Can't I just

dvr the New Year and watch it tomorrow???


Merry Christmess

I spent Christmas day at my parent's house, where they stuck in a dvd of converted 8mm films of my childhood Christmases.

It explained so much.

I was mesmerized by the movies. I'm pretty sure there wasn't a single shot of me in my early years where I actually looked happy. Thank God I wasn't, smiling would have just led to wrinkles. Also, it never really looked like I got the hang of crawling. No wonder I had to take College Algebra so many times.

And the parenting? My mom gave suckers to babies! Let little kids make their own chocolate milk! Took baby me camping and practically left me on a rock while dunking my brother's feet in freezing water. And the list goes on and on to include other things my own mother would have personally turned me into Child Welfare for had I even thought about trying with her precious grandson. And this one scene? She claims she was "rocking" me, but I don't know - it could have been shaken baby syndrome.

The Pastor was so transfixed by the movies it put him into a deep trance. Wait a minute, he fell asleep. All of this insight, right there in front of him, and he took a siesta. Is it any wonder he won't be able to figure out what to give me on January 6?

As if the movies weren't depressing enough, then there's all the Christmas cards and holiday letters. If you didn't get one from me, its because I don't send them out.

Somewhere around mid-December when the seasonal affective disorder is in full bloom, I get that final card/letter, the one that tips the scales and causes me to collapse in a puddle of tears. Why oh why, I lament, why don't I have a darling family with matching shirts? I think about it. I fool around with it. Look on-line at different cards. Draft up a letter. Try to put the perfect spin on my family and our events over the past year. Its complex though. With divorce and remarriage, no one is here at the same time. Its hard to include amusing anecdotes and stories about children that really do want to turn you into DHS. Then throw in the Pastor's insane work schedule, and I begin to wonder if people will think its weird for me to send out a card with only my picture on it and no words. After all, I am amazingly wrinkle-free after years of not smiling. Then I even begin to feel bad for not having at least a dog, cat or hamster to take a picture of and stick on a card. I lose the will to send cards, I lose the will to blog and end up in front of the tv where I end up watching the Duggar family with 18 kids which only makes me feel even more inadequate. To you it may be a simple holiday greeting, to me, its a downward spiral.

I'm glad the letters have finally stopped and I no longer have to dread having an anxiety attack when the mail drops through the slot.

I have ripped down the tree, but remember Santa doesn't come to see me until January 6 when the wise men went to see baby Jesus. My wise guy thinks with all this extra time he'll have a clue. He doesn't. We went to the mall together on December 26, and like the home movies he wasn't paying attention. Let me help. Pastor, that pink Coach bag you picked up? Not what I want.

In my doing research of the 12 days of Christmas to try to relate to the Pastor and help him out, I learned that the 12 days of Christmas are misunderstood and complex. Way to make it more complicated Pastor. Let's keep it simple, much like that baby born so long ago, wrapped in swaddling clothes, with a sucker in her mouth.


be like Jesus

I tend to tune out when the Pastor gets all Bible-ish, but not today. I paid attention!

Today, the Pastor (who has no doubt not bought me anything) argued that December 25 is not the day to give me a Christmas present.

First of all, he said, there's no real proof that was Jesus' birthday. OK, but who cares?

If anything, he said, it would be more appropriate to give me something on January 6, because that would approximate the date the Magi came to visit the baby. ????? Now I'm beginning to wonder if he's making this stuff up. There's no proof that Jesus was born on December 25, but we can figure out the Magi would have come 12 days later? Huh? This is quite possibly the worst abuse of his God knowledge I've seen.

While I'm not convinced, nor do I actually care enough about the specifics to research it myself, I began to wonder: what would Jesus do?

Would Jesus have wanted a gift on his birthday? There's already quite a bit of fuss on that day, and let's face it, if he's having to sleep in a stable, are there really any good stores open? Anything besides Walgreens? And if someone's going to spend the money, would you want just whatever tacky thing they decided to get you at the last minute?

Waiting until January 6 would have been a much better day for Jesus to receive a gift because, as everyone knows, babies are prettier at day 12 than day one. I've had a baby. And on day one, he was mostly just red-faced and ticked that he'd had to surface. A couple of weeks in, and the pictures of the whole gift exchange would be much better. This is probably why when you see a Nativity Scene everyone looks so nice.

While there is no way the Pastor could have convinced me Biblically or scientifically, he could convince me retail-ally. I'm not a scholar, but I know shopping. My only question was, if I wait until January 6, will I get a much better gift than what I would have received on December 25? OK, I'll take what's behind door number two.

Pastor, if you are reading this, I'm officially giving you notice you may give me my (much more spectacular) Christmas present on January 6. Of course, you'll probably have to take me to dinner that night too. I've already put it on my calendar.

And I can't wait to see what kind of argument he comes up with for Valentine's Day.

thank flu

Over four years of meetings, counting points, measuring and weighing.

Yet it only took one case of the stomach flu to finally get me the 15 pound weight loss award at Weight Watchers.

And if you think I told the receptionist who weighed me in that I'd just had the flu, you're wrong.


please make my Dad happy this Christmas

go to


search entries for

Larry Buckmark Wigeon Duck Call

and vote ***** for him please!


If he wins I'm pretty sure I don't have to get him anything for Christmas! :)

Robyn's flu diary

Day one: Sniffling, sneezing, aching, coughing, stuffy-head, fever. Nyquil coma.

Day two: Nyquil coma.

Day three: Nyquil coma.

Day four: After having trouble urinating and reading the side effects on the Nyquil bottle, no more Nyquil for me. Uh oh.

Day five: Not sure if I'm feeling better or if I'm just manic. The Pastor is coming home! He's missed my sickness. Clean my clean house. Wash sheets. Make bed for Pastor. Pretty myself up. Pastor misses flight. Just as well. I, cured from the sniffling, sneezing, aching, coughing, stuffy-head, fever, start the other kind of flu.

Day six: Wash sheets again. The Pastor comes home but I am no longer pretty but back in my pjs semi-conscious on one of our giant bean bags.

Day seven: Good news. I've lost five pounds.


What's that Lassie??? Is Timmy trapped in a well???

Not only is the Pastor confusing when he talks, he also confounds me with his silence. Not once have I ever understood his non-verbal communication.

While he was sitting on the platform where the pastors sit on Sundays, he was giving me motions and hand signals and signs. I interpreted him to be saying he needed me to get his glasses.

He needed a Kleenex.

Maybe you had to go to church on Sunday too. I bet your church didn't have a drunk man yelling throughout the service. Nothing non-verbal about that.


if you watch this

you might feel like you were almost there, part of the party

only with a much better soundtrack

Of course, I arranged the whole party - but you can guess who got the credit!



I can't imagine that anyone outside my parents has the desire to watch this thing, but here's six minutes of:

1. Me with hat & hat hair. It was so cold, I found out what evil must feel like. Two days in Salem before the Pastor's conference taught me they didn't actually burn witches at the stake, they hung them. But had anyone tried to burn me, I would have said thank you very much for trying to get me warm. I especially love all the pictures where it was more important for me to button my coat however crookedly I could rather than to risk being cold. $438 BCBG coat (ha I didn't pay that much for it on E-Bay!) with three buttons, and I can't get it right.

2. Everything I was able to see with the Pastor before and after his conference with 7,000 Bible geeks, and everything I saw by myself and convinced random strangers on the street to take my picture. Don't worry, I didn't take any candy from anyone.

3. I'm actually standing around some pretty famous stuff - Charles Dickens' mirror, the place where Nathaniel Hawthorne hung out, where President Kennedy proposed to Jackie, blah blah blah.

4. No wonder the Pilgrims settled here. Its a magical land, with a Dunkin' Donuts on every corner. The Pastor said it was the closest I would ever get to to getting my double d's. Not a terribly funny joke, but when you're around this many Bible geeks, it doesn't take much to look like a stand-up comic. On the flip side, what were you Pilgrims thinking? If it were ever up to me to settle a new land, if I got off the boat in December and it felt like 20 below freezing, I'd get back on the boat. Actually it would be more realistic to say that I'd never have gotten on the small, smelly boat to begin with.

5. $31 to ride a train, $20 in cab fair, $6 at Dunkin' Donuts - $57 total for the biggest disappointment ever - Plymouth Rock. A mere pebble which is such a lame rock it even cracked and had to be glued back together and cannot actually be traced back to the Pilgrims. Its a farce! It was actually more exciting (and cheaper) to watch the street fight we saw in front of our hotel.

6. Everything I ate. I had to store some fat for warmth. What else could I do, wandering around Boston by myself without the Pastor to keep me warm while he was listening to the Scholars. Bisque and coffee helped.

If you have the patience to watch through to the end, there's actually a picture of me without my hat, and I almost look pretty.


its like the mother ship calling me home

Hi from Salem, Massachusetts.

My horoscope, pardon me - my Glamourscope - says "If life were a prom, you'd so be voted queen right now."

Things are pretty good. At the B&B we are at, they had apple pie for breakfast. Its all fun and games til I get back on the scale next week.


I'm still eating Halloween candy!!!

I thought I had a few more weeks left to be naughty.

No such luck.

It started on Friday when I went to the mall.

Santa was there! Already! On November 14!!!! And he waved at me, signaling he clearly knows me and is watching.

I went home and put up my Christmas tree. And wrapped my presents. I didn't know what else to do. Don't hate me because I'm beautiful, hate me because I'm finished.


life, liberty and the pursuit of shoes

Are you tired of the same old choices? Do you want a candidate that represents the issues that are important to you? Ladies and gentlemen, there's a new party in town...and it's hot! Vote Carrie Bradshaw for a more stylish America!

Carrie Bradshaw has a plan for this nation--from the downtrodden masses to the wealthy elite, she intends to bring fashion to the people, one closet, one wardrobe, one person at a time!


Want to know if Carrie Bradshaw is the right candidate for you? Check out her positions on the biggest issues:

Carrie on the Economy:

"I like my money right where I can see it... hanging in my closet."

Carrie on Technology:

"I don't believe in email. I'm an old-fashioned girl. I prefer calling and hanging up."

Carrie on Civil Rights:

"Maybe the best any of us can do is not quit, play the hand we've been given, and accessorize with the outfit we've got."

Carrie on Violence in Film and Television:

"Welcome to the age of un-innocence. No one has breakfast at Tiffany's, and no one has affairs to remember."

Carrie on Housing and Urban Development:

"Beauty is fleeting, but a rent-controlled apartment overlooking the park is forever."

Carrie on Animal Rights:

"You can't be friends with a squirrel! A squirrel is just a rat in a cuter outfit."

Carrie on Marriage:

"If you're single, after graduation there isn't one occasion where people celebrate you. Hallmark doesn't make a 'congratulations, you didn't marry the wrong guy' card. And where's the flatware for going on vacation alone?"


four college degrees and he couldn't figure this one out

Pastor: I've been watching you sort the (Halloween) candy and I can't figure out how you're doing it. What are you doing?

Me: This pile is candy I like (chocolate, blow pops and sweet tarts) and this pile is candy I don't like (tootsie rolls, laffy taffy, nerds).

I can't believe he even had to ask!


to 32B or not to 32B

Pastor: I like you better when you blog. Why aren't you blogging?

Me: Actually, I am working on a little something now. A couple of entries as a matter of fact.

Pastor: Oh yeah?

Me: Yep, I'm writing about how I want boobs.

Pastor: Well, don't talk about that!


OK, I won't talk about it. Directly. Its not like he made me swear on a Bible or anything. Ha!

I need to get this off my chest. Let's just get it out in the open. Because IF I were to do anything (and that's a very big IF), then you would notice. Let's not pretend.

Several incidents have occurred over the past few weeks which have made me desire slightly different, larger pieces of certain parts of my anatomy. Thing number one, I saw a picture of myself (no I won't be posting it). I was practically concave, and it wasn't my stomach.

Thing number two, I had a doctor's appointment last week, and the doctor asked me (jokingly) if I was planning on getting "that surgery" right after the first of the year. Ha ha. I explained to him it had crossed my heart before, but then I heard pain was involved. But the doctor said it would be easy-peasy for me. Two peas. My pods.

Sold! Of course, this is the same man who convinced me that having a baby was no big deal. Come to think of it, he was right! Having a baby was totally not a big deal!

Thing number three, the normally fun experience of shopping turned painful. For years I have thought there was some kind of conspiracy by manufacturers of certain articles of clothing. They didn't want me to have pretty things. Do you have any idea how much trouble I've had to go to to assemble my collection of no beiges and no whites allowed? But then when I actually did need a beige one, I realized it wasn't a conspiracy to keep me away from the pretty. It was a conspiracy to prevent me from owning this article of clothing altogether.

There's nothing more humiliating than a grown woman having to shop where they sell Mary Kate & Ashley's clothing.

Oh wait, but there is.

Then I got to go for my first ever photo session where they take parts of your body and squish and smash them and then take the pictures. The tech was showing me what to do, and how I'd have to hoist myself up on the shelf. Hoist. Thanks, but I don't think we'll be needing a crane here.

