main character isn’t afraid of herself in that way; rather, she’s afraid she’ll do harm to her loved ones. Last night I dreamed I was running through the house throwing anything with a sharp edge out the back door into the pool. I went to Garden Cove this morning. Being that it’s Wednesday, it was far less crowded than last Tuesday, but there was also far less of a selection (their truck full of fresh produce comes in on Tuesday morning). I still managed to buy $18 worth of fruit and veggies, not to mention some organic shredded hash browns. I also managed to end up in line behind a woman who had bought 24 of something and was charged 79 cents each instead of 59 cents, and the cashier was having a hell of a time figuring out how to credit the woman’s account. I stood there for 10 minutes – no exaggeration – before it was my turn to be rung through. While I was patiently standing there waiting for it to be my turn, the lady in front of me said "I notice you’re buying a lot of vegetables." I smiled and nodded, resisting the Nothing gets by you, huh, Einstein? comeback (now, you know and I know that I’d never ever say such a thing to a stranger). "Are you following the Hallelujah eating plan?" she went on to ask. "Uh," I mumbled. "No." She smiled, looked me over, and went back to overseeing the cashier. I can only imagine what the Hallelujah eating plan must entail – a shouted "Hallelujah!" before each bite, perhaps? So, I finally got around to watching last week’s ER. What a great damn show. When that little girl said "Sometimes Daddy likes to play a game" I teared right up. Ditto Mark waking up to see his father laying still. I repeat: DAMN good show. Hm, have I covered everything? Food, books, TV – yep, that’s it. Y’all have a good day!
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Fancyman is losing his shit, because there’s a mourning dove on the front lawn about three feet from the window, and he can’t get to it. He’s going back and forth between the two windows in the computer room, crouching, moaning, his eyes all dark, banging his tail back and forth. On the lawn, the dove is blinking calmly at Fancypants, wondering what the problem is. So, the problem I was having last night with my Internet Explorer? I attempted to deal with it by uninstalling and reinstalling IE three or four times. Every time, the bar at the top looked odd, with everything stuffed into one line. I could NOT get it to look right, no matter how many times I uninstalled and reinstalled. Finally, desperate, I asked Fred to come down and look at it. He fixed it. How? By un-maximizing and re-maximizing it. Blewp, blewp, and it was fixed. Grrr. Oh, I took some good pictures this weekend. Let me see if I can find them… The kitten, in the throes of ecstacy as I rub her belly. She’s laying on her pillow on my desk.
And here she is laying beside me on my arm, snoozing. The happier she is, the darker rose her nose turns.
Fred took this fairly cool picture of the sun Saturday afternoon.
Spot and Tubby just before Spot put the smack down on Tubs. "I’m telling you, man, get your tail off of me!" It’s so sad that I had to think for a minute to remember that Tubby’s real name is Snoopy when I was looking to link to his page. Fred and I took a short roadtrip to a small seafood store about half an hour away yesterday, and loaded up on raw oysters and shrimp. The oysters rocked – though after about 5 of them Fred got grossed out on them and gave the rest of his to me (WOOHOO!) – but the shrimp just wasn’t quite right. After I was done eating the shrimp, I had a fairly nasty metallic taste in my mouth, and I was more than a little afraid I’d end up being sick in the night, but I’m feeling fine. A disappointing seafood experience, though. Fred told me last night he’d be just as happy to never have seafood again. GREAT. At this rate, I’ll NEVER talk him into going to Florida. Poor, poor pitiful me. We went swimming again last night, and this time it was 86, which was even MORE perfect than 84. There was a pretty strong breeze, though, so it was much warmer in the water than out. It’s supposed to get up to 90 on Friday (the air, not the pool – though you never know), which means there’ll be some more good swimming. It looks like it’s going to storm any minute now, though, so there may be no swimming tonight. When we’re in the pool and there’s a slight breeze blowing, I can smell honeysuckle in the air, though I can’t tell where it’s coming from. There was once a honeysuckle bush in the woods behind us, until they knocked down everything to put up a couple of houses. Speaking of the houses behind us, Fred is sure I gave the people directly behind us quite a show yesterday, because I took my bathing suit off while in the pool (the people in the house behind us can’t see us while we’re actually swimming in the pool) and when I got out, I hunched over and ran a few steps to where my towel was laying. Fred thought it was the funniest thing, because if anyone in the house behind us had been sitting in any of the windows on their top floor, they would have seen me. It’s my opinion, however, that if they were sitting there spying on us, they deserved to be scared like that. —–]]>

Slim Twin ST For Women with Aloe.

Shiiiit. I don’t have any aloe! No one mentioned I’d have to have aloe to use these razors… I meant to pick up the razors for Women with Big Asses. That, I have. But seriously, folks, how much must these razors suck if the company couldn’t afford to hire someone to keep an eye out for those kinds of foul-ups? So, the spud is in Washington, DC this week. Actually, they haven’t made it as far as Washington; they stopped in Williamsburg, VA last night, and are doing the Colonial Williamsburg tour, amongst other things. She called this morning just after 6, just as I’d gotten back to sleep after Fred left for work. She sounded like she was in good spirits, thank god. She got a seat on the bus next to Michelle, who lives in the house behind us and whose daughter, Ella, is friends with the spud. the spud is rooming with Ella, Michelle, and Ella’s friend Anna. I’m hoping it will be like a big slumber party for her – Michelle is good with kids, I think, and the spud knows and feels comfortable with her. They’ll be back early Friday morning, and no doubt she’ll get off the bus all grouchy from travelling all Thursday night. Question: What is the absolute perfect pool temp to go swimming in when it’s a clear, sunny day with a fairly strong breeze? Answer: Here in Alabama, the answer is 84 degrees. 84 perfect, warm, lovely degrees. We went swimming after dinner yesterday, and it was like stepping into a semi-warm bath. I could have stayed in the pool for hours, but Fred got frisky and we got out of the pool and went inside, and I’ll stop there – y’all can thank me later. I finally got around to ordering Mother’s Day gifts for my mother, Fred’s mother, and Fred’s stepmother, Jean. I ordered bath products for Fred’s mother, garden bucks at garden.com for Jean, and a box of Godiva for my mom. As usual, I waited ’til the last possible moment to order everything, and had to pay extra for shipping so everything would get there in time. Some day, I’m going to get my shit together. I’ve known for a month when Mother’s Day was, and still I didn’t just go right ahead and order everything. I hate it that I’m such a procrastinator. But I’ll tell you about that later (ba-dum-BUM!). I’m suddenly having big problems with my fucking piece of crap Internet Explorer, and I’m about to put my fist through the monitor, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to cut this short. —–]]>