signs that you have been snowed in way too long
1. You mastered the art of making tamales.
2. You cleaned your house.
3. You keep going to check to see if there's enough clothes to wash another load, but all the laundry has been done.
4. You washed your sheets.
5. You contemplated baking, but thank goodness, you are out of vanilla.
6. You started reading a book.
7. You cleaned out your spices. That's how you figured out you were out of vanilla.
8. You watched everything on your DVR, including "The Pregnancy Pact." You are contemplating recording other movies on Lifetime.
9. You are high score #1 - 10 on every single one of your Wii games. You have invented new Wii games, for instance only hitting the shoes or the panda heads in soccer. You are playing the Wii games just so you can spend time with other people, like Timmy the Trainer.
A few more days, and I may even get desperate enough to do my taxes.
1.31.2010
1.23.2010
It was very easy/anyone could see/that the Prince was charming/the only one for me.
Me, asking for something which I think is perfectly reasonable yet the Pastor thinks is completely ridiculous: "I’m going to tell you something else I want, then the thing I’m asking for won’t seem so ridiculous to you."
Pastor: "Oh yeah? What’s that?"
Me: "When I die, I want one of those glass coffins, like in Snow White."
Pastor, laughing hysterically: "Are you serious? You really want everyone seeing your shriveled up dead body?"
Me: "No, I just like the idea of it. Besides, the dwarfs found her beautiful even in death and kept a constant vigil at her side."
Pastor: "Someone is under the spell of the Disney magic!"
*****
OK, it is possible that I have watched Snow White one too many times, but what does it say about me now that instead of wanting to be a Princess or find Prince Charming, the thing I'll settle for is a glass coffin?
1.13.2010
how much is that doggie in the intersection?
what the kids said -
Hey Mom! The Pastor tried to get a little dog for you! He chased after it three times to try to catch it for you but the dog was too fast. Even though the dog had three inch legs, it was faster than the Pastor.
what I thought -
Oh that is sweet! It would be nice to have a little dog! A friend! Something to love me unconditionally! Something that will never grow up and get a girlfriend! Something that will never, ever leave me!
what the Pastor said -
We saw a dog in the street and I chased it out of traffic. It was going to cause an accident.
what I said -
(sigh)
Hey Mom! The Pastor tried to get a little dog for you! He chased after it three times to try to catch it for you but the dog was too fast. Even though the dog had three inch legs, it was faster than the Pastor.
what I thought -
Oh that is sweet! It would be nice to have a little dog! A friend! Something to love me unconditionally! Something that will never grow up and get a girlfriend! Something that will never, ever leave me!
what the Pastor said -
We saw a dog in the street and I chased it out of traffic. It was going to cause an accident.
what I said -
(sigh)
1.08.2010
hormone therapy
The Pastor was telling me about some Mystics who believed in the afterlife a person's punishment and reward was to re-live their entire life. All the joys and all the hurts, with all the knowledge, yet powerless to make any changes.
Those Mystics may have been on to something. I believe we have something just like this, and we don't have to wait for the ever-after. It's called RAISING A TEENAGER.
I now get to live through what I no doubt put my parent's through.
I may be powerless to make any changes, but at least I can pick up the phone, call my parents and apologize to them for ever having liked a boy. And my behavior from ages 12 - 18. Or was it from ages 12 - 34?
Sorry Mom and Dad.
Those Mystics may have been on to something. I believe we have something just like this, and we don't have to wait for the ever-after. It's called RAISING A TEENAGER.
I now get to live through what I no doubt put my parent's through.
I may be powerless to make any changes, but at least I can pick up the phone, call my parents and apologize to them for ever having liked a boy. And my behavior from ages 12 - 18. Or was it from ages 12 - 34?
Sorry Mom and Dad.
1.04.2010
waxing poetic
Once upon a time, there was a 15 year old girl we’ll call Robyn. She was in Driver’s Ed class with a 15 year old boy named Greg. He had a crush on her, and she had a crush on him. They flirted.
Then, one day, Greg said something about a few errant hairs Robyn hadn't ever noticed.
There was no happily ever after to this Hairy Tale. That’s when the tweezing began.
I’m exhausted. I’ve been tweezing for 23 years. That’s longer than I’ve been driving. Longer than I went to school. Longer than all of my marriages combined. Even longer than how long I have been on a diet, and that’s a long time. The only things I’ve been doing longer than tweezing are menstruating – another fun thing – and breathing.
It’s something I dread every single day. I wonder where I will have a stray hair today?!
Do you have any idea how many tweezers I have bought? I wish I did. Wouldn’t you think one would be enough? First, there are the tweezers that are no good because they just don’t pluck right. Then there are all the tweezers that are perfect, yet someone else in the house uses them to perform plantar wart removal surgery. I mourn the loss for these tweezers, and buy more.
Can you even travel with tweezers anymore? I don’t think so. Me with my unwanted hair is a huge security threat. The Pastor takes me somewhere, things start to grow, I get to buy a new pair which gets donated to some hotel maid or T.S.A. agent.
No doubt when I am dead and gone and Nate is cleaning out my stuff he will find tweezers everywhere. All the tweezers – the good ones – I’ve hid so well to avoid their use on stinky feet or clogged drains – that I even hid them from myself. Car tweezers.
I think I’ve given up on my eyebrows though. Several months ago I was at the dermatologist with Nate and somehow the subject of eyebrow waxing came up. The doctor turned away from Nate and asked me “Seriously, you don’t wax your eyebrows, do you? You are fair enough you don’t need to do that.”
I took this as gospel. For the past 6 years I have been waxing approximately once per month, at let’s say the rate of $10 each time. That’s $720 I’ve spent just on my stupid eyebrows. And it’s not like anyone cares! It’s not like anyone has ever said “You have really fantastic eyebrows!”
Here’s how it would go. I’d go to an Asian nail place. Let them wax on/wax off. Then I would be left with huge bright red patches of irritated skin for approximately 24 hours. Then my irritated skin would start to break out around my eyebrows. Then about the time it cleared up, I had stubbly brows again and it was back for another torture session.
Of course the techs at those nail places are always laying a huge guilt trip on you. Without even so much as looking at you they spout off “wax your eyebrows today?” Then if you agree it’s never enough. What about your upper lip? What about your chin? No! Please don’t try to up-sale me any more waxing!
All this trouble for the hair that people CAN see. This doesn’t include the bikini waxes and Nair and Veet and shaving and the laser hair “reduction.” Don’t let the med-spas trick you into laser hair removal, because the fine print will tell you at best you will have less, finer hair - but you'll still have hair!
What does all this hair mean? Do I have too much testosterone? Because I’ve got to tell you, most of the time I FEEL LIKE I HAVE MORE THAN ENOUGH ESTROGEN. I’ve even gone so far as to wonder if I’m somehow a hermaphrodite.
I will never be impressed by the circus freak bearded lady. Girlfriend let herself go. I’d be more impressed by someone who has managed to find the secret to permanent unwanted hair removal. Then, we’d all live happily ever after.
The end.
Then, one day, Greg said something about a few errant hairs Robyn hadn't ever noticed.
There was no happily ever after to this Hairy Tale. That’s when the tweezing began.
I’m exhausted. I’ve been tweezing for 23 years. That’s longer than I’ve been driving. Longer than I went to school. Longer than all of my marriages combined. Even longer than how long I have been on a diet, and that’s a long time. The only things I’ve been doing longer than tweezing are menstruating – another fun thing – and breathing.
It’s something I dread every single day. I wonder where I will have a stray hair today?!
Do you have any idea how many tweezers I have bought? I wish I did. Wouldn’t you think one would be enough? First, there are the tweezers that are no good because they just don’t pluck right. Then there are all the tweezers that are perfect, yet someone else in the house uses them to perform plantar wart removal surgery. I mourn the loss for these tweezers, and buy more.
Can you even travel with tweezers anymore? I don’t think so. Me with my unwanted hair is a huge security threat. The Pastor takes me somewhere, things start to grow, I get to buy a new pair which gets donated to some hotel maid or T.S.A. agent.
No doubt when I am dead and gone and Nate is cleaning out my stuff he will find tweezers everywhere. All the tweezers – the good ones – I’ve hid so well to avoid their use on stinky feet or clogged drains – that I even hid them from myself. Car tweezers.
I think I’ve given up on my eyebrows though. Several months ago I was at the dermatologist with Nate and somehow the subject of eyebrow waxing came up. The doctor turned away from Nate and asked me “Seriously, you don’t wax your eyebrows, do you? You are fair enough you don’t need to do that.”
I took this as gospel. For the past 6 years I have been waxing approximately once per month, at let’s say the rate of $10 each time. That’s $720 I’ve spent just on my stupid eyebrows. And it’s not like anyone cares! It’s not like anyone has ever said “You have really fantastic eyebrows!”
Here’s how it would go. I’d go to an Asian nail place. Let them wax on/wax off. Then I would be left with huge bright red patches of irritated skin for approximately 24 hours. Then my irritated skin would start to break out around my eyebrows. Then about the time it cleared up, I had stubbly brows again and it was back for another torture session.
Of course the techs at those nail places are always laying a huge guilt trip on you. Without even so much as looking at you they spout off “wax your eyebrows today?” Then if you agree it’s never enough. What about your upper lip? What about your chin? No! Please don’t try to up-sale me any more waxing!
All this trouble for the hair that people CAN see. This doesn’t include the bikini waxes and Nair and Veet and shaving and the laser hair “reduction.” Don’t let the med-spas trick you into laser hair removal, because the fine print will tell you at best you will have less, finer hair - but you'll still have hair!
What does all this hair mean? Do I have too much testosterone? Because I’ve got to tell you, most of the time I FEEL LIKE I HAVE MORE THAN ENOUGH ESTROGEN. I’ve even gone so far as to wonder if I’m somehow a hermaphrodite.
I will never be impressed by the circus freak bearded lady. Girlfriend let herself go. I’d be more impressed by someone who has managed to find the secret to permanent unwanted hair removal. Then, we’d all live happily ever after.
The end.
1.02.2010
happy
I had the most wonderful, delightful New Year’s and New Decade's Day.
I missed my family though. But most of all I missed Mom’s New Year’s snacks – especially the cheeseballs.
I missed my family though. But most of all I missed Mom’s New Year’s snacks – especially the cheeseballs.
12.14.2009
the Pastor emailed this to me
I think it means I'm not getting a present
*****
excerpt from: God in the Dock/C.S. Lewis
Three things go by the name of Christmas. One is a religious festival. This is important and obligatory for Christians; but as it can be of no interest to anyone else, I shall naturally say no more about it here. The second (it has complex historical connectons with the first, but we needn't go into them) is a popular holiday, an occasion for merrymaking and hospitality. If it were my business to have a "view" on this, I should say that I much approve of merrymaking. But what I approve of much more is everybody minding his own business. I see no reason why I should volunteer views as to how other people should spend their own money in their own leisure among their own frineds. It is highly probable that they want my advice on such matters as little as I want theirs. But the third thing called Christmas is unfortunately everyone's business.
I mean of course the commercial racket. The interchange of presents was a very small ingredient in the older English festivity. Mr. Pickwick took a cod with him to Dingley Dell; the reformed Scrooge ordered a turkey for his clerk; lovers sent love gifts; toys and fruit were given to children. But the idea that not only all friends but even all acquaintances should give one another presents, or at least send one another cards, is quite modern and has been forced upon us by the shopkeepers. Neither of these circumstances is in itself a reason for condemning it. I condemn it on the following grounds.
1. It gives on the whole much more pain than pleasure. You have only to stay over Christmas with a family who seriously try to "keep" it (in its third, or commercial, aspect) in order to see that the thing is a nightmare. Long before December 25th everyone is worn out - physically worn out by weeks of daily struggle in overcrowded shops, mentally worn out by the effort to remember all the right recipients and to think out suitable gifts for them. They are in no trim for merrymaking; much less (if they should want to) to take part in a religious act. They look far more as if there had been a long illness in the house.
2. Most of it is involuntary. The modern rule is that anyone can force you to give him a present by sending you a quite unprovoked present of his own. It is almost a blackmail. Who has not heard the wail of despair, and indeed of resentment, when, at the last movement, just as everyone hoped that the nuisance was over for one more year, the unwanted gift from Mrs. Busy (whom we hardly remember) flops unwelcomed through the letter-box, and back to the dreadful shops one has to go to?
3. Things are given as presents which no mortal ever bought for himself - gaudy and useless gadgets, "novelties" because no one was ever fool enough to make their like before. Have we really no better use for materials and for human skill and time than to spend them on all this rubbish?
4. The nuisance. For after all, during the racket we still have all our ordinary and necessary shopping to do, and the racket trebles the labor of it.
We are told that the whole dreary business must go on because it is good for trade. It is in fact merely one annual symptom of that lunatic condition of our country, and indeed of the world, in which everyone lives by persuading everyone else to buy things. I don't know the way out. But can it really be my duty to buy and receive masses of junk every winter just to help the shopkeepers? If the worst comes to the worst I'd sooner give them money for nothing and write it off as a charity. For nothing? Why, better for nothing than for a nuisance.
*****
excerpt from: God in the Dock/C.S. Lewis
Three things go by the name of Christmas. One is a religious festival. This is important and obligatory for Christians; but as it can be of no interest to anyone else, I shall naturally say no more about it here. The second (it has complex historical connectons with the first, but we needn't go into them) is a popular holiday, an occasion for merrymaking and hospitality. If it were my business to have a "view" on this, I should say that I much approve of merrymaking. But what I approve of much more is everybody minding his own business. I see no reason why I should volunteer views as to how other people should spend their own money in their own leisure among their own frineds. It is highly probable that they want my advice on such matters as little as I want theirs. But the third thing called Christmas is unfortunately everyone's business.
I mean of course the commercial racket. The interchange of presents was a very small ingredient in the older English festivity. Mr. Pickwick took a cod with him to Dingley Dell; the reformed Scrooge ordered a turkey for his clerk; lovers sent love gifts; toys and fruit were given to children. But the idea that not only all friends but even all acquaintances should give one another presents, or at least send one another cards, is quite modern and has been forced upon us by the shopkeepers. Neither of these circumstances is in itself a reason for condemning it. I condemn it on the following grounds.
1. It gives on the whole much more pain than pleasure. You have only to stay over Christmas with a family who seriously try to "keep" it (in its third, or commercial, aspect) in order to see that the thing is a nightmare. Long before December 25th everyone is worn out - physically worn out by weeks of daily struggle in overcrowded shops, mentally worn out by the effort to remember all the right recipients and to think out suitable gifts for them. They are in no trim for merrymaking; much less (if they should want to) to take part in a religious act. They look far more as if there had been a long illness in the house.
2. Most of it is involuntary. The modern rule is that anyone can force you to give him a present by sending you a quite unprovoked present of his own. It is almost a blackmail. Who has not heard the wail of despair, and indeed of resentment, when, at the last movement, just as everyone hoped that the nuisance was over for one more year, the unwanted gift from Mrs. Busy (whom we hardly remember) flops unwelcomed through the letter-box, and back to the dreadful shops one has to go to?
3. Things are given as presents which no mortal ever bought for himself - gaudy and useless gadgets, "novelties" because no one was ever fool enough to make their like before. Have we really no better use for materials and for human skill and time than to spend them on all this rubbish?
4. The nuisance. For after all, during the racket we still have all our ordinary and necessary shopping to do, and the racket trebles the labor of it.