And finally, there are the upcoming holidays. You think holidays with your family are stressful? My family of origin has a garage decorated in autographed calendars. Let's just say they are not of Mother Theresa or Princess Di. While your family might gift Hickory Farms, at my parents it might be a mousepad or a shirt from that owl-themed restaurant chain or even better, something someone had to go to the owl-themed restaurant chain to purchase and have autographed. With every scrap of wrapping paper tossed on the floor, there goes another little piece of my self-esteem.

They have good curly fries, by the way.

I'm sure if I were to do anything, and again its a very big if, it would be the first in many flaws to be addressed. Don't even get me started about my internal problems. I'm just a little bit concerned that while watching television today I completely ignored a commercial about starving children overseas, but jotted down the phone number for the belly buster ball.

Yep, I'm seriously flawed.


and this little piggy went wee wee wee all the way home

I would have run away from home today

except my high heels were killing me

wow that's almost a haiku

I bet I can turn it into a haiku:

would have run away
cept my high heels killing me
sigh no where to go

I believe its either a vast conspiracy, involving everyone I came into contact with today ticking me off, or I have pms. Only time will tell. Did I mention I'm writing this as I finish a piece of chocolate cake?


his and hers

what he's reading

what I'm reading

And I just finished "Twilight" by Stephenie Meyer. Yummy!



Even though yesterday I went with the J Crew orange hammered silk top (btw, I officially want all my clothes to be made from hammered silk. According to Mom, it felt just like my baby blanket.) J Crew Jeans and pumpkin heels, I may make the rest of this week a BCBG week.

Of course it looks fantastic. Its a $240 dress! I (the Pastor) paid less than 10% of that. TJ Maxx.

Pastor's office. Trust me, I'm the most non-boring thing in the place. A beacon of light amongst the shelves of Bible books.


while you were sleeping


That's what I heard the Pastor scream.

What's the matter?

You know those little band-aids, the ones that are about the size of a nickle? The Pastor had ripped one off of his sexy, muscular man arm, taking a few hairs with it.

And you know what he said to me?

"Do you have any idea how much that hurt????"

Really! I think I just might. Tweezers, anyone? Hot wax? A LASER BEAM SEARING THE HAIR FROM THE VIRGIN FLESH OF YOUR INNER THIGH???

I'm blogging this in bed and the Pastor is next to me trying to sleep in spite of his painful band-aid wound. I have an urge to suddenly develop some of that bedside manner he claims I lack and doctor him up - with a few band-aids of course.


You know why I was so happy?

Because I wasn't spending time each day looking for either 1. my cell phone 2. my other cell phone 3. the Pastor's cell phone 4. my sunglasses.

Even then I knew I had to have a big ring.

But what's with my giant head? Oh how I long for the day when it was my head, and not my butt, that was disproportionately larger than the rest of my body.

I still have the dress.

I'd probably still be able to fit into it, if I'd just quit eating the Mexican food.

I still have the same haircut.

I married a hobo.

Wouldn't be so bad except for the fact that this was on a couch at the mall - my special place.

action photo


Can't believe

I forgot to post this picture.

I love this silk dress from several weeks ago. International Concepts. And the best part? I paid $9.99.

I found this pic in my e-mail! I'm finally cleaning out my e-mail.

This means if you've sent me an email in the past couple of months, I'm finally on top of it!


Mazel Tov!

What does one wear to a Complete the Torah celebration?

I wore my Nine West blue floral peasant dress.

he didn't drop it

The Pastor claims he went to witness an historical event.

I know better. The guy will do anything for a free t-shirt and free Kosher Chinese buffet.

worst case scenario

Yesterday, while you were watching Nascar or taking a nap, I was hangin' with the Jews.

We attended the "Completing the Torah Celebration."

This guy in the pic was flown in from Israel to complete the Torah. To finish writing the Torah in Hebrew on a giant roll of paper. To finish writing it with people looking right over his shoulder. Sometimes, with a camera hovering right over his shoulder. Oh, and if even one letter is missing, the whole thing is garbage.

me: What if makes a mistake?

Pastor: He won't.

me: But what if he does?

Pastor: He won't.

me: But he's a human. What if he screws up?

Pastor: He won't.

me: But what if he sneezes, and it jerks his hand?

Pastor: He won't.

me: But what if he smears?

Pastor: He won't.

me: Why are they waiting for the ink to dry? Why don't they just get a hairdryer?

Pastor: (giving me a dirty look and ignoring me.)

me: What if they drop it?

Pastor: They won't drop it.

me: What if they tear it?

Pastor: They won't.


I don't care what he says. I bet there's a "Completing the Torah: Worst Case Scenario Guide."

If not, I'm writing it.


seize the outfit

I keep them hidden in my bedroom.

No one knows where they are but me. When I'm all alone, I pull them out from underneath the mattresses and lust over the dog-eared slick pages. Completely buying into the fantasy. If anyone should barge in on my private time, I quickly hide the evidence.

Its the J. Crew Fall Look Book and catalog.

When flipping through Vogue or In Style, I'll become captivated with a certain look. A hairstyle. Certain make-up. Fold down the corners of pages. Hang ripped out pages on my bathroom mirror or fridge. And I follow through. I don't turn down a corner and never look back. Sadly, this is one area of my life where I don't drop the ball. Returning library books on time? No thanks. Booking a hotel room for a trip? Nope. Having the exact same make-up as Sarah Jessica Parker on the cover of Glamour? That becomes my life's mission. Last month, when Kate Moss was on the cover of Vogue I completely replicated her make-up. Easy-peasy. She wears Rimmel cosmetics and that's about the cheapest make-up on the planet.

But I cannot recall ever being so captivated by anything as I've been with J. Crew's catalog and the "5 Days in Prague" theme. I want to walk the cobbled streets of Prague wearing rhubarb cords and the Lydia bright saffron blouse and burnt sienna heels. (That would tick the Pastor off because at some point in our Prague story we'd be running to catch a train and there I'd be in heels). (He'd leave me there.) (A backpack and sleeping in a hostel matches none of these outfits.) But still, I long to hug a lamppost in the street while wearing the Velvet Ecole Jacket and matchstick jeans. I've been to this part of the world before with the Pastor, and believe me, it wasn't a fantasyland where I look adorable. It involved some sort of cheap synthetic fabric I could wash out in the sink of a train station, dirty hair and no makeup.

In part my fascination is because gray has long been my favorite color. I love love love love love gray. Now I have these lovely catalogs filled with not only gray, but pairing it with something I can only refer to as "baby poo yellow." I suppose since I love it so much I should find something else to call it besides "baby poo." J. Crew calls it "Golden Yellow Maple."

And are these even good colors for the fair and blonde? Gray and baby poo? This color palette sounds like something you'd be more likely to find in a woman's prison than a preppy store.

Its not so much having the particular J. Crew pieces as it is emulating the overall look. I'm fine to have a J. Crew piece here and there (bought on clearance and using my student i.d. for an additional 15% discount - yet another reason I love J. Crew). I picked up a baby poo bag at T J Maxx that fits in. A pair of super marked down $7 "burnt sienna" patent heels at Ross. Ballet flats from Goodwill.

I must admit, I've volunteered at the Church of the Poor and Homeless three times this week and I felt a wee bit guilty, at least 15% guilty, that I looked like a J. Crew model (well, an older, fatter J. Crew model) when most of the people there hadn't even gotten to shower. In a long time. I was a shameless shirt repeater and wore my "Seize the Day" shirt. One of the homeless men was talking to me about my shirt and said I should get one that said "Seize the Moment." Hmmm, it would be a lot less work.

Anyway, I know this is true love. I've never felt this way before. Its really going to last this time.

Until the Winter catalog comes out.

I'll move on. Its not completely vapid and meaningless. In a few months, expect some very stylish homeless people.


double dip

see how teeny I am

Its partially an optical illusion because the sundaes are so big

dont worry, I didn't eat it all

the devil doesn't scare me

but the nutrition facts would

for this I paid an admission?

the goats wouldn't even look at me

my heels did not impress them

never ever ever

let a man so susceptible to informercials and commercials roam free at the State Fair

he will buy gadgets

but look at how happy he is

You know why he's happy?

He didn't wear heels to the State Fair and he won't have to exercise for two hours tomorrow to make up for all the junk he ate.

in my defense

the tights looked perfectly respectable and in style with the outfit as a whole

but I must admit, sitting on a bale of hay, this is pretty interesting State Fair attire

I'm pretty sure I was the only person at the State Fair with heels on.

the great state fair

No redneck costumes this year. We just went as ourselves. Whatever that is.


the way I see it

the cup says:

The Way I See It #275

When I wake up in the morning,

I want to know that my family,

friends and fans know what I

believe in and what I'm all about.

That's what should be important.


