loopy

Spiritual Retreat
Just back from a much too short visit with my chocolate-lovin' friend.

I figure 'Spiritual Retreat' sounds better than 'road-trip' for a Pastor's wife, doesn't it? 'Spiritual Retreat' implies prayer, reflection, meditation. It does not make one think of wine, pasta, Godiva cheesecake and Frederick's of Hollywood (technically I just stopped there on my way home in search of my bra-size, but that's a whole other blog post). (Oh, and technically, there WAS a bible in my hotel room, so that should count for something.)

All that time in the car WAS totally good for me to reflect, meditate and pray. Lots of time for prayer. Mainly, I was praying "Lord, please help me to find Interstate 35". "Especially Interstate 35 SOUTH". Of course I got lost! But only twice. On the way there, and on the way back.

Interstate systems, highways, turnpikes... all of 'em must have been designed by the male species. I do NOT understand the logic. What is a loop? Why do I want to drive around places to try to get where I am going? If everyone else is driving on the loop in an effort to avoid
traffic, doesn't the loop get all jammed up too? Can someone please explain to me who pulled the numbering system for all of these roads out of their ass? How can you be driving on a road, not do anything but drive, and the road turns into a completely different road? How is that acceptable?

But if there is one thing I learned on my mini-break, it is this. Listen up. Here is my pearl of wisdom. From the nice Middle-Eastern man who gave me directions, the patient and kind black lady who gave me directions, the helpful Hispanic man who gave me directions, people are
basically the same. They all know more about the Dallas metro-plex area than I.

A handy how-to guide on how to give me directions:

Yes, preferable: say things like turn by the I-Hop, Bennigans, Humperdinks, Super Target, 2 minutes this way, 10 minutes that way.

No thank you: don't say things like North, South, East, West, 20 miles, 380 West, Highway, and especially not Loop.

AND and and as close as the Pastor is to God, apparently when you are driving around lost, he does not have some sort of "On-Star" ability and cannot help you get un-lost. He is very nice and calm though. After the fact, he told me I had reminded him of the satirical "Blonde-Star"
commercial parody that has floated around on the internet.

On my trip, I saw some flags at half-mast. I don't know why. Could it be Nick and Jessica's break-up???

I did not realize until tonight that Condeleeza Rice was Secretary of State. Uhhhhhh, when did THAT happen? I know all sorts of stuff about Angelina, Brad, Jennifer, J Lo, Paris Hilton... but the first black woman to become Secretary of State has somehow managed to escape my attention. Perhaps it's time to read a newspaper. A real one.

buy me stuff

Robyn's fabulous and not-so-subtle Christmas wish-list, in no particular order:
-Lovely (Sarah Jessica Parker fragrance).
-You can't go wrong with a Starbucks card.
-Non-ugly things. Non-ugly under-things. Let me just go ahead and specify everything on my list is non-ugly.
-Oooooo, speaking of Starbucks, they have a really cool new water bottle. Silver and plastic. I would like one of those, please.
-Any of the Hello Kitty small appliances at Target.
-White House Black Market.
-I guess I should put Paul Frank stuff on here since I know the Pastor already got me a Paul Frank coin purse and a Paul Frank t-shirt. I went ahead and wrapped the coin purse, but then I thought hey wait a minute... I am too special and precious to have to WRAP MY OWN PRESENTS.
-The complete dvd library of Sex and the City (just what you'd expect to find on the list of a pastor's wife).
-Treadmill.

I am convinced if I had the above two items (treadmill and SATC dvd's) I would finally have the right exercise regimen.

-Anything pink and/or sparkly.

And I promise I've been (mostly) good this year.

Honor Choir 2005.  

how we spent our wedding night

The Pastor and I were talking in bed the other night.

Him: What did we do on our wedding night?

Me: Uhhhh, do you really need me to tell you?

Me: Why did I spend $125 at Frederick's of Hollywood?

Him: I mean, where did we go?

Me: Remember? We just went to my place. I guess it's a good thing we
didn't spend any money on a fancy hotel.

I beat you.

My christmas tree is up and decorated.

not the reaction I was looking for

Scene: our marital bed. I snuggle up next to the Pastor. I take my leg
and throw it over the Pastor. I literally have my leg over the Pastor's
waist. What is his response?

"I am so excited I get to go to the Society of Biblical Literature
meeting to be with Scott!!!!!"

I'm glad the Pastor is excited to go be with 4,000 other bible geeks.

Joined at the I-Pod. Wearing the WHBM sweater AGAIN!  

The Pastor is all confused. I'm trying to get him to teach the DAUGHTERS to be ladylike.  

Hello Kitty toast 

Uhhh, celebrating my half year birthday, only how come I don't get to eat any pudding?  

My latest acquisition from White House Black Market.  

New shoe alert! The nail polish is called "Crystal Ball".  

flowers from the Pastor 

Finally! I know you have been dying to see pictures of American Boy.  

