The Pastor preached today and we took Communion at the end of the service with Matzah bread (crackers) and grape Crystal Light.
After church the Pastor and I helped a woman who, let's say, was high on life. We were tipped off to this by her demeanor on the front pew and her walking in and out of the service approximately 82 times. One of the times she came back in her hair was soaking wet. She had put her head in the sink (let's hope). Was she hot? Did she baptize herself? I don't know.
When we were helping this lady out, she explained she had just gotten out of rehab and was feeling sick. The Pastor expressed his concern for her nausea. She said, "It's okay now, those crackers helped."
Later the Pastor told me now we have proof of the "saving efficacy" of Communion. I believe the Pastor is that much closer to becoming a televangelist.
6.14.2009
6.12.2009
no animals, Pastor, Camper Barbie or voodoo dolls were harmed in the making of this film
OK, the Pastor may have hurt just a little at the Coach store.
After we survived the camping, the Pastor and I got re-married at Voodoo Doughnuts. I was much more prepared this time with the vows.
After we survived the camping, the Pastor and I got re-married at Voodoo Doughnuts. I was much more prepared this time with the vows.
6.11.2009
I've never been a big fan of the natural look.
Nothing like a few hundred camping pictures to make a girl feel like she needs plastic surgery.
6.09.2009
Ritz Carlton
Even though I spend hours a day in my bathroom at home, the Pastor doesn't seem to understand why I don't wake up beautiful at the campsite.
Can't you even try for this picture? ??? was one of the comments. Uhhhhh, no I can't. I realize you are a man and you look the same when you wake up as you do when you go to bed and all the moments in between, but I haven't showered. I haven't washed my hair in three days, and while Jesus was able to rise from the dead after three days, I am unable to make myself look any better.
On this trip I have received further proof that God is a woman.
After days of being a good little camper and sleeping in a sleeping bag in a tent, we went to the next campground. We were hoping for a YURT but the Ranger (God's Angel) rewarded me with a deluxe cabin he'd just had a last minute cancellation on - the Ritz Carlton of all camping. Come to find out, the cabin has such amenities as running water, a toilet, a hot shower and most importantly - it's completely adorable.
campfire girl
Robyn's animal sightings:
-bunnies
-raccoon
-sea lions
-sea monster
-butterfly
Thankfully I have not seen any bears.
And the Pastor, who is by far the most impatient person I know, turns out he will spend all the time it takes to toast a marshmallow. I didn't know people did this. I was raised differently - I only knew one way to toast a marshmallow - set it on fire.
-bunnies
-raccoon
-sea lions
-sea monster
-butterfly
Thankfully I have not seen any bears.
And the Pastor, who is by far the most impatient person I know, turns out he will spend all the time it takes to toast a marshmallow. I didn't know people did this. I was raised differently - I only knew one way to toast a marshmallow - set it on fire.
6.07.2009
it's always something
Camping.
Yes, camping.
In the German forest, there were black lizards.
In Costa Rica, more lizards and snakes.
The Oregon Coast?
Slugs.
Not teeny tiny slugs. Slugs the size of human appendages, with giant human-seeking tentacles. I'm sure they are coming after me.
And the Pastor? He can't be happy that I'm sleeping in a tent on the ground in a sleeping bag and why not jog up this giant sand dune while you are at it!!!
Nope, he wants me to hike up slug lane too.
I have on my Tom's. They are thin-soled, and I wonder how it's going to feel when I squish one. I don't have on socks and I envision slug juice will soil my ankles.
You do not have to worry about such things on the treadmill.
Luckily, he just preached on forgivesness.
Yes, camping.
In the German forest, there were black lizards.
In Costa Rica, more lizards and snakes.
The Oregon Coast?
Slugs.
Not teeny tiny slugs. Slugs the size of human appendages, with giant human-seeking tentacles. I'm sure they are coming after me.
And the Pastor? He can't be happy that I'm sleeping in a tent on the ground in a sleeping bag and why not jog up this giant sand dune while you are at it!!!
Nope, he wants me to hike up slug lane too.
I have on my Tom's. They are thin-soled, and I wonder how it's going to feel when I squish one. I don't have on socks and I envision slug juice will soil my ankles.
You do not have to worry about such things on the treadmill.
Luckily, he just preached on forgivesness.
5.31.2009
once upon a summer
I'm cleaning out my iPhoto cache. You might find this hard to believe, but I've got a stash of too many pics in my cache.
So here, from the "best of Robyn & the Pastor" is the summer we went to Kosovo and backpacked across Europe. Also known as "that time I got to see a cow get slaughtered right in front of my eyes."
In other words, dozens of pictures of me with curly un-flat-ironed hair and a lack of wardrobe choices and makeup. Except for the pics (red shirt) when I got to dress up like a Kosovo bride. The bridal look in Kosovo is much, much different than it is here.
And this was the debut of my favorite travel accessory, the blue Victoria's Secret sweatshirt.
So here, from the "best of Robyn & the Pastor" is the summer we went to Kosovo and backpacked across Europe. Also known as "that time I got to see a cow get slaughtered right in front of my eyes."
In other words, dozens of pictures of me with curly un-flat-ironed hair and a lack of wardrobe choices and makeup. Except for the pics (red shirt) when I got to dress up like a Kosovo bride. The bridal look in Kosovo is much, much different than it is here.
And this was the debut of my favorite travel accessory, the blue Victoria's Secret sweatshirt.
here I am to worship
Church has quickly fallen apart this morning.
The mentally handicapped woman has demanded we pray for all the awful cartoons on tv.
And another lady stepped out of the service for a smoke break and broke her flip flop.
As for me? I'm clearly blogging during the service.
The mentally handicapped woman has demanded we pray for all the awful cartoons on tv.
And another lady stepped out of the service for a smoke break and broke her flip flop.
As for me? I'm clearly blogging during the service.
5.29.2009
cheap & common
Wedding tonight.
The officiant said "Wedding rings are made out of precious metals. They are neither cheap or common."
Uh oh.
The Pastor's wedding ring? He bought it off ebay from a guy who made it in his garage.
Cheap and common.
The officiant said "Wedding rings are made out of precious metals. They are neither cheap or common."
Uh oh.
The Pastor's wedding ring? He bought it off ebay from a guy who made it in his garage.
Cheap and common.
5.24.2009
grocery list squared
the myth of scarcity vs. the Pastor at the grocery store
GROCERY LIST ITEMS
Pink Lady apples
Special K cereal
fat free milk
bananas
ACTUAL ITEMS PURCHASED BY THE PASTOR WHO HAS BEEN INCESSANTLY REMINDING ME ABOUT THE BUDGET
6 frozen pizzas
Special K cereal
another box of Special K cereal
a super-sized bag of some generic Cap'n Crunch cereal (perfect for the downwardly mobile, smaller house with no room for storage of bulk-sized items) (btw, I don't have room for one box of cereal much less two plus a giant bag) (btw, did I mention it's hard to find room for anything when you are storing 24 jars of peanut butter???)
bananas
banana smoothie mix
eggs
more bread (I still haven't recovered from the bread he bought during the infamous Peanut Butter episode)
tomato cages
2 bean burritos with no onions from Taco Bell but he ate them before he came home and didn't call me and ask me if I wanted one
GROCERY LIST ITEMS
Pink Lady apples
Special K cereal
fat free milk
bananas
ACTUAL ITEMS PURCHASED BY THE PASTOR WHO HAS BEEN INCESSANTLY REMINDING ME ABOUT THE BUDGET
6 frozen pizzas
Special K cereal
another box of Special K cereal
a super-sized bag of some generic Cap'n Crunch cereal (perfect for the downwardly mobile, smaller house with no room for storage of bulk-sized items) (btw, I don't have room for one box of cereal much less two plus a giant bag) (btw, did I mention it's hard to find room for anything when you are storing 24 jars of peanut butter???)
bananas
banana smoothie mix
eggs
more bread (I still haven't recovered from the bread he bought during the infamous Peanut Butter episode)
tomato cages
2 bean burritos with no onions from Taco Bell but he ate them before he came home and didn't call me and ask me if I wanted one
5.18.2009
I'm a doctor, not a movie watcher!
Yep, I'm still going to movies.
I've pretty much given up on the Pastor though. He's about the worst person in the world to go to the movies with. First and foremost, if he can't fast forward through the thing at 4x speed, he's not interested.
In the eight months before I started dating the Pastor, I saw more than 30 movies. In the four months after I started dating the Pastor, I saw two. Besides, we have much different tastes in movies. Various movie dates with him have included Hotel Rwanda and The Boy in the Striped Pajamas.
I went to see Star Trek this weekend.
I've never been a big fan of the whole it's-the-future-so-let's-all-wear-the-same-thing, but this movie may have converted me. Red minidress! Yes please! Knee high boots! Dangling earrings! And the Starfleet brooch! You've got to love a future existence where you can be beamed from planet to planet and you still get to wear accessories.
I really liked the movie, although I must admit I had to think pretty hard about some things. Me trying to figure out sci-fi? That's up there on the same level as me trying to interpret the Old Testament. There are some things best left to the experts.
And the rest of us can go to the movies.
I've pretty much given up on the Pastor though. He's about the worst person in the world to go to the movies with. First and foremost, if he can't fast forward through the thing at 4x speed, he's not interested.
In the eight months before I started dating the Pastor, I saw more than 30 movies. In the four months after I started dating the Pastor, I saw two. Besides, we have much different tastes in movies. Various movie dates with him have included Hotel Rwanda and The Boy in the Striped Pajamas.
I went to see Star Trek this weekend.
I've never been a big fan of the whole it's-the-future-so-let's-all-wear-the-same-thing, but this movie may have converted me. Red minidress! Yes please! Knee high boots! Dangling earrings! And the Starfleet brooch! You've got to love a future existence where you can be beamed from planet to planet and you still get to wear accessories.
I really liked the movie, although I must admit I had to think pretty hard about some things. Me trying to figure out sci-fi? That's up there on the same level as me trying to interpret the Old Testament. There are some things best left to the experts.
And the rest of us can go to the movies.
5.15.2009
chemical reaction
I remember very little about any science education I may have had.
In Junior High, I remember one boy I had a crush on in Science. And I remember a never-ending fear that when called upon to read out loud from a chapter, I would accidentally say "orgasm" instead of "organism."
High School? Did I take a Science class in High School?
In College, I remember one boy I had a crush on in a Science class.
I'm wishing I would have paid more attention. To class. Not boys.
I'm no longer worried about saying orgasm out loud, but I am scared to color my own hair. Really scared. Like more scared than I was to give birth scared. It's hair, and a bunch of chemicals. What's the big deal, right?
As I type I have two band-aids on my arm (skin tests) and two strand tests going.
