Thursday, December 31, 2009

Dear 2009,

Don't let the door hit you on the way out.  Good freaking riddance.

Let's tally up exactly what you gave me.

1. 10 mind-numbing months of unemployment.

Yeah, yeah, I did some part time work here and there, but let's face it.  I was an unemployed bum.  However, in my defense, it wasn't for lack of trying to be employed.  I've got peeps who can vouch for me on that one.

2. A new allergy.  To sunlight.  Yeah.

Insert vampire joke here.

3. Two solid weeks of eyelid twitches.

Seriously, universe?  SERIOUSLY?!  WTF.  The only thing to which I can possibly liken how annoying this was is having a toothless squirrel sit on your shoulder and gum your ear constantly for two weeks straight.  It doesn't hurt, but it's annoying as hell and makes you look like an even bigger weirdo than you already are.

4. The return of horrible menstrual cramps after I got The Husband neutered and ditched the birth control.


Every month I try to sell my uterus on eBay.  Turns out nobody else wants it either.

5. A bunch of stupid friend stuff.

Not going into specifics, but 2009 has been a sucky year of friends doing stupid things, friends dying, friends moving away, friends being disappointing, and some friends just plain not being friends anymore.

6. A greater likelihood of developing diabetes.

Until 2009 my Mom was in the clear.  Not any more.  I'm totally next.

7. Cirrhosis of the liver.

Okay, maybe not.  But I'm pretty sure that the trip The Husband and I took to Vegas in March alone was enough to make my liver want to put on a crash helmet.  Seriously, though - they give the stuff away.  For free.  And frankly, with the amount of money I made in Vegas (net), it's like the entire city of Las Vegas was paying me to get drunk.  THAT was a good job while it lasted.


Yeah, I'm actually that pale in real life.
See no. 2 re: sunlight allergy.

8. A hopeless addiction to Farmville.


What a stupid, stupid game.  But I'll be damned if I don't want more goats.


Me and my cats.

9. A bruise that literally took two months to go away.

Thank you, Gogol Bordello.  Kindly never play a venue with theatre seating again.  (Thigh + Armrest = Ouch)

10. You know what?

I was going to make it an even 10.  But you're not worth it, 2009.  Not worth it at all.  Get the hell out of here and never come back.

Regards,
Robynn

p.s. Oh hi, 2010.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

I Am Horrible. And I Suck.

Hey again,

I know I said I'd try to get back to posting a little more regularly, but sometimes life and the things that go along with it (like a husband, a job, and friends) get in the way.  Holiday season schmoliday season.  Some Christmas in the near future I'm taking a "me" day and carting myself off to Paris or something.  Somewhere where I don't know anybody, have nobody to shop for, and can fill myself up on as much wine and cheese as humanly possible and socially acceptable.  France seems like a logical destination.  Heck, I could probably get away with not shaving my legs either.

Anyhow, back to the point.  Again, sorry it's been so bloody long.  And again, a recap.


  • Working again... - yay.
  • ...possibly NOT temporarily... - double yay.
  • ...but I won't know until sometime next week, maybe later - boo.
  • It was Christmas... - yay.
  • ...but I didn't get to spend it with my family... - boo.
  • ...but I will be seeing them next week - double yay.
  • ...and I did get to spend it with some awesome friends - also double yay.
  • I made an awesome casserole... - yay.*
  • ...that gave me heartburn... - boo
  • ...and also took forever to get through... - boo/yay depending
  • ...but was so delicious I had to eat the whole thing... meh.
That's about it, kids.  One of these days my promise to write more often won't be full of horse puckey.

On that note, good night and happy new year!

Love,
Robynn

*For those of you who follow the link to the casserole recipe, I've made some crucial changes.  Message me if you want 'em.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

I Am Horrible.

Sorry, readers (all three of you.)  I've been trying to wrap my head around being a working stiff again, so consequently the blog has fallen by the wayside temporarily.  However, once I get used to the whole idea again I'll be back in full force!  But in the meantime, I am a horrible, horrible fairy blogmother.

Anyhow, things of note from the past week:


  • Working again... - yay!
  • ...possibly only temporarily - boo.
  • Bought some bloody incredible tea... - yay!
  • ...for my husband for Christmas - boo.
  • Bought some new jeans... - yay!
  • ...that are exactly the same as my old ones - meh.
  • I finally got my mouse to work... - double yay!
  • ...after an entire day of trying to figure out Japanese and wanting to smack myself in the face with a shovel - boo.
Now you're caught up.  Back in a bit, kids.

Love,
Robynn

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Almost Famous....

So I just discovered a website thanks to Jenny at The Bloggess.  Essentially it's like really complicated Photoshop, but for complete and total morons.  (This is not to say that Jenny is a moron.  Jenny is actually quite clever.)  It's not to say that I'm a moron either - I'm just incredibly lazy about doing stuff in Photoshop.  Anyhow,  Photofunia is one of the greatest websites I've come across in a while.  Check it:


See?  I've apparently been immortalized in a back alley in some unknown locale by a person I've never met.


Here I am being impermanently immortalized by some little schoolgirl.  Thanks, schoolgirl!


I'm huge in Japan.
Or Taiwan.
Or Korea.
Or wherever the heck this is.


I'm so damned huge they built a whole freaking gallery devoted to me.


This is what my portrait will look like if when I'm on currency.


But the currency will probably come sometime after my first ad campaign...


... and my brief stint as the face of Armani Mania...


... and my many television appearances.  So what if they're the same appearance on many televisions!  Still counts as many.


Here I am gracing the walls of another gallery.


And finally, there will be numerous tomes written about my beauty and humanitarian exploits when cats finally take over the world and can read.
Or at least can flip pages and look at pictures.

Moral of the Story:
Photofunia + too much time on my hands = THIS.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Dear ANYBODY who can read Japanese,

Here’s the deal – I got a new mouse (Apple Mighty Mouse that I’m trying to force to work on a PC), but for one of its features (360 degree scrolling) to work I need to install a driver.  The only driver available is from Japan, and all their entire website is in Japanese.  There’s a key for a 30 day trial, but I don’t know where the heck to input it.  Also, it totally works amazingly well, so I’d like to just buy the full bloody product but I can’t figure out how.

And the trouble with all this is that whenever I’m using the mouse I get pop ups that I assume are telling me I need to install the validation key.  I thought I did, but I guess I’m mistaken.  I get them every 30 seconds or so, so it’s really annoying.  They look like this:





Any idea?  When I click on the button, it takes me to a webpage that looks like this:






The EH5TQ-CFPTY-FZTPN-V6VRN-T6TZN-VNTPN-U6SPN part I assume is the validation key.  I don’t know where to put it.  When I click on the driver icon, these are the options I get:




The first (top) option takes me to my mouse properties screen that I can get to via control panel.  The second option gives me this:




The third gives me this:




And the fourth gives me a help screen index which, unfortunately, is also all in Japanese except for the letters F.A.Q.  Motherfaqers.

I figured out via Google’s webpage translator that the screen that gave me the (assumed) validation key also has a link to order the product.  Below is what happens when I click it.  I have no idea what the difference is between the ¥819 and the ¥947 buttons are.




Assuming that more expensive is better, I clicked the bottom one.  Here’s what I got:




And I have no idea what to do with any of it…

Love,
Robynn

Saturday, December 12, 2009

An Obsessive-Compulsive Christmas Party Tally

DISCLAIMER:  The statements below do not reflect the opinion of others present at husband's Christmas party.  They also don't mean that I had no fun at all at said party.  The food was excellent, the venue was beautiful, the band is always really fun, and the staff was wonderful and attentive.  Well, except that one guy.  Anyhow, as parties go, it was a good one.  Below is more the fault of me being socially awkward.  And the funny thing is, I'm not particularly socially awkward.  But throw me into a room where everyone only talks about work that I know very little about and most have trophy wives that are either at the Peg Bundy end of the spectrum or the Jacquelyn Kennedy-Onassis one (nowhere in between), and, well....

I like to count things.

Minutes spent applying cosmetics:
15

Minutes spent otherwise getting ready:
40 (not bad, if you ask me.)

Minutes spent in hotel lobby looking like lost sheep because we couldn't remember which room the party was in and husband wouldn't ask anybody:
3.5

Awkward conversations with people I've never met and/or only see once a year that made me wish I'd feigned a migraine or appendicitis:
5

Times husband remembered to introduce me to anybody:
0

People from husband's workplace that I enjoy talking to:
5

People from husband's workplace that I enjoy talking to who actually showed up at party:
4

Alcoholic beverages (caesars) consumed:
10

Alcoholic beverages (caesars) consumed that were "allegedly" doubles from above total:
4

Minutes spent wondering if there was actually any alcohol in the bottles they were mixing drinks with or if it was all a watering-down ruse to save the company tons of cash on the open bar*:
57

More plausible number of alcoholic beverages (caesars) actually consumed:
3

Amount of tomato-clam cocktail consumed:
approx. 4 gallons

Amount of Tabasco® sauce consumed:
approx.1 gallon

Amount of Worcestershire sauce consumed:
Who knows.  I can't pronounce it, so don't care.

Meatballs consumed:
1

Meatballs that were actually meat:
0

Meatballs that were actually falafel:
1 (but delicious)

Minutes spent wishing I was way more intoxicated, otherwise having more fun, or far more inclined to take an avid interest in everybody "talking shop" around me:
335

Minutes spent in washroom texting more interesting people, tweeting, or just plain enjoying the notion of sitting down somewhere quiet (with a cupholder**):
29

Items stolen from washroom:
2  (But both were hotel lotions and just sitting there on the counter.  I'm pretty sure you're supposed to take them.)

Minutes spent lurking in foyer waiting for staff members to disappear so I could clandestinely steal a cute pinecone out of a floral arrangement:
18

Number of cute pinecones successfully stolen:
0

Number of times I made an arse of myself:
a shockingly low 1***


Notes:

* Verdict: no booze included in booze.  Came home shockingly sober.

** Handy cupholder in restroom.

*** During heartfelt speech about former staff member who tragically bit it earlier in the year, my cellphone starts ringing.  The Exorcist theme.  On a positive note, I had recently changed my cellphone ringer from Chopin's Funeral March, which would have been a horrible combination of both more and less appropriate simultaneously.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Dear bag of frozen peas,

I hate you.

What the hell did I ever do to you?  First you knock my newly-filled ice cube tray over making me unpleasantly damp, then once I've done everything all over again you decide to fall on my foot.

Jerk.

Regards,
Robynn

p.s. Sorry for being a deadbeat blog mom again.  I'll make up for it with posts on the weekend about the BC cellphone + driving = disaster ban and how I'm sure I'll somehow manage to make an ass of or injure myself (or others) at Heath's Christmas party tomorrow night.

For now, here's one of my favorite videos.  David Lynch on the iPhone.  Love it.




Monday, December 7, 2009

Dear Cat Lovers,

Okay, okay, so this makes for an atypical blog post, but what the heck.  It needs to be done. 'Tis the season and all...

Vancouver Orphan Kitten Rescue Association desperately needs your help.  They are in dire financial straits and are suddenly faced with a very real likelihood of having to close their doors permanently.  I will be making a personal donation to  them, and I post this in order to encourage any and all animal lovers to do the same.  No matter how big or small, your donation WILL make a difference and will be very much appreciated.

This wonderful group of people is responsible for doing all the work that the SPCA doesn't.  They trap feral animals, provide spaying and neutering where necessary, take in dumped and abandoned kittens, bottle feed the kittens who need it, and provide wonderful foster homes for all the animals they take in until they can find permanent loving homes of their own.  They do all of this on very scant donations - much, much less than what the SPCA receives.  These are real people who really care.  They are a no-kill, non-profit, registered charity, and they need you!

I know several people who have adopted their cats through VOKRA, and can attest to the awesome work they do.  If it weren't for VOKRA, I wouldn't have my fuzzy niece and nephew pictured below.  If I didn't have my fuzzy niece and nephew I'd be a much, much angrier person and would probably steal a school bus full of field-trip first-graders and take them to see The Exorcist instead of to Science World, then give them each a double shot of espresso and a pair of scissors and set them free in Holt Renfrew to run amok.  So I guess if you won't think of the kitties you should THINK OF THE CHILDREN!  (And if you're like me and can't be bothered to think of the children, think of the haute couture that's going to end up with espresso stains and scissor-holes all over it.)

Donate here.

Kitties need Christmas love too.


"No beers without pettings," says fridge cat.
Mochi



"What are you talking about?  I *totally* fit in this box!"
Manju



"Well, now that you've taken my box away I
have nothing to do but wait for you to donate.
Do it now.  Surly Cat commands you."


Please, people.  This terrific group could really use a hand.  Anything you can spare will be put to excellent use.  Thanks!

Love,
Robynn

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Dear Santa,

Here are some things I'd like for Christmas.


Handbag - Lux De Ville - $70 USD




Boots - Bordello / Pleaser USA - $75.00 USD (approx.)



Scarf - Alexander McQueen - $260.00 USD




1974 Plymouth Roadrunner - Vintage Autohaus & Imports - $24,900.00 USD



This House - $16,500,000.00

Love,
Robynn

ps. I know the house is a little much, but I just threw it in because it makes the $260.00 scarf seem a little less ridiculous.  Plus, it's got a stable, so it'll come in handy when I have to buy ponies for the universe.  Which, evidently, is what I'm going to have to do because I've tried everything else to get a job.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Note to Self 2

Dear self,

After the numerous jobs that you have been seemingly unceremoniously rejected for, I have decided that you need to do the following:

1. Lie about your age.  For some reason most of the finance/payroll/administrative positions that are available are targeted towards "older women".  From now on, your name is Margaret and you're 47.

2. Dumb yourself down.  Most interviewers don't seem to understand words with more than three syllables.  Plus, you can do a lot of things.  Cut that amount in half at least.  You don't want to give them an inferiority complex or make them feel like you're out to get their job.  You and I can keep the fact that we're smarter than 90% 95% 97.8% of the world's population our little secret.

3. Create a fake resume.  You'll need one of these when you inevitably go to apply at McDonald's since you don't have any food service experience.  Make up a fast food company from Alberta that sadly went under during the whole Mad Cow Disease fiasco or something.  If you make it sound like the Mad Cow Disease tragically killed every one of your coworkers on your day off, they probably won't hassle you for references.

4. Get off the computer and go make dinner.  You're a housewife.  That's your job now.

I hope this helps in your job search.

Love,
Robynn

p.s. Seriously consider number 3.  You could go to Hamburger University.  Who wouldn't want to do that?



Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Dear Inner Dialogue,

I realize that the past several months of my unemployment has probably made you feel like you were totally off the hook since me sitting on the couch or at the computer has allowed you to have free rein to do as you wish.  Hell, for all I know you've decided to take your Grand Tour and didn't even have the consideration to leave me a bloody note.  I shouldn't be surprised as you were truly never that well-behaved to begin with.  Regardless, get your ass home NOW.  I need you.

As I was getting on the bus today after work* (see footnote**) I really could have used your assistance.  When the late-40-something lady with an uber-huge (probably non-fat, half-caff, and otherwise high-maintenance) Starbucks in one hand, an iPhone in the other, and a face that looked like...

                                 Vicodin

... shoved me out of the way to get on first saying "sorry" in an unspecified direction somewhere over her shoulder, I probably should have left my reply to "no problem," instead of backing it up (loudly) with "age before beauty."

This is why I need you back.

Love,
Robynn

p.s. On your way back, go through Germany and bring me back some Obatzda, would you?

p.p.s.  Sorry for the equation, but I've been doing math all day and you know how overstimulated I can get.

R

Hooray for Footnotes!!!


*Yeah, yeah, I know I've been going off about unemployment, but it's not a real job unless you have to show up there for at least eight hours a week.