Sorry, I'm so selfish, I only posted the picture that showed MY artwork.  

My psycho artwork. Notice what Pumpkin Man is going to carry his candy in... 

Are you there God? It's me Robyn!

I realized this past weekend the Pastor gets countless mentions on this blog, yet have I EVER been worked into one of his sermons? Nooooooooo! You would think something I do would be sermon-worthy. I guess he's so focused on providing a message about the Jesus-stuff that he loses sight of all the amusing anecdotes about Robyn.

Some of things the Pastor likes about me are: I smell good, constantly have on lip gloss, shave things, wax things, wear cute clothes, flat-iron my hair, paint my nails, blah blah blah blah blah. I am a LADY. 100% girly-girl. Possible reasons for this?
1. God just made me this way.
2. When you are comprised of sugar and spice and all things nice, you have the genetic coding and it just happens.
3. There's a secret female handbook that's given to you when you start menstruating (or as my Grandmother called it, men-straitin'!) and it gives you step-by-step instructions in the art of female persuasion. The book is cleverly disguised as "Are you there God? It's me Margaret." by Judy Blume.
4. I can't think of any other reasons.

The truth is, the only reason I am the way that I am is because of my parents. They bought me cute clothes from Streets Department Store, made me brush my hair and my teeth and bathe. There is no possible way I would have been allowed to burp or make any audible bodily noise without a sense of horror, shock, embarrassment and an "excuse me". I would have not been allowed to laugh out-loud at it. I was also made to sit in such a way that the whole world could not see my hoo-ha, chew with my mouth shut and you better believe I was taught how to eat in a restaurant. Apparently, you are not just born with a desire to sit with your bottom (instead of your knees) in the chair.

I have a point here. Really. The Pastor loves these qualities in me, but will allow the girls to get up, throw on any clothes regardless of match-ability and go to school without combing their hair. He says "I don't care what they wear" and "I don't care how their hair looks" and is just all laid-back about the whole thing. But really he DOES care, doesn't he? He cares about it in me. He'd care if I got up and just put on whatever and didn't brush my hair or while in the shower rub the soap on all the places it needs to be rubbed. He likes the fact that he is able to take me to a restaurant and have a pleasant dining experience with me because I use a napkin and don't get food all over myself. He likes the fact that I am not disgusting about burping, farting (I even hate the word) and picking my nose. He likes that I am quiet, sweet and docile and don't stomp through the house like an elephant.

I'm just trying to help him see that the daughters he is raising, if they continue down this path, will grow up to be women with characteristics he himself would find unattractive in a female. Just doing my part to make the world a prettier place, one that smells of Britney Spears "Curious" and is draped in the color pink.

switching gears, the gifted and talented one is getting to sing in "Honors Choir" tonight. I'm not sure about the "honors" part. I asked him what does it take to get in??? to which he replied anyone who tried out made it. Oh, I see. This morning when we left for school, he asked me "Mom, is that what you are going to wear to my program?" (Jeans and teacher's pet t-shirt.) Nope, I'll fix myself up! He then asked me if I would go get a manicure, pedicure and facial today. This kid IS a genius!

More blog fodder from the Pastor. He was asking me last night if I wanted to go to some conference with him. He had the tickets in his hand, but had thrown the seminar brochure in the garbage. He goes to retrieve the nice printed invitation out of the trash and brings it over to me. In the middle of the nice cardstock paper? His teeth marks. He had bit the invitation. I'm not sure 1. why he did this or 2. why I thought it was so funny and laughed about it for several minutes. He said it has just looked so pristine, and when you see something like that don't you just want to bite it? Uhhhh, no, not really.

He's assured me he will not leave his bite-mark on me.

I KNOW why the caged bird sings

It's 2 a.m. and I cannot sleep. I just got done watching the Pastor's
first wedding video. What a production! Complete with voice-overs and
birds in cages. The closest I came to birds at my first wedding was the
chicken served at the rehearsal dinner the night before and Mom saying
"Robyn would you please just eat the chicken and not make a big deal
over it just this once". Nope, I didn't eat the chicken.

I was a little disappointed in the Pastor's first bride. She had a
cut-out in the upper-back of her wedding dress that did allow for a
small patch of skin to show. It was probably four square inches of
skin. Gasp! With THAT kind of attitude about showing skin, she must
have made a great Nazarene pastor's wife. (Well, that is up until such
time when she ran off with the mail-man.) Let's just say that my
strapless collar-bone shoulder showing wedding gown showed a bit more
skin and must have been quite the shock to the Nazarene in-laws meeting
me for the first time. Of course I only emphasized all that skin with
all the body glitter.

In the video, the Pastor looked so young and happy and hopeful and
optimistic and and and.... Second marriages are so much sweeter than the
first. On second marriages you get someone after all of this has been
completely shattered, and they are bitter, jaded and cynical. So if you
do the slightest thing like take out the trash change the toilet paper
roll rinse a dish make a sandwich bathe get a sock within three feet of
the hamper agree to live with their children the other person thinks WOW
you are like the nicest sweetest person EVER. How did I get to be so
lucky? People have way lower standards the 2nd time around.

I still have my first wedding video too. I'm not sure why either of us
still possess such things except they are fun to watch on mute while
providing a much different commentary and you figure someone shelled out
tens of thousands of dollars for the full Mass and the birds and cherubs
and all, SOMEBODY should watch this.

Have I ever blogged about the fact that the Pastor's former wife and I
have almost the same name? My name is Robyn Renee (insert last name
here that begins with the letter R) and the Pastor's first bride's name
is R... Renee (insert the same last name as me right here).

When the Pastor and I first met, I still had another last name. I told
him hey, by the way my name is getting ready to be x and he was like NO
WAY. That is too weird and we will never be able to converse again. So
he married me.

I think the birds were singing no! don't! stop! run! there's a beautiful
single girl not but a few blocks away from here and you really don't
want to have to wait 11 hellish years to meet her in divorce recovery
group, not get her phone number and have to run into her at Wal-Mart and
be friends with her for months before you conjure up the nerve to kiss
her. You got it real close....you almost got the right name. But ROBYN
is actually the RRR you are supposed to be with. Besides, she shows a
lot more skin and is a friend to birds.

today is the first day of the rest of my life

Items needed in order to cope/recover/heal from purse altercation:
1. Margaritas.
2. Nicotine.
3. Prozac/Xanax/Zoloft... any variation of a prescription happy pill.
4. Good chocolate, the non-halloween-candy variety. Belgian chocolate.
Truffles. Godiva.
5. Small asian person with highly skilled massage technique,
manicure/pedicure implements, spa pedicure whirlpool chair and an
inability to converse with me in English.
6. Starbucks venti no water nonfat chai tea latte
with whip.
7. White House Black Market catalog AND a credit card.
8. New purse.
9. Boob job. Why not, as long as I'm throwing stuff out there?

Items available at Parsonage, and within budget:
1. Halloween candy.
2. Assortment of bibles, some in Hebrew, some in English.
3. About 50 bottles of assorted color nail polish.
4. New I-Pod, which allows you to turn up the volume to such a level
that you are unable to hear the high-pitched voices of small children or
the annoying yappy little weiner dog inhumanely chained up across the
street. (I'm coning to set you free Fido. Run Fido, run!!!)
5. Giant bean bag chair with an indentation in the middle of it which
conveniently happens to be the same size as my bottom.
6. Dozen long-stem yellow roses. The Pastor brought these home for me
today. He is a smart man, but you already knew that since he can read
the bible in Hebrew.

I'm mean and fat, but I got chills and an I-Pod

The very sweet Pastor bought me an I-Pod. He downloaded the "Grease" soundtrack on it, which is special because he had that "You're the One That I Want" song played when we had the big kiss at our wedding. You know, I got chills... they're multiplying... and I'm looooos-ing control... by the power you're supplying... it's electryfying-fyingifying. He is such a nice guy.

I'm nice too. The other day I bought him a bubble tea. Not much compared to an I-Pod, but hey... I'm trying to stay on budget here! The present I'm working on for him is a one-page credit card statement.

The Pastor and I were laying in bed. The Pastor reading bible stuff, and me clicking through my I-Pod in a rapid, ADHD fashion. I wanted to know all the songs the Pastor had downloaded. So the very first thing I did with my I-Pod was drive the Pastor crazy with my clicking and he
made me stop.

The other day I was picking up around the house and had put on a pair of sweatpants hanging up in the Pastor's closet. I. was. mortified. (I bet you are mortified just to learn that I wear sweatpants, even if it was in the privacy of my own home with no one else around.) I could not
believe that my husband's pants were tight on me. I thought "I HAVE to take these pants off before the Pastor comes home so he doesn't realize what a GIANT FATTIE I am". So I finally take off the pants, peel them off of my fat self, and thank the dear Lord, that's when I found out
they actually belong to one of the children.

What the Pastor said:
You should not post stuff on your blog about being fat. People won't appreciate it.

What I heard:
You. fat.

"American Boy" was a successful Halloween costume. The other day I painted Nate's pants with the American Boy logo. I told Nate I had just painted his pants, and let's lay them on his bed, shall we? Then they will be out of the way when daughter 1 and daughter 2 come home from school and nothing can happen to them. IF you go into your room, IF, please be mindful of the pants.

So the gifted and talented one immediately goes into his room, and sits down on the wet paint.

Nathan drew a picture of me. He called it "Mean Robyn". He drew me wearing a green shirt, and he said he did that because green is the color of my "bossy beyond belief" shirt. I put the picture on the fridge. I figure the daughters will like it.