I have hung clothes on a line. I've tolerated a garden the size of my house. I've downsized my house and my car. I've gotten rid of tons of stuff. I've just said no to buying things I don't need. I've reduced the number of paper towels I've used. I've washed dishes by hand.
But my hair? I don't know if doing my own hair is the next step I'm willing to take.
Maybe, just maybe, I'll find that reading out loud in Junior High Science wasn't the worst thing in the world.
In Junior High, I remember one boy I had a crush on in Science. And I remember a never-ending fear that when called upon to read out loud from a chapter, I would accidentally say "orgasm" instead of "organism."
High School? Did I take a Science class in High School?
In College, I remember one boy I had a crush on in a Science class.
I'm wishing I would have paid more attention. To class. Not boys.
I'm no longer worried about saying orgasm out loud, but I am scared to color my own hair. Really scared. Like more scared than I was to give birth scared. It's hair, and a bunch of chemicals. What's the big deal, right?
As I type I have two band-aids on my arm (skin tests) and two strand tests going.
I have hung clothes on a line. I've tolerated a garden the size of my house. I've downsized my house and my car. I've gotten rid of tons of stuff. I've just said no to buying things I don't need. I've reduced the number of paper towels I've used. I've washed dishes by hand.
But my hair? I don't know if doing my own hair is the next step I'm willing to take.
Maybe, just maybe, I'll find that reading out loud in Junior High Science wasn't the worst thing in the world.
5.11.2009
here's to you, Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know
-Nacho Mama!!!
-my b-day
-my first and only pinata (what a disappointment you pull strings and don't get to beat anything!)
-the garden
-the parental units
-food
-Cake, cake and more cake. And cookies.
-Hello Kitty!
-the o.j. I squezzed and didn't get one drop to drink
-my cute purse I had the good sense to pay $5 for 8 years ago in Mexico
-my cute shoes
-the college graduate I would trade at least three kids for
-what the back of the Pastor's head will look like in 35 years
-The Last Graduation???
-Mother's Day brunch
5.06.2009
the myth of scarcity, Peter Pan Whipped Peanut Butter edition
Sorry it's been a few days since I posted. I had to find places for 24 jars of peanut butter.
If there is any truth I hold to be self evident, it is that I do not like peanut butter. I never have. I blame my mother. She used to mix it in a bowl with the jelly and it just grossed me out.
If you have read this blog for more than 5 minutes, you probably know that too. Everyone knows this, right? I someday hope that my blog is the #1 hit when you google the phrase "I hate all kinds of peanut butter except Peter Pan Whipped Peanut Butter."
A brief history. The geniuses at Peter Pan figured out a way to whip regular nasty peanut butter with air and magically change it into whipped goodness and charge you more money for less peanut butter. Blah blah blah, there was salmonella, blah blah blah, people died, Satan's minions took peanut butter off the shelf.
So now I hide the Whipped Peanut Butter. I've seen the way people in this house eat. If you are willing to say, pick up strange people's food trash off the ground and eat it, or lick a pole in the subway, then you don't deserve the "good" peanut butter in your mouth.
The Pastor realized last week I hide and hoard the Whipped Peanut Butter. My selfishness offended him greatly. His solution? He went to the store and bought 12 jars of peanut butter. It went something like this: "Here (you selfish person) - now you can have a couple of jars, I can have a couple and the kids can each have a couple. There's plenty for everyone." OK, that still doesn't add up to 12 jars but I don't have a Ph.D. like him so I'm not sure how the math of scarcity works.
Only, he bought the wrong kind of peanut butter. He just bought regular Peter Pan.
Why oh why???!!!!! Why oh why did I not just keep my pie hole shut? Why did I not tell him thanks?! Or you guys can just eat all this peanut butter because I love you so much!
Nope, I told him. Ever since I've known the Pastor he has been the king of taking things back. Did he return the peanut butter? Nope. He went to the store, found the Whipped Peanut Butter and bought 12 jars of it.
This brings us to the grand total of 24 NEW jars of peanut butter for this house. Not to mention the peanut butter (and hidden jars of Whipped Peanut Butter and Nutella) we already had.
Did I mention we have been trying to become a downwardly mobile family and moved into a house half the size of our old house? When you minimize the size of your house, you also - get this - minimize the amount of storage space you have for 24 jars of peanut butter. I know! Crazy, huh? Who doesn't have room to store 24 jars of peanut butter?!?
That's ok. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. With peanut butter, you make cookies. Only when I told the Pastor I was going to make peanut butter cookies, his response was "I don't like peanut butter cookies."
Aaaaarrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhh.
The Pastor did eventually offer to return some of the peanut butter. On the same day I finally found places to stash it all. When I die, poor Nate won't find hidden money. He'll find hidden Whipped Peanut Butter. Sorry, kid.
And what's peanut butter without bread? Yep, the Pastor bought bread too.
Have I mentioned I don't eat bread?
4.27.2009
Arts Festival dessert
You knew there would have to be dessert involved, didn't you?
Strawberries Newport. Hold on tight! It was very windy.
Look! Two sporks! I shared. It's a Sabbath miracle!
4.26.2009
I'm so happy he doesn't think my underwear is giant.
The Pastor, who doesn't do laundry, who isn't allowed to touch the laundry, has installed a clothesline for me.
This gadget, he said, is to hang tiny things, small things - like your underwear.
I love him.
I used my clothesline for the first time today. Dr. J. Matthew Sleeth - I listened to you (and the Pastor). I'm serving God and saving the planet. And as an added bonus, when I was hanging wash on the line, I told the Pastor we could pretend like I was the sweet and innocent farm girl hanging laundry, and he was the sexy stranger who happened across our land. The Pastor chastised me for talking like this, but hey - I'm only trying to make this stuff fun.
What am I supposed to to with the dryer sheets? Hang them on the line too?
I now know that every time I use the dryer, 5 pounds of coal is used.
Sigh. I just hope I haven't put some poor coal miner out of work now.
it's a mad, mad world
My Mad Farmer in his overly-ambitious garden. Yes, he did get a bit carried away.
On a side note, if you happen to have any recipes for dishes that feature onions and potatoes, send them my way.
4.23.2009
recent pics
Costa Rica, Tulsa, Chicago and home again, home again (jiggity jig) just in time for our anniversary.
4.19.2009
4.14.2009
4.10.2009
here comes Peter Cottontail!
After the great Valentine's Day debacle of 2008, the Pastor had me send him an e-mail detailing all the dates I expected presents. I know, romantic, huh? However, it is highly effective and efficient. This is what happens when you marry a Scholar.
In my e-mail, I'm fairly sure I covered just about everything - Groundhog Day, Arbor Day, Flag Day (oddly enough - the Pastor's b-day!) but now I'm really not sure for which holidays I made demands, so I don't know if I should be excited or bracing myself for disappointment this weekend.
It's exhausting.
I'm already slightly disappointed. There's no little kids around here. No big fluffy dresses, no hats, no gloves. No eggs to hunt. No one (but me) excited about the Bunny coming.
I'm making Nate dye eggs with me. The 13 year old is thrilled. And it's not like the good ol' days when you could stick him in an empty bathtub with the eggs and dye for easy mess clean-up. Nope, the gangly, taller-than-me teenager will have to "help" me at the kitchen counter. He'll probably want to dye all the eggs black, or make me figure out some way to put the Hurley logo on them.
And I'm trying to be a good daughter and make Easter dinner. Since Dad is on the mend, thought I would make the traditional Easter dinner of enchiladas. I was even going to put meat in some of them. I hear some people like that. Changed my mind, now it's the traditional Easter dinner of taco salad. But now I am making dinner on Saturday, and Mom is making the ham (her claim of the tradiional Easter meal) on Sunday. So now we are both cooking??? What's up with that? Nice work, Dad! : )
But I'd think that if the Pastor was going to celebrate anything, it would be Easter.
Anywho, just in case, I wouldn't want the Pastor hoppin' down any bunny trails, so I've included some visual imagery here. I know how boys like visual imagery. I do what I can.
Mom already gave me my white chocolate rabbit. But don't forget, everything at Godiva? Half price on Monday!
You're welcome.
and p.s. if I got one of these Bonnie Cashin bags in my basket? I promise I'll never, ever want another Coach bag as long as I live.*
*As long as I live throughout the duration of this season of bags.
Thank you Easter Bunny.
In my e-mail, I'm fairly sure I covered just about everything - Groundhog Day, Arbor Day, Flag Day (oddly enough - the Pastor's b-day!) but now I'm really not sure for which holidays I made demands, so I don't know if I should be excited or bracing myself for disappointment this weekend.
It's exhausting.
I'm already slightly disappointed. There's no little kids around here. No big fluffy dresses, no hats, no gloves. No eggs to hunt. No one (but me) excited about the Bunny coming.
I'm making Nate dye eggs with me. The 13 year old is thrilled. And it's not like the good ol' days when you could stick him in an empty bathtub with the eggs and dye for easy mess clean-up. Nope, the gangly, taller-than-me teenager will have to "help" me at the kitchen counter. He'll probably want to dye all the eggs black, or make me figure out some way to put the Hurley logo on them.
And I'm trying to be a good daughter and make Easter dinner. Since Dad is on the mend, thought I would make the traditional Easter dinner of enchiladas. I was even going to put meat in some of them. I hear some people like that. Changed my mind, now it's the traditional Easter dinner of taco salad. But now I am making dinner on Saturday, and Mom is making the ham (her claim of the tradiional Easter meal) on Sunday. So now we are both cooking??? What's up with that? Nice work, Dad! : )
But I'd think that if the Pastor was going to celebrate anything, it would be Easter.
Anywho, just in case, I wouldn't want the Pastor hoppin' down any bunny trails, so I've included some visual imagery here. I know how boys like visual imagery. I do what I can.
Mom already gave me my white chocolate rabbit. But don't forget, everything at Godiva? Half price on Monday!
You're welcome.
and p.s. if I got one of these Bonnie Cashin bags in my basket? I promise I'll never, ever want another Coach bag as long as I live.*
*As long as I live throughout the duration of this season of bags.
Thank you Easter Bunny.
4.09.2009
Rob Riley's Fantasy Factory
I have a wild, fantastical imagination. I blame it on all those books I read as a child. Cursed reading!
Poor Pastor. If he only knew what was in my head. He doesn't hardly stand a chance.
Before we go on these trips, the romantic things I imagine! A trip to the beach! I conjure up visions of flow-y dresses and romantic handheld walks. Some of that happened, but -
I almost never imagine ahead of time that a hippie will touch every single one of my fingers, one by one (one of these trips I'm going to have to remember to say the first touch is free, the rest will cost you $5 per finger. I thought I'd learned this lesson a long time ago in Chicago when that man asked to touch my shiny hair. Think, Robyn, think!!!!). Or a goth man on Venice Beach will ask me if I've ever wet my pants. The Pastor refusing to stop re-working his scholarly paper, him at the computer in our swanky hotel room, me falling asleep while reading the Twilight book (another cursed stupid fantasy inspiring book!) while I'm waiting on him to come to bed. Or, him, finally in the bed with me, but us in the hotel "annex" next door to the two homeless guys who scraped up enough cash to get a room for the night, and leave their t.v. on at full volume against our adjoining wall to celebrate.
California? It's got a bad reputation, that's what I think. My coffee was cheaper there! Think of all the money I'd save! I could have stayed there forever. Me, the Pastor, our Chevy Aveo rental and Madge. Pricelining our way through the Golden State, going from hotel to hotel every night, buying our clothes at whatever Goodwill we stumble upon.
Unlike most of our trips, I didn't get a single bout of homesickness. Sure, I thought of Nate, but I thought of him in terms of telling Mom to stick him on a plane with the good cupcakes hidden in the deep freeze (You didn't think you'd get to keep him forever, did you Mom : ) ?). You gotta have something to munch on while you are reading all those books!
Thanks for taking me to the beach Pastor.
4.08.2009
how to fuel up your vehicle in 32 easy steps
1. Ascertain location of car. Long story - but 6 cars and 2 drivers. Not as easy to find car as you might think.
2. Start engine. Sigh in complete and utter exasperation at fuel gauge because the Fuel Fairy is conveniently out of the country when you need gas in your car.
3. Contemplate driving one of the other five vehicles. No, I can do this!
4. Pull into gas station #1.
5. Think hard - which car are you driving? Which side of the car is gas tank on? OK, got that figured out. Pull up next to pump.
6. Note that all pumps are covered up. Leave gas station.
7. Drive to gas station #2.
8. Swipe card. I'm on the right path now!
9. Remove gas cap. Stare hard at gas cap mentally willing self to remember to place it back on and not drive off without it.
10. Enter zip code? What fresh heck is this? When did they start requiring my postal code for gas? Is it really their beeswax? But this is the trade-off you must have when you choose to deal with machines/robots instead of humans.
11. Enter zip code.
12. Enter zip code.
13. Enter zip code.
14. Get ready to walk inside gas station.
15. Greet attendant as he walks out. Apparently, I do get to deal with a human. The key pad is not working.
16. Drive to another pump.
17. Swipe card.
18. Enter zip code!
19. Wait.
20. Hang up phone with Mom. It's just too complicated to do all this at once!
21. Wait.
22. Wait.
23. Standing outside at corner gas station, look like stereotypical dumb blonde wearing heels with shiny red car who doesn't have a clue what she's doing.
24. What am I doing wrong? When did it become so freakin' hard to get gas? Doubt entire existence.
25. Count to ten. Once I reach ten, if something hasn't happened, I'm off to gas station #3.
26. As I get to ten, pump comes on.
27. Begin fueling.
28. Talk to other person fueling up about how hard it is to get gas.
29. Talk to attendant again as he comes out and apologizes for delay in pump coming on (Ha! : ) I didn't do anything wrong!)
30. Remember to place gas cap back on! Huzzah!
31. Wish to live in magical land I've heard of called "Oregon" where they don't let amateurs attempt this feat.
32. Message Pastor how much I miss him.
2. Start engine. Sigh in complete and utter exasperation at fuel gauge because the Fuel Fairy is conveniently out of the country when you need gas in your car.
3. Contemplate driving one of the other five vehicles. No, I can do this!
4. Pull into gas station #1.
5. Think hard - which car are you driving? Which side of the car is gas tank on? OK, got that figured out. Pull up next to pump.
6. Note that all pumps are covered up. Leave gas station.
7. Drive to gas station #2.
8. Swipe card. I'm on the right path now!
9. Remove gas cap. Stare hard at gas cap mentally willing self to remember to place it back on and not drive off without it.
10. Enter zip code? What fresh heck is this? When did they start requiring my postal code for gas? Is it really their beeswax? But this is the trade-off you must have when you choose to deal with machines/robots instead of humans.
11. Enter zip code.
12. Enter zip code.
13. Enter zip code.
14. Get ready to walk inside gas station.
15. Greet attendant as he walks out. Apparently, I do get to deal with a human. The key pad is not working.
16. Drive to another pump.
17. Swipe card.
18. Enter zip code!
19. Wait.
20. Hang up phone with Mom. It's just too complicated to do all this at once!
21. Wait.
22. Wait.
23. Standing outside at corner gas station, look like stereotypical dumb blonde wearing heels with shiny red car who doesn't have a clue what she's doing.
24. What am I doing wrong? When did it become so freakin' hard to get gas? Doubt entire existence.
25. Count to ten. Once I reach ten, if something hasn't happened, I'm off to gas station #3.
26. As I get to ten, pump comes on.
27. Begin fueling.
28. Talk to other person fueling up about how hard it is to get gas.
29. Talk to attendant again as he comes out and apologizes for delay in pump coming on (Ha! : ) I didn't do anything wrong!)
30. Remember to place gas cap back on! Huzzah!
31. Wish to live in magical land I've heard of called "Oregon" where they don't let amateurs attempt this feat.
32. Message Pastor how much I miss him.
4.02.2009
someday
someday I will live by the beach
someday I will feel sand between my toes everyday
someday I will put my feet in the ocean everyday
someday I will see palm trees everyday
someday I will live in a place where I can have an avocado tree in my backyard
and someday I will live in a place where I can wear my bikini even when I still look like this
(btw, this pic was the deciding factor in not getting "that special surgery")
3.31.2009
priorities
No trip is complete without
1. attending a Nazarene church and
2. finding a Goodwill/Salvation Army.
Our trip is now complete. We only went to ONE Nazarene church, but the Pastor managed to find three thrift stores!
1. attending a Nazarene church and
2. finding a Goodwill/Salvation Army.
Our trip is now complete. We only went to ONE Nazarene church, but the Pastor managed to find three thrift stores!
3.21.2009
Broken Spring
Fudgery Fudge & Fun!!!
LQ - don't worry. I was good at the Coach store.
I wish I could say the same about the fudge and fried pickles.
3.19.2009
you are here
And you thought we’d never expand our family.
Meet Madge.
She’s British. Well, she speaks in a British accent.
Madge is our new GPS.
On our way to Branson last night, the Pastor proclaimed, “I like Madge!”
Do you know how many dates I went on with the Pastor before he was able to say (text me) “I like you?” Do you have any idea the kinds of things I had to do for that? Do you know how many dates I had to go on before he proclaimed it? A month before we got married, and he was still talking in the broad generalities of “combining cell phone plans.”
But Madge? Madge is different. One date, and he likes her.
Hold on though. When we were within 15 miles of our destination, suddenly our car turned into a lone icon on a blank, black screen. Welcome to the Ozarks.
Don’t steer me wrong Madge, said the Pastor.
C’mon Madge, find the road Madge.
Awwwww, how cute! Their first fight!
It was scary there for a minute or two (for the Pastor). Secretly, I was on the other side of the vehicle internally snickering to myself that maybe Madge wasn’t so hot after all!
She got us to where we needed to be. But did Madge pack his Smurf shirt? His cell phone charger? Noooooooo! In fact, did Madge pack Madge? No! If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be on the nightstand, so suck on that.
I think the Pastor takes for granted that the Packing Fairy magically gets all things ready for the trip. He doesn’t have to worry about things like laundry and packing and snacks, and the only thing he really has to worry about is getting to our destination. And even though the Pastor is smarter than anyone else I know with a map, since Madge helps him with his one task (the one thing I’m completely useless at) he really, really likes her.
Not to worry. I’m not the jealous type. The Pastor and Madge can have their love affair. What do I care? Madge did take me to Shake’s tonight. Frozen custard!!! OK, by the time I was done with the clerk, it was more like a cup of caramel topped with a dollop of frozen custard. What’s not to like?
Meet Madge.
She’s British. Well, she speaks in a British accent.
Madge is our new GPS.
On our way to Branson last night, the Pastor proclaimed, “I like Madge!”
Do you know how many dates I went on with the Pastor before he was able to say (text me) “I like you?” Do you have any idea the kinds of things I had to do for that? Do you know how many dates I had to go on before he proclaimed it? A month before we got married, and he was still talking in the broad generalities of “combining cell phone plans.”
But Madge? Madge is different. One date, and he likes her.
Hold on though. When we were within 15 miles of our destination, suddenly our car turned into a lone icon on a blank, black screen. Welcome to the Ozarks.
Don’t steer me wrong Madge, said the Pastor.
C’mon Madge, find the road Madge.
Awwwww, how cute! Their first fight!
It was scary there for a minute or two (for the Pastor). Secretly, I was on the other side of the vehicle internally snickering to myself that maybe Madge wasn’t so hot after all!
She got us to where we needed to be. But did Madge pack his Smurf shirt? His cell phone charger? Noooooooo! In fact, did Madge pack Madge? No! If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be on the nightstand, so suck on that.
I think the Pastor takes for granted that the Packing Fairy magically gets all things ready for the trip. He doesn’t have to worry about things like laundry and packing and snacks, and the only thing he really has to worry about is getting to our destination. And even though the Pastor is smarter than anyone else I know with a map, since Madge helps him with his one task (the one thing I’m completely useless at) he really, really likes her.
Not to worry. I’m not the jealous type. The Pastor and Madge can have their love affair. What do I care? Madge did take me to Shake’s tonight. Frozen custard!!! OK, by the time I was done with the clerk, it was more like a cup of caramel topped with a dollop of frozen custard. What’s not to like?
3.17.2009
sweatin' to the oldies
Greetings from the sleep lab.
I spent last night here too, for insomnia. : )
I like the sleep lab. You show up, they give you a menu, you order dinner and just chill til bedtime. Sure you have to sleep with things stuck on your body (not attractive) and you have to worry about how many dishes the Pastor is using and not putting in the dishwasher, but it's a pretty relaxing evening. Time to blog and I have my very own computer all to myself! Ha!
This morning when I woke up, the technician told me while I was sleeping I was sweating like crazy. (uhhhh, gross!)
So much sweating that they had to come into my room (didn't wake me up!) to turn down my air conditioner, because the sweating was affecting my brain wave activity.
Night sweats???? Is this the beginning of menopause?
Tonight when I got here, they put me in a different room. A room with a giant fan. Coincidence? I think not.
Blow me.
I spent last night here too, for insomnia. : )
I like the sleep lab. You show up, they give you a menu, you order dinner and just chill til bedtime. Sure you have to sleep with things stuck on your body (not attractive) and you have to worry about how many dishes the Pastor is using and not putting in the dishwasher, but it's a pretty relaxing evening. Time to blog and I have my very own computer all to myself! Ha!
This morning when I woke up, the technician told me while I was sleeping I was sweating like crazy. (uhhhh, gross!)
So much sweating that they had to come into my room (didn't wake me up!) to turn down my air conditioner, because the sweating was affecting my brain wave activity.
Night sweats???? Is this the beginning of menopause?
Tonight when I got here, they put me in a different room. A room with a giant fan. Coincidence? I think not.
Blow me.
3.15.2009
here
Since the Pastor doesn’t understand or frequently objects conventional holidays, I thought I’d make up some of my own. Can’t hurt.
NATIONAL YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE CHOCOLATE SO STOP EATING THE M&Ms OUT OF THE CANDY DISH
Seriously. Or at least stop saying you don’t like chocolate.
NATIONAL NOT "HERE" DAY
The Pastor is notorious for his inability to sleep at night (yet oddly enough, I’m the one who’s been diagnosed with insomnia. Hmmmm.) Anywho, while I’m sleeping away, he apparently does his best work between the hours of 11 p.m. and 3 a.m. After I’ve had my beauty sleep and have the courage to open my e-mail inbox, it hits me. Usually about twenty e-mails from the Pastor, forwarding me things I need to know. The only problem with this is he puts “here” in the subject line of every single e-mail. Then a day or two later, when he asks me “hey, did you get my email on blah blah blah” he doesn’t understand why I’m confused, why it's all a blur and why my e-mail inbox is perpetually a disaster.
NATIONAL THANK YOU ROBYN DAY
When Robyn bakes you a cake and tries very hard to make it look just like the picture in the magazine, you don’t open the fridge and say “your cake is messed up right there.” You open the fridge and say “that is the best looking cake I’ve ever seen. Thank you. We are not worthy.”
NATIONAL LOOK FOR IT YOURSELF DAY
People start asking me where the ketchup is as soon as they approach the fridge. It’s a 6’x24”x24” box. At least attempt to look for it yourself before you shout out my name. At least open the door and count to ten and pretend like you are looking. Every single person in this house has the “looking disease.” This house that is perfectly clean and organized and, by some standards, minimalistic. What’s wrong with these people? Have I secretly ended up in some sort of alternate universe where order is confusing?
Anyway, I don’t care about your stuff. Find it yourself. And and and!!!! I’m not hiding anything from anyone. Except the good candy. And maybe some clothes. And a Coach bag.
NATIONAL DON’T WAKE ME UP DAY/NIGHT
Just once. I know I’m a light sleeper. I know its cute/annoying, but that doesn’t make it ok for you to say things to me after I fall asleep because its fun to watch how fast I can go out of and back into a sleep state. It's just mean. And I’d like one day where no one makes any noise from the time I fall asleep until after I’ve had my coffee. And and and Pastor? This does NOT happen all the time.
NATIONAL DON’T ASK ME WHAT’S FOR DINNER DAY
Has anyone around here ever missed a meal? Starving? Pretty soon I’m going to tell people to just go dig something out of the garden and leave me alone.
NATIONAL DON'T TEXT ME WHEN I'M LAYING IN BED RIGHT BESIDE YOU
In fact, how about NATIONAL DON'T TEXT ME DAY. There's days when I think my phone is going to catch on fire.
NATIONAL LEAVE MY COMPUTER ALONE DAY
Do you have any idea how many days I’ve had this stuff trapped in my head? Too many. Gee Robyn, why don’t you ever write anymore? When I finally take a moment to sit down, just try to grab a free laptop around this place!!!! Impossible! Then when I grab a laptop, someone needs to know where the ketchup is.
NATIONAL NO SARCASM DAY
No, all these holidays aren’t geared just to me. I can be giving. OK, I know I’m bad with the incessant eyerolls and never ending sarcastic comments. I’ll try to give you serious answers, just once.
OK, that’s all I’ve got for now. And you can stick these holidays anywhere you want on the calendar. When? I don’t care. But I’d say about every 28 days or so would work out just fine.
NATIONAL YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE CHOCOLATE SO STOP EATING THE M&Ms OUT OF THE CANDY DISH
Seriously. Or at least stop saying you don’t like chocolate.
NATIONAL NOT "HERE" DAY
The Pastor is notorious for his inability to sleep at night (yet oddly enough, I’m the one who’s been diagnosed with insomnia. Hmmmm.) Anywho, while I’m sleeping away, he apparently does his best work between the hours of 11 p.m. and 3 a.m. After I’ve had my beauty sleep and have the courage to open my e-mail inbox, it hits me. Usually about twenty e-mails from the Pastor, forwarding me things I need to know. The only problem with this is he puts “here” in the subject line of every single e-mail. Then a day or two later, when he asks me “hey, did you get my email on blah blah blah” he doesn’t understand why I’m confused, why it's all a blur and why my e-mail inbox is perpetually a disaster.
NATIONAL THANK YOU ROBYN DAY
When Robyn bakes you a cake and tries very hard to make it look just like the picture in the magazine, you don’t open the fridge and say “your cake is messed up right there.” You open the fridge and say “that is the best looking cake I’ve ever seen. Thank you. We are not worthy.”
NATIONAL LOOK FOR IT YOURSELF DAY
People start asking me where the ketchup is as soon as they approach the fridge. It’s a 6’x24”x24” box. At least attempt to look for it yourself before you shout out my name. At least open the door and count to ten and pretend like you are looking. Every single person in this house has the “looking disease.” This house that is perfectly clean and organized and, by some standards, minimalistic. What’s wrong with these people? Have I secretly ended up in some sort of alternate universe where order is confusing?
Anyway, I don’t care about your stuff. Find it yourself. And and and!!!! I’m not hiding anything from anyone. Except the good candy. And maybe some clothes. And a Coach bag.
NATIONAL DON’T WAKE ME UP DAY/NIGHT
Just once. I know I’m a light sleeper. I know its cute/annoying, but that doesn’t make it ok for you to say things to me after I fall asleep because its fun to watch how fast I can go out of and back into a sleep state. It's just mean. And I’d like one day where no one makes any noise from the time I fall asleep until after I’ve had my coffee. And and and Pastor? This does NOT happen all the time.
NATIONAL DON’T ASK ME WHAT’S FOR DINNER DAY
Has anyone around here ever missed a meal? Starving? Pretty soon I’m going to tell people to just go dig something out of the garden and leave me alone.
NATIONAL DON'T TEXT ME WHEN I'M LAYING IN BED RIGHT BESIDE YOU
In fact, how about NATIONAL DON'T TEXT ME DAY. There's days when I think my phone is going to catch on fire.
NATIONAL LEAVE MY COMPUTER ALONE DAY
Do you have any idea how many days I’ve had this stuff trapped in my head? Too many. Gee Robyn, why don’t you ever write anymore? When I finally take a moment to sit down, just try to grab a free laptop around this place!!!! Impossible! Then when I grab a laptop, someone needs to know where the ketchup is.
NATIONAL NO SARCASM DAY
No, all these holidays aren’t geared just to me. I can be giving. OK, I know I’m bad with the incessant eyerolls and never ending sarcastic comments. I’ll try to give you serious answers, just once.
OK, that’s all I’ve got for now. And you can stick these holidays anywhere you want on the calendar. When? I don’t care. But I’d say about every 28 days or so would work out just fine.
3.06.2009
New Parsonage! Dining room!
China cabinet. Proof that I am a total old lady.
The frogs I collect. If you ever run across one of these tacky "sit-by-the-sink" frog sponge holders, send it my way!
Smurf glasses/Starbucks City Mugs/Frogs
those Amish people know what they are doing
with the pretzels
Williams Sonoma Amish Pretzel Kit! Family fun project! But no one wanted to help me. : (
That is, no one wanted to help me until it was time to eat the pretzels. : )
Delish.
of course we moved the fridge
something has to hold all the styrofoam containers of leftover Mexican food
so bad
does one person really need this many condiments at the Mexican restaurant?
Yes.
Do you have any idea how many tortilla chips this requires?
3.01.2009
please please please just write your paper already!
The Pastor has an important scholarly paper to write.
He's driving me crazy.
He is doing whatever he can to distract himself from actually writing the paper.
He's driving me crazy.
He thinks that I should be immediately interested in/drop everything/participate in/watch/come along with every little distraction.
He's driving me crazy.
Today, he bought a GPS.
He's driving me crazy.
He wanted me to care about the GPS.
He's driving me crazy.
I didn't care about the GPS, even though it meant I got to go to Target. I'm sure when I'm driving around someday, somewhere - and I use the GPS, I'll care. Today, I just want him to write his paper.
He's driving me crazy.
Another thing he keeps doing is taking a nap/going to bed in order to not write his paper. Then he doesn't understand why I'm not ready to go to bed at 6:30 p.m. Last night, he wore me down and we were asleep before nine. This was after he - check out the audacity of this - took me to a movie and to get $10 carrot cake because he didn't want to write his paper. But my desire to go to bed early may have had something to do with his mini-seminar on how to properly burn a candle.
He's driving me crazy.
Silly me, making my own plans, finding my own ways to keep busy while he is supposed to be working on his paper. Today, he started to tell me over my shoulder the proper way to use a broom. I told him if he continued, he'd have to have my broom surgically removed. He'd probably like that though - if he has to go to the hospital, more time to not be working on his paper.
He's probably reading my blog right now instead of writing his paper. Sweetie, please stop reading blogs and write your paper.
You are driving me crazy.
He's driving me crazy.
He is doing whatever he can to distract himself from actually writing the paper.
He's driving me crazy.
He thinks that I should be immediately interested in/drop everything/participate in/watch/come along with every little distraction.
He's driving me crazy.
Today, he bought a GPS.
He's driving me crazy.
He wanted me to care about the GPS.
He's driving me crazy.
I didn't care about the GPS, even though it meant I got to go to Target. I'm sure when I'm driving around someday, somewhere - and I use the GPS, I'll care. Today, I just want him to write his paper.
He's driving me crazy.
Another thing he keeps doing is taking a nap/going to bed in order to not write his paper. Then he doesn't understand why I'm not ready to go to bed at 6:30 p.m. Last night, he wore me down and we were asleep before nine. This was after he - check out the audacity of this - took me to a movie and to get $10 carrot cake because he didn't want to write his paper. But my desire to go to bed early may have had something to do with his mini-seminar on how to properly burn a candle.
He's driving me crazy.
Silly me, making my own plans, finding my own ways to keep busy while he is supposed to be working on his paper. Today, he started to tell me over my shoulder the proper way to use a broom. I told him if he continued, he'd have to have my broom surgically removed. He'd probably like that though - if he has to go to the hospital, more time to not be working on his paper.
He's probably reading my blog right now instead of writing his paper. Sweetie, please stop reading blogs and write your paper.
You are driving me crazy.
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