**Sorry for having to explain the asterisk.  I by and large assume that people are idiots who would just think "hey, there's some kind of a star thing there, must be a typo" instead of actually knowing that it means look at the bottom of the page for further discussion.  And, actually, if you want to get really specific, the beginning of this footnote should read "sorry for having to explain the asterisks", but then I'd have to explain that in my brain "asterices" is a way better plural of asterisk.  Which I guess I kind of just did anyhow.


Okay.  I'm done.  Honest.



Now.



Really.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Dear tiny & ridiculously cute pineapple (a.k.a. Gary),

It's too bad you weren't nearly as delicious as you were cute.  In hindsight, had I known you would have been so bland, flavourless, and horribly lacking in actual edible fruitstuff volume beneath your prickly wrapper I probably would have tried to dry you out and preserve you and turn you into some kind of jaunty Carmen Miranda chapeau.  However.

The next time I'm at the supermarket (and have the precise combination of PMS and crappy day necessary to make buying produce based on its cuteness alone seem like a good idea) I think I'll grab another one of you.  He'll be named Gary v.2.0, and he most certainly will end up being a Carmen Miranda hat.



Yours,
Robynn

Monday, November 30, 2009

Dear Blog,

I'm sorry.  I've been a bit of a deadbeat Mom for the past few days.  However, it's been my birthday weekend, so I've been busy with myriad birthdaylike things.  I promise to get back on track tomorrow.  Really.

Love,
Robynn

Friday, November 27, 2009

Holy crap! Dear EVERYBODY, this is *MONUMENTALLY IMPORTANT*.

Look at my pineapple.  JUST LOOK AT IT.



Yes, that's a quarter in front of it.

Cutest.  Pineapple.  EVER.  Just thought you should know.

That is all.

Love,
Robynn

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Dear people who bitch about how Lost is trying to be like Twin Peaks,

I don't get it.  And because I don't get it I kind of feel like you're a bunch of morons.  Let's go through a list of differences and similarities just to clarify.

Differences
  • Small town in the Pacific Northwest vs. large island in the South Pacific
  • Lost distinctly lacks a sexy jazz soundtrack, Twin Peaks is slightly more bereft of sexy men.
  • I've only watched the first three seasons of Lost so far, but I haven't come across any dancing little people in red suits.  (Or whatever the heck it's politically correct to call them these days.)
  • Twin Peaks: 30 episodes.  Lost: 116 episodes (or more).
  • Lost is pretty to look at because it's a pretty tropical island full of pretty people with cutting edge pretty cinematography.  Twin Peaks is pretty to look at because it's art.  (No, I'm not going to get into exactly what I mean by that, and no, it's not solely because I think David Lynch is amazing.  Every single frame is incredibly well thought out - I'll leave it at that.)
  • There is no plane crash in Twin Peaks.  There is, however, an airplane in one episode.
Similarities
  • Both have trees.
  • Weird things happen.
Making a comparison based on these two facts alone is kind of akin to comparing Burt Reynolds to Hitler because they both have mustaches.  In any case, the next time I have to hear "Oh, I hate Lost.  It tries so hard to be Twin Peaks" I'm going to start walking forward punching and kicking and (insert deity here) have mercy on whoever is in my way.  Somehow I manage to like them both, and I'm probably the closest thing to a Lynchian Purist you're going to find.  There.  I invented a new term for myself and put you in your place.  And I don't want to discuss it.

Love,
Robynn

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Note to Self 1

Dear Robynn,

Please remember sometime this week to replenish, replace, or dispose of things that are conspicuously missing from, are vastly outdated, or are inappropriately stocked in your medicine cabinet.  Please note (at least) the following:

1. The Rolaids expired two years before you moved to Vancouver.  That means 2004.

2. The bag of cough drops are all hopelessly stuck together (because Vancouver is humid) and you're going to need a minimum of a pickaxe to get them apart.

3. You should probably get rid of any medication of such questionable vintage that you don't even remember what it was for anymore or if it's even yours or something a previous tenant left in the suite when they moved out.

4. The bath bombs seem to have gone rancid (or whatever it is that bath bombs do when they look like something you forgot in a ditch for 6 months.  Again, let's blame the humidity.)

5. Find out what the heck the miscellaneous sparkly something-or-other of unknown origin is.

6. Your next flight is in 43 days.  You need Ativan to prevent your husband and the rest of the passengers from forcibly removing you from the aircraft mid-flight because you won't shut up about how "we're all gonna die."

6. It's time to finally say goodbye to your three packages of leftover birth control pills.  Your initial idea of slipping them into the drinks of girls at the pub who look like they could really use them, while somewhat practical, is probably completely unethical.

7. And get some new band-aids, would you?  It's a little embarrassing when you have to look all grownup and ladylike for a job interview and the only band-aids you have in the house are these:



Way to be an adult.  Oh well, at least they're not Dora the Explorer... or worse.

Love,
Robynn

Monday, November 23, 2009

Dear employment-controlling forces (again),

(Please please please please please please please)² let my job interview go smoothly tomorrow.  Seriously - I NEED this.  I wouldn't be making such a huge deal out of it if I didn't.  I also WANT it really badly too.  So do a girl a favor and let it work out, would you?  Please?

Love,
Robynn

p.s.  Let me know if my uterus would be an acceptable sacrifice.  I totally don't need mine.  It's stubborn, belligerent, and completely uncooperative, but I'm sure it could be better allocated to someone who actually wants one.

Dear Shopping Mall Santa from 1978,

I was digging through old photos yesterday to find a picture of my Grandpa, and I came across your photo. I started to wonder what happened to you. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only person who does this. (Not wonder about you specifically, but wonder about random miscellaneous people from my past.) Where are you now, o Shopping Mall Santa of 1978?

I’m going to put this as bluntly as possible – you look like a festive serial killer. I’m sure you’re most likely not a serial killer and I understand that’s kind of a horrible judgment for me to make based on your aesthetics alone in a 31-year-old photo, but you have that look in your eyes. (Not to mention the fact that not all legitimate serial killers look like what us commonplace non-murderin’ folk assume serial killers look like. Ted Bundy, for instance. He was totally dateable if it wasn’t for the unfortunate side effect of being bludgeoned or strangled to death.) But anyhow, let’s talk about “that look” for a moment, shall we?




I understand that look. It’s not because I’m a serial killer. I’ve never really considered being a serial killer as something that would be a viable career opportunity for someone like me. The hours aren’t so good, there’s a lot of overtime with all that cleanup, and I’m pretty sure you’d probably need to provide your own vehicle and I don’t have one. No, I understand that look because I spent a few too many years of my life working in retail.

Working in retail (and a lot of other service industries) during the holiday season is always murder (yeah, yeah, I crack me up), and you, my friend, are essentially the man of the hour every hour for the entire bloody month of December. That and you have to deal with a crapload of toddlers. I can't speak for you, but I know that always sends me straight to the baggage compartment of the crazy train.  I’m sure your look isn’t homicidal, or at least not manifestly so. And I’m sure it isn’t manifestly homicidal because I’ve had that exact look before and have somehow managed to remain relatively manslaughter-free.  No… wait… completely. Completely manslaughter-free.

In any case, I wonder what ever happened to you, Shopping Mall Santa. I’m sure by the whole six degrees of separation concept someone who knows someone I know has to know someone who knows you. If any of those people happen to read this blog, have them send me an update. I assume you’re still a man, you may or may not live in the Edmonton area, and you’re probably somewhere in your 50s. Hopefully you didn’t end up being a Shopping Mall Santa every year up until now – if that’s the case I’ll have to retract the statement that I’m sure you’re most likely not a serial killer.

Love,
Robynn

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Dear Grandpa,

I've been thinking about you today.  There are a lot of things I'd like to tell you, and since I'm known to ramble I'd better get right to the point(s).

You don't have to give me all the change out of your pockets every time I hug you.  It's not part of the contract.  I mean, it's nice and everything, and comes in incredibly handy if I need bus fare or to use a pay phone (who even does that anymore?), but it's completely unnecessary.  You probably know that, but I just want to make sure you don't think I expect it, like the longer the hug the more quarters I get, or like I think you're a big, huggable slot machine or something.  You sound nothing like a slot machine.

I love how you have an entire vegetable crisper full of chocolate bars.  I don't need to explain why.  It's amazing for so many reasons that are all entirely obvious, especially if you're a woman.  Which you aren't, because you're my Grandpa.

For the record, when you told Mark that of course there was mix in the rye - the ice - that was one of the greatest moments in Grandpa history EVER.

The second greatest moment in Grandpa history was when you almost refused to have your pacemaker put in because they were going to put it in the right side of your chest.  Sure, I agree, maybe it would have been in the way of the butt of your rifle when you're hunting, but you probably didn't have to be so stubborn about it.  You know, that whole honey vs. vinegar debate.

I have to admit that I'm a little disappointed I didn't inherit the "eyes in the roof of your mouth" trait from you.  Mind you, I've never seen actual concrete proof that you have eyes in the roof of your mouth, but I can only assume that you do since whenever you're asleep in your recliner and I try to change the channel you grumble at me to turn it back.  I really wish I had inherited it, because it would make fall-asleep-on-the-couch-watching-movies-Sundays a lot more productive since I wouldn't have to keep backtracking to all the parts I dozed off through.

Anyhow, as far as Grandpas go, you're a pretty damned good one.  I love you and miss you terribly.  Can't believe it's been 10 years.

Love,
Robynn





Saturday, November 21, 2009

Dear facebook friends,

You're probably wondering what's up with me telling you on Wednesday that I was getting rid of my profile, then showing up again on Saturday morning at 1:30ish a.m.  Well, here's the story.  It was kind of a mistake.  I opened my browser (which has all my passwords and whatnot saved), accidentally clicked the facebook bookmark tab that is right next to the Twitter bookmark tab (no, I hadn't removed it yet - just in case), and the rest is history.

That being said, it was kind of a... well... decent mistake.  I realized that there are some of you I actually really miss.  You're a funny, interesting, and supportive bunch.  Thanks for tolerating my "oh my god, I'm outta here" freakout moment this week, and thanks for welcoming me back with open arms.  You're good people, and don't let anyone tell you different.

And THAT, my friends, is the nicest thing you're going to hear out of me this year.  Bask in it.

Love,
Robynn

Friday, November 20, 2009

Dear Universe,


Thanks for listening! I got an email today for an interview at the job I really, really want! Unemployment sucks. You were probably withholding jobs from me for a long time because I had some serious payback to deal with. I guess I understand that. I did spend a lot of time horribly embittered with you after I lost my last job (along with roughly 100 other people.) Most of them have managed to find gainful employment since, but they probably didn't ride your ass as hard as I did, universe. So for what it's worth, I'm sorry. For now, I'm going to take this interview as a sign that perhaps you're not so sore with me anymore.

Love,
Robynn

p.s. If you actually GET me the job, I'll reconsider trying to find you a pony. Pony shortage or not, you'll deserve it. Maybe a little one like this:



That's actually not a pony, though. It's a miniature horse. But he's really cute! You'll also have to wait for a little while after you get me the job, because I'll have to save up some money.  Just so you know.  Actually, now that I think about it, you probably don't even want a pony.  You're the universe.  Let's face it - you can have all the ponies you want.  Let's talk terms and maybe I can do something else to appease you.  It'd be awesome if me buying a really nice handbag would make you happy.  Let me know if that works for you.

R

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Dear readers (all freakin' three of you),

Thanks for reading. You three are my starting point on the journey to total world domination, which in my mind looks something like the Emerald City, but that could be because I've got "If I Only Had a Brain" stuck in my head. Actually, now that I've spent a couple of minutes googling images of the Emerald City, maybe that's NOT what I think total world domination looks like. It kind of looks like it's giving me the finger. But that could be because I only got about two hours of sleep last night, I've got PMS, and I'm consequently kind of surly this morning. Screw you too, Emerald City.

Anyhow, I digress. Where the hell was I going with this?

...................

Alright, so it's been five minutes and I can't remember where I was going with this post. I guess I'll just share some of my favorite scraps of the interweb with you.

David Lynch has an awesome feature on his website called the Daily Weather Report. It's called that because that's exactly what it is. David Lynch readin' the weather for Los Angeles. Which is awesome. Especially the one time he did it in a cowboy hat, which sadly you can't get to anymore because it was September 21st's weather, not today's. Actually, today's weather is a little cartoon of a guy sawing a log. Equally awesome. However, by the time you look at it it may not be a guy sawing a log anymore. It might be an actual weather report, or perhaps a different cartoon. Hopefully you get to see the log sawing guy, though.

If you know me well, you'll know that I think David Lynch is pretty much the coolest guy in the world. I could almost say that I wish David Lynch was my Dad, but my Dad is the best Dad in the known universe and to say that would totally impugn his work. Maybe he could be an uncle or something. I've got some pretty terrific uncles too, so he'd fit right in. Regardless, Heath and I invited him to our wedding. I think Heath may still have the email from his secretary saying that he wouldn't be able to make it due to prior engagements. Sure, he probably never even saw the invitation, but I'd like to think that it came down to a decision between our wedding and Cannes or something of equal importance.

Hm. What next?

Texts From Last Night usually has something in it that makes me snort tea all over my computer screen once a day. Most of it is about rampant college drunkenness, which leads me to believe that a lot of people out there are having way more fun with their post-secondary education than I did. I mean, I had fun in university and everything, but not "I need rehab" kind of fun.

(The Customer Is) Not Always Right also makes me giggle like a lunatic and reminds me (sometimes painfully) of my 7-odd years in retail. You learn after that long that the customer is actually WRONG 95% of the time. That was kind of our store motto. Well, not "the customer is actually wrong 95% of the time", but "the customer is always wrong". You get what I mean.

That's enough rambling. I may be back for a do-over after I've had a nap and can remember what the heck I was going to post about in the first place.

Love,
Robynn

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Dear divine forces (or whatever) that control the Vancouver job market,

Please give me that job. You know the one. The one I really, really want. It'd be super great if you could do that. You see, o forces of the universe (or whatever), you ain't exactly been so kind to ol' red of late. I'm thinking I should have some decent karma (or whatever) coming my way.

I'll totally make it worth your while, divine universary forces (or whatever). I'm good for it. I already cuddle kittens and tolerate other people's babies and such. Let me know what else you'd like, and I'll see if it can be arranged. However, if you want a pony, I won't be able to help you with that one. Since I'm still waiting on the one my Mom and I discussed about 28 years ago, I'm relatively certain that there has been some sort of massive pony shortage that the government hasn't told us about for the past few decades. In lieu of a pony, here is a picture of a cute little catball to tide you over.



Thanking you in advance.

Love,
Robynn

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Dear left contact lens,

Stop being a prick and stay put.

Love,
Robynn

Monday, November 16, 2009

Dear husband,

I am truly thankful that I came home from work today and found that you had both cleaned the bathroom from top to bottom and done the laundry. I'm not being sarcastic. I genuinely am thankful. However, instead of giving me attitude yesterday when I asked if you might have time on your day off to do the laundry, leading me to believe that you weren't going to do it, you could have sucked it up and told me you'd get around to it. Why? Oh, maybe so I could have sorted it beforehand and thus ensured that all of my dryer-friendly stuff went in the dryer instead of hanging all around the apartment and all of my non-dryer-friendly underthings and whatnot didn't. It reminds me of my favorite line from Hedwig and the Angry Inch:

"You put a BRA in a DRYER?! How many times do I have to tell you?? You don't put a BRA in a DRYER! IT WARPS!!"

Love,
Robynn

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Dear stupid blonde who almost hit me coming out of the St. Paul's parkade,

You are an idiot. You weren't looking where you were going, and if you had hit me, it would have been entirely your fault. I was directly in front of your car when you started moving. I noticed the fact that there were two people trying to get into the parkade as you were trying to leave, and am sympathetic to how that must have confused you. However, honking at me and giving me the finger was probably not the most appropriate solution.

Sincerely,
The redhead who returned your flip-off Italian Style