We are told that the whole dreary business must go on because it is good for trade. It is in fact merely one annual symptom of that lunatic condition of our country, and indeed of the world, in which everyone lives by persuading everyone else to buy things. I don't know the way out. But can it really be my duty to buy and receive masses of junk every winter just to help the shopkeepers? If the worst comes to the worst I'd sooner give them money for nothing and write it off as a charity. For nothing? Why, better for nothing than for a nuisance.
11.27.2009
No trip is complete without a trip to one of these
because the Pastor can't ever pass up another cheap, used, old man shirt!
Don't worry, we made it to a Coach store too, but the Pastor didn't take any pictures. He may have been too upset.
a dream is a wish your heart makes
I was so happy to get to go to the Disney Film Exhibit at the New Orleans Museum of Art. Since we are "members" of the art museum back home, we got to use our membership cards to get in for free! What a deal!
I have nice memories of going to see Snow White wearing a Snow White printed dress on Christmas Eve with my Dad. The exhibit contains original art work used to make different Disney Princess movies. Most interesting, I thought, were the various incarnations Princesses went through before they settled on the final look.
11.23.2009
long winded Bible Scholars
Me, looking at book at Pastor's Bible Conference: "Paul wasn't a Christian?"
Pastor: "No, he was a Jew."
It takes a whole book to explain that?
Pastor: "No, he was a Jew."
It takes a whole book to explain that?
11.12.2009
all I want for Christmas
Dear Santa,
In my defense, I have now gotten up three mornings in a row when the alarm clock went off.
And since June? I've been trying really hard to live on a budget.
I even stopped buying magazines. I've been going to the library and reading them for free.
The most impressive thing? I didn't go to On the Border for two whole months, and I went five weeks without going to Ted's Cafe' Escondido.
Here is my Christmas list.
See my post below.
XOXOXO,
Robyn
p.s. Even though I've been on a diet for 7 weeks now, I promise I'll get you the good cookies. From the German place.
In my defense, I have now gotten up three mornings in a row when the alarm clock went off.
And since June? I've been trying really hard to live on a budget.
I even stopped buying magazines. I've been going to the library and reading them for free.
The most impressive thing? I didn't go to On the Border for two whole months, and I went five weeks without going to Ted's Cafe' Escondido.
Here is my Christmas list.
See my post below.
XOXOXO,
Robyn
p.s. Even though I've been on a diet for 7 weeks now, I promise I'll get you the good cookies. From the German place.
lack of Focus
RIP blue Honda, 2005 - 2009
Four and a half years ago when I married the Pastor, I had a less than a year old Ford Focus and a car payment. We kept the car for a few months, then determined it would be more fun for me to stay at home than to drive a new car. Instead, I began driving a 1996 Honda Civic LX. Don't let the LX fool you.
This blue Honda had damage just about everyplace you could think of.
It was one thing to pull up to Starbucks for my $5.00 coffee, I can imagine what people thought here in the land of brand-new shiny SUV's. What is she doing buying expensive coffee when she drives a car like that? However, the blue Honda wasn't without it's advantages.
You could park it anywhere. Spill something? No problem.
Someone hit me once. The driver was completely worked up about it. I looked at the "damage" and said "let's not worry about it." All accidents should be that easy and forgivable.
It was the perfect car to drive to The Church of the Homeless.
The engine light stayed on the entire time we owned the car, with one exception. That exception was when we loaned the car to a family in need we didn't even know. Yes, another advantage. We could share the blue Honda freely. We didn't worry about our car for months and when it finally showed back up, the engine light was off. I guess the family who had borrowed it was worried about returning it with the engine light on. It didn't last.
Through no fault of our own or it's own, several weeks ago, the blue Honda drove it's last mile for us.
Had I kept my Focus with the car payment, we would have spent $13,750 on car payments alone.
We paid $1,200 for the blue Honda. We put two new front tires on it, and virtually spent no other money on it for the rest of the time we owned it.
Today, someone from Craigslist paid $800 for the blue Honda. So we enjoyed the blue Honda for years for just a few hundred dollars.
Bye blue Honda. You and your great gas mileage will be sadly missed.
11.06.2009
Once again, proof that God is a woman, and she has a sense of humor. And maybe a little PMS.
The Pastor is not having a good day.
He wanted to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, and went to take the Mustang convertible for a drive, possibly the last drive of the year before it hibernates. #FAIL. The Mustang ended up in the shop.
As the Pastor was walking home from dropping the Mustang off, I drove by him. He hopped in my red Honda.
We turned the corner, and I don't know the technical, mechanical terms for this, but my transmission fell out.
Off to vehicle #3. (Did I mention our blue Honda died last week and we are still mourning the loss?) The Pastor and I ran an errand, got back in the van and it took two tries to start it. I'm convinced it started on the second try because of the fervent prayers I started praying after the the false start.
What a relief. We'll go eat bar-b-q to cheer the Pastor up! Nope, the bar-b-q coupon expired two days ago.
God was clearly telling the Pastor to not go anywhere. Let's just get a Red Box and go home. We went to Red Box machine #1, ordered up our movies, dispense #FAIL. On to Red Box machine, #2, also not working.
This series of events started after the Pastor thought it would be hilarious to not hang up my dish towel correctly on the oven handle.
That will teach him. And God? You've punished him enough. I'm sure he'll be more respectful of the dish towel from now on, and he won't leave jelly to permanently affix itself to the sink.
He wanted to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, and went to take the Mustang convertible for a drive, possibly the last drive of the year before it hibernates. #FAIL. The Mustang ended up in the shop.
As the Pastor was walking home from dropping the Mustang off, I drove by him. He hopped in my red Honda.
We turned the corner, and I don't know the technical, mechanical terms for this, but my transmission fell out.
Off to vehicle #3. (Did I mention our blue Honda died last week and we are still mourning the loss?) The Pastor and I ran an errand, got back in the van and it took two tries to start it. I'm convinced it started on the second try because of the fervent prayers I started praying after the the false start.
What a relief. We'll go eat bar-b-q to cheer the Pastor up! Nope, the bar-b-q coupon expired two days ago.
God was clearly telling the Pastor to not go anywhere. Let's just get a Red Box and go home. We went to Red Box machine #1, ordered up our movies, dispense #FAIL. On to Red Box machine, #2, also not working.
This series of events started after the Pastor thought it would be hilarious to not hang up my dish towel correctly on the oven handle.
That will teach him. And God? You've punished him enough. I'm sure he'll be more respectful of the dish towel from now on, and he won't leave jelly to permanently affix itself to the sink.
10.29.2009
boo-hoo
Last Sunday when the Pastor preached I was horrified to learn I may have been an inspiration for his sermon. And it wasn't for my service at the Soup Kitchen.
He asked how many people were buying pumpkins, picking out costumes, getting candy, etc. for Halloween. Then he asked who was getting ready for All Saint's Day.
Uh oh. How was I supposed to know there would be a quiz?
Now I feel convicted about dressing up in a costume. I'd like to tell you I have some deep-seated need to dress up, because my parents were super-psycho fundamentalist Christians who wouldn't let us dress in costumes and Trick-or-Treat, but that's not the case. The truth is my earliest Halloween memory is my brother dressed as the Devil. My parents have huge Halloween inflatables in their yard and kids from all around come over to have their picture made in their Halloween Land.
I could tell you I want to dress up because Halloween is the only night of the year I dress inappropriately. That might inspire the Pastor to do a sermon on lying.
I could act like it's a relief. I'd been waffling on my costume anyway. The only thing I really wanted to dress up as was a Flapper. I got to the point where I'd waited too long and now all the good costumes are gone. I'm not being a Witch again. There's always a ton of Snow Queens left in the store because it's an ugly costume. I am not going as an Ice Queen. Why would I want that image out there in the universe?
So this year I'm going as a 38 year-old woman who is choosing to not dress up in a costume, live on a budget and save her money. Besides, in a couple of weeks donating a Flapper costume to the clothing room at the Church of the Homeless doesn't make a lot of sense.
I guess that means I'm going as a grown-up this Halloween.
Yep, it's pretty scary.
I hope the Pastor likes it.
10.26.2009
Robyn's happy day haiku
grabbed my skinny jeans
wonder if they will fit now
yes it is good day
See what no Mexican food for a month does for you? : ) Time to celebrate. Just not with chips & salsa!
wonder if they will fit now
yes it is good day
See what no Mexican food for a month does for you? : ) Time to celebrate. Just not with chips & salsa!
10.25.2009
note to self
Dear Future Robyn,
As you prepare to go on your next trip with the Pastor, remember this:
No matter how far in advance you start packing, no matter how organized you are, no matter what you lay out, no matter what you buy, get ready or make checklists for you will not be prepared for the "Pastor Factor."
The "Pastor Factor" is the Pastor, coming home while you are finalizing everything minutes before your departure and deciding that he needs to, say, sit down in the middle of your kitchen floor and shine his shoes with Mink Oil even though he has - I promise you - not used his mink oil/shoe shine kit in 20 years.
I have no suggestions for you on how to actually deal with the unpredictability of the Pastor Factor, just know that it's coming.
Have a great trip!
Sincerely,
Present Robyn
As you prepare to go on your next trip with the Pastor, remember this:
No matter how far in advance you start packing, no matter how organized you are, no matter what you lay out, no matter what you buy, get ready or make checklists for you will not be prepared for the "Pastor Factor."
The "Pastor Factor" is the Pastor, coming home while you are finalizing everything minutes before your departure and deciding that he needs to, say, sit down in the middle of your kitchen floor and shine his shoes with Mink Oil even though he has - I promise you - not used his mink oil/shoe shine kit in 20 years.
I have no suggestions for you on how to actually deal with the unpredictability of the Pastor Factor, just know that it's coming.
Have a great trip!
Sincerely,
Present Robyn
10.21.2009
priorities
Important to the Pastor on our trip to NYC:
-Human Rights Watch.
-The United Nations something or other.
-Genocide blah blah blah.
-The New York Public Library, because there are books there.
Important to me on our trip to NYC:
-Tiffany & Co - like that scene in Sweet Home Alabama??? when Patrick Dempsey's character said "Pick one!"
-A cupcake from Magnolia Bakery, the same place where Carrie Bradshaw (yes, another make-believe person) had a cupcake.
-A carriage ride through Central Park, just like when Big took Carrie on one in Sex and the City.
-Carlo's Bakery (Cake Boss) in Hoboken, New Jersey. OK, another tv show, but this one does involve real people.
-A slice of authentic New York pizza.
-The MoMA.
-The Met.
-The New York Public Library, where Carrie nearly married Big.
-Another cupcake from Magnolia Bakery.
-And another cupcake from Magnolia Bakery.
-OK, maybe two more cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery.
I now have a necklace and a bracelet from Tiffany's. And I'm sure I gained at least 5 lbs. And the Pastor? What does he have to show for his trip? Absolutely nothing. He should be ashamed of himself!
-Human Rights Watch.
-The United Nations something or other.
-Genocide blah blah blah.
-The New York Public Library, because there are books there.
Important to me on our trip to NYC:
-Tiffany & Co - like that scene in Sweet Home Alabama??? when Patrick Dempsey's character said "Pick one!"
-A cupcake from Magnolia Bakery, the same place where Carrie Bradshaw (yes, another make-believe person) had a cupcake.
-A carriage ride through Central Park, just like when Big took Carrie on one in Sex and the City.
-Carlo's Bakery (Cake Boss) in Hoboken, New Jersey. OK, another tv show, but this one does involve real people.
-A slice of authentic New York pizza.
-The MoMA.
-The Met.
-The New York Public Library, where Carrie nearly married Big.
-Another cupcake from Magnolia Bakery.
-And another cupcake from Magnolia Bakery.
-OK, maybe two more cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery.
I now have a necklace and a bracelet from Tiffany's. And I'm sure I gained at least 5 lbs. And the Pastor? What does he have to show for his trip? Absolutely nothing. He should be ashamed of himself!
10.20.2009
10.15.2009
I know him better than he knows himself. Well, at least his food order.
Scene: Me, and the Pastor at Wendy's fast food.
I tell him "Go grab us a seat. I'll order you a Single, an order of fries and a frosty."
No, says the Pastor. He'll have something else. He tells me his order.
I get in line and wait.
Other people line up behind me.
The Pastor shouts out at me, "I've changed my mind. I'll have a Single, an order of fries and a frosty."
I shout back: "You mean the thing I told you you wanted before you told me you wanted it?"
Yes.
The other people in line laugh.
I'm sure he'll say it was my strong subliminal message.
As for me, don't worry. I had a baked potato and garden salad.
I tell him "Go grab us a seat. I'll order you a Single, an order of fries and a frosty."
No, says the Pastor. He'll have something else. He tells me his order.
I get in line and wait.
Other people line up behind me.
The Pastor shouts out at me, "I've changed my mind. I'll have a Single, an order of fries and a frosty."
I shout back: "You mean the thing I told you you wanted before you told me you wanted it?"
Yes.
The other people in line laugh.
I'm sure he'll say it was my strong subliminal message.
As for me, don't worry. I had a baked potato and garden salad.
10.13.2009
Yep, I rocked that look!
This lovely Minnie purchased the suit of her Minnie costume at Goodwill. I had the Pastor take a picture because I had this very same suit when I was a Working Girl (in an office : ) !) back in about 1989.
10.11.2009
it's a Sunday miracle
I'm blogging.
The more time that passes, I don't enjoy being around the 20 year old college girls with their 20 inch waists and 20 inches of hair.
I do enjoy it in the moment, until I get home and look at the pictures. Pictures which I won't be posting here.
Me, in all my thirty-something glory. Not so bad, if I do say so myself. I exercise. I eat right, I exercise. That's right, I said it twice. I hate to exercise so I should get that much more credit for it. But when you look at me next to them, it's not a pretty picture.
But someday time will catch up with them as well, and they will no longer be able to eat the Hostess Donettes either. You know, the really good chocolate or powdered sugar donuts that have got to be little circles of trans-fat, and wash them down with a real Dr. Pepper or a glass of real, full-fat chocolate milk.
Of course when time catches up with them, I'll be dead.
I hope there are Donettes in heaven. And no treadmills. And no 20 year olds.
Amen.
The more time that passes, I don't enjoy being around the 20 year old college girls with their 20 inch waists and 20 inches of hair.
I do enjoy it in the moment, until I get home and look at the pictures. Pictures which I won't be posting here.
Me, in all my thirty-something glory. Not so bad, if I do say so myself. I exercise. I eat right, I exercise. That's right, I said it twice. I hate to exercise so I should get that much more credit for it. But when you look at me next to them, it's not a pretty picture.
But someday time will catch up with them as well, and they will no longer be able to eat the Hostess Donettes either. You know, the really good chocolate or powdered sugar donuts that have got to be little circles of trans-fat, and wash them down with a real Dr. Pepper or a glass of real, full-fat chocolate milk.
Of course when time catches up with them, I'll be dead.
I hope there are Donettes in heaven. And no treadmills. And no 20 year olds.
Amen.
9.27.2009
9.25.2009
Date night??? Not quite.
No date tonight with the hot Pastor. : (
But he did invite me to go along as he rode to a retreat, in a car with three other religious professors.
I took a pass.
Next best thing to a date with the Pastor: sitting on the couch watching old Grey's Anatomy and giving myself a mani.
But he did invite me to go along as he rode to a retreat, in a car with three other religious professors.
I took a pass.
Next best thing to a date with the Pastor: sitting on the couch watching old Grey's Anatomy and giving myself a mani.
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