If I made a cup, it would say:

The Way I See It

When I wake up in the morning,

I don't know my name, my family,

friends, what I believe in

and what I'm all about.

That's why coffee is important.


I don't really care about the cup. I just wanted you to see my dark and lovely nail polish. OPI "You don't know Jacques" from the Paris collection. You and I both know the nail polish color name is as important as the nail polish itself.

Italian Wedding Cake

This dessert really looks like a hot mess. This isn't what I wish I had a picture of. Better pictures to have would include:

1. Picture of the look I must have given the Pastor when he told the waitress we wanted the check and didn't want dessert. Of course the waitress raced off before he could rectify the situation.

2. Picture of the Pastor running across the restaurant after I gave him the look to retrieve the waitress and a dessert.


Ghirardelli brownies I made.

Best brownies ever.

shoes so fantastic they got their own email

These are my Monday shoes.

This is the email they got:

"Those shoes you had on today were great! You are ALWAYS so stylish!"

blue Monday

I was almost a respectable Pastor's wife. Except for my nearly black nail polish and my showing shoulders. So close.


The Pastor preached on Cain & Abel. Fratricide. Blah blah blah. You know the story. What you don't know is what I wore. BCBG kimono dress. And these fabulous silver snake-y sandals. And my white and black pearls. Red patent Coach for a pop of color which was my "get well soon" present from the Pastor.

Perhaps a bit over the top for the Church of the Homeless and Addicted, but my Grandma would have been proud.

my American Idol

David Cook posing for me.

Only for me.

American Idol concert

The illuminated being is either Jason Castro or Jesus Christ. I'm not sure.

its times like this

When I can actually think a teeny tiny part of him looks like me. Unfortunately, it's only the part holding the dessert plate.

my little baby

American Idol concert night.

He claimed it was "the best night of his life."

yet another J Crew shirt

American Idol pre-concert eats at The Melting Pot.


saith the Pastor

"I don't understand why you are huffy with me just because I was unkind to you today."

Go figure.

Then he probably will also not understand that Discover card transaction at J Crew.

His Ph.D. wasn't in women's studies.


Exodus 9

In bed.

Apparently, I am competing with Exodus 9 tonight.

Guess I should look that one up. Must be one heck of a Biblical Text chapter.


Holly and the threesome

The Pastor Professor's first day of school was today. When he asked his students to say something they learned this summer, a newlywed remarked she had learned she could maybe, probably live with a boy.

Later this afternoon, I stopped by the Pastor Professor's new office, which he considers to be some sort of holy shrine. He wants you to take your shoes off before you enter. He won't let you set a large Pepsi icee on his desk. He asked me if I had any idea how tranquil and peaceful it felt to have your space so organized.

As a matter of fact, I recall such a feeling. It was about four weeks ago, when he was in Israel and there was not a speck out of place in my home. But strangely - mysteriously - over the past few weeks, piles of books, clothes, Mountain Dew cans and miscellaneous debris have slowly accumulated, blocking out my peace and tranquility.

But back to his office. Is there a picture of Robyn by herself? No. Are there only pictures of Robyn with the Pastor? Yes. Are there any big pictures of Robyn? No. Aren't I as proportionally important as that frame holding his Ph.D.?

But HOLLY has a picture by herself. HOLLY, some high school girlfriend. HOLLY, who's picture turned up when it mysteriously fell out of some old book he was allegedly discarding. He'd put HOLLY'S found picture out to see if I'd notice. I did. And I thought I was the Pastor's first blonde love after Smurfette.

As I leave his office to go home, I get a text message that says "move out" - what? What's up with that? Turns out he was sending a rather long text message to someone else and he forwarded it to me, so I'd know what was going on, but the message came to me in two parts. Out of order I had received the tail end of the message.

Then I had the pleasure of calling Satan's Minion's working at the cable company. God forbid - me, the lady of the house, might have a question about her husband's affairs. Shouldn't I be making dinner or vacuuming? It was beyond comprehension for multiple cable company employees that I might have a different last name as my husband. I'm the one who set up the account! Believe me, the Pastor would never have authorized a DVR! Don't you people know how lucky you are? One of the employees actually told me maybe, probably I should have changed my name to his to avoid confusion. I ended up three-waying the conversation, calling the Pastor who had to give me permission to talk about our account. So much for feeling like the empowered, modern woman who kept her name and identity. But I did get a credit on our account.

Some people may have figured out they can maybe, probably live with a boy. Me, I'm not so sure. The DVR box is easier to figure out.


Mom, here's how my hair turned out.

I had the picture taken from the back because
(1) after surgery, my face too closely resembles the one in my painting. : ( Ugh.
(2) the hair turned out fabulous.

notice anything missing?

The offending gallbladder. Gone.

giant carrot cake

That's what it says on the receipt.

$10, btw.

Totally worth it.

Don't worry, I shared.

Shakespeare in the Park

Last weekend.

Richard III. Ehhhhhhh.

International Concepts tunic.

cute casual day outfit

Nine West silk top
Limited jeans
Isaac Mizrahi black patent flats
also carried giant red handbag

look at these!

wore these on a date to the Cheesecake Factory

Target silver ballet slippers

I have decided

to start taking pictures of some of my cute things, for all the world to see.

Bandolino Gray Pumps. Aren't they pretty?

for my Dad

Proof positive. I know how to make Eggs Benedict.

No more wire hangers!

What's that? Something from your gallbladder surgery? Nope. Picture I took a few weeks ago after 75% off sale at Macy's. Wire hangers are bad.


I just couldn't be happier

Everyone at my house is miserable.

Except me.

Back to school! Off they go!

I can't tell you how warm and fuzzy I feel inside. I have a stack of ten library books, a Vogue and new fall makeup to play with.


look! new!

my new maxandcleo dress
my old lady pearls I got at an old lady's garage sale
my old Nine West pumps
my old robin egg blue chair with room for two
my old Pastor
and my new painting



Can you tell?

Is it a boy?

Is it a girl?

I have something growing inside me!

Its 1.6 centimeters, which isn't terribly large, but apparently when you have something roughly the size of a thumbnail on something roughly the size of a kiwi its a big deal.

Congratulations! It's gallstones, but it's not unlike being pregnant. The biggest one is like an alien growing inside me. I got to have an ultrasound. Its a gamble every time I eat something - maybe things will work out, or maybe it will be barf-tastic.

I'm not a gambler. I was raised in one of those houses where cards were of the Devil. I don't even know how to play Solitaire. (I just had to Google how to spell Solitaire because I didn't even know how to spell it.) So I'm going to let modern medicine handle this one.

Unlike the Pastor who is being completely psychotic about a mole on the back of his leg. Foregoing Western Medicine, and not asking Jesus to heal him, he is trying to rid himself of this mole. With wart remover. Only due to the God-given placement of the mole, he cannot reach it himself, hence the flaw in his cure.

He has to rely on me.

He'd be better off asking Jesus.

The daily mole healing involves him barking at me, much like a neurosurgeon scolding a nurse, except his is admonishing me on how to properly apply a band-aid he has, I promise you, punched a hole out of with my hole puncher, and apply Dr. Scholl's wart remover. Don't some moles turn out to be skin cancer? Am I wrong here? Is it safe to treat something that could someday in the teeniest tiniest realm of possibility turn out to be cancer with anything made by Dr. Scholl's, the same brand name that's on my Paul Frank shoes?

I know what this is all about. I've seen this type of male behavior before. Men are prone to this sort of thing. The Pastor is very competitive and I'm sure at some level he had to find something to make a big deal about - his mole - in order to compete with my gallstones.

But I don't care. I have fantastic news! The numbers I've been seeing on the scale. Completely opposite of pregnancy. What's a little acute abdominal pain, nausea and vomiting when you can be really thin? My clothes have never fit better. But maybe the weight loss isn't gallbladder related. Maybe its just the stress of the Pastor coming home, his little piles of stuff all over the house (which I'm sure if a neurosurgeon could look into his brain would tell me he has little piles of chaos going on in there to match) and the stress of having to deal with his mole.

Wish me luck. With the mole, that is. I'm sure my surgery will be a piece of cake. The kind I can temporarily not eat.


Journey to the Center of Stupidity

You are welcome. I saw this movie, and now you don't have to! Send me the $10 and save two hours of your life if you like.

I like Brendan Fraser. Adorable! In fact, the name "Brendan Fraser (insert Nate's last name here)" made the short list of baby names when I was pregnant about a million years ago.

First of all, I live in a city that's not important enough to get the movie in 3D. We got it in 2D. Of course this was confusing to the kids that we were going to see a 2D movie. What's that? Uhhhh, it's just a normal movie. It was totally obvious where the cheesy 3D effects would have been. Oh look, a yo-yo. Birds flying. Dandelions being blown. Fish jumping out of the water. But even funny glasses wouldn't have saved this one.

C'mon! They journey to the center of the Earth. There are polarity issues - North is South and South is North. Huh? They are in a magnetic field. They are in a middle Earth ocean being attacked by flying fish. There are dinosaurs.

And what happens? A cell phone rings! Someone has somehow installed a cell phone tower, and the dinosaurs haven't toppled it over! I wonder which cell phone company claims middle Earth on their coverage map?

I can suspend reality on a lot of things, but cell phone coverage is not one of them. I can drive two miles from my house, and there's a black hole for cell phone coverage. Every time I have driven through that intersection while on any phone, the call drops. But maybe that's because I live in a city that isn't even special enough for 3D.

Oh, and that whole polarity thing, that's just weird. I'm so bad with directions I wonder if things would finally make sense if I traveled to the center of the Earth.

But who knows. Maybe I'm just writing a bad movie review because I'm cranky from the low-fat diet. I just had a yummy dinner of fat-free plain yogurt, banana and kiwi. Beats another gallbladder attack. And this movie.


What happens in Vegas

stays in your gallbladder and clogs it up in a very bad way.

Are you really surprised? Did you see what I had to eat? Can you imagine what I ate that I was too embarrassed to photograph? And you thought the worst thing I did was outlet mall shop.

The funny thing is, it hasn't bothered me to eat chips and salsa, french fries, burritos, cheese, etc. What has set me off? Things like cucumbers. Broccoli. Pecans.

You know I was sick. This is how you know. I did something I have never ever ever done. I had to miss a hair appointment. You don't mess with the hairdresser. Looks like someone is going to get an extra big tip and a Dr. Pepper for the reschedule.

The doctors suggestion? Perhaps you could eat some shredded wheat with no milk for breakfast. Wow! What a fantastic idea! Wait a minute, that's what I already eat for breakfast! Exactly 25 squares, while the Pastor gets to eat things like 5 Eggs Benedict. Or leftover bar-b-q. I don't eat meat, pork, chicken, onions and about a million other things. I hardly have any dairy. OK, I blew it in Vegas and I am obviously being punished.

What a better excuse to sit around and watch the E! True Hollywood Story on Britney Spears. And I wanted to lose few pounds anyway.

The absolute worst thing about having to make an emergency visit to the hospital? The Pastor gone and all those cute firefighters in my immaculate house, and me flat on the bathroom tile (thank you, cleaning lady) in the Pastor's Duke University t-shirt with throw-up in my hair already sporting unsightly roots.

I. could. have. died. right. then. and. there.



the video is not good

stupid I Phone

maybe its better our faces our blurred, identities concealed

start spreading the news

While the Pastor is teaching Bible in Jerusalem, I took Nate for a mom/son va-ca to Las Vegas.

1. Sin City. It is a sin to eat that much food. Am now thinking there must be some ministerial/missionary opportunity there. Take all the hungry people to Las Vegas? They've got plenty of food there.

2. If you don't see me in many of the pictures, its because I didn't want to be photographed eating that much.

3. I didn't get picked for The Price is Right. Nate was so disappointed.

4. New York New York is such a big hotel, there are three full size Starbucks in it. Real Starbucks. Not that "we proudly brew" stuff. 100% Authentic. (I got another city mug!)

5. Coach Outlet. Gap Outlet. Pac Sun Outlet. Hurley Outlet. J Crew Outlet. BCBG Outlet! Sorry Pastor. But I am saving all sorts of money on mexican food while you are gone.

6. I'm pretty sure I earned an activity point just walking from our hotel room to the elevators. We practically needed a tram for the journey. How can a hotel be that big? Anyway, all the activity points in the world don't matter when you eat french fries three times in as many days. (OK, there was cheese on some of the fries.) That's more times than I get to eat french fries in a year.

7. M&M World! Who knew there was so much junk in the world with the M&M logo on it? Coca Cola World II! What kid needs to go to two Coca Cola Worlds in one summer?

8. Those hotel glasses I'm not going to drink out of? Perfect for organizing my toiletries!


the incredible shrinking woman

My bum was mysteriously smaller today.

Its probably just hiding.


That'll teach him.

I'll show the Pastor what I think about him going somewhere without me.

This isn't what our bedroom looked like before he left.

But he'll probably be more curious to find out where all his clothes went.

Extreme Home Makeover: Parsonage Edition

Where the television formerly resided. Now the Pastor will just have to look at me.