Friday. . .I want to go home! It's not just that it's finally a gorgeous, non-tropical day, sans humidity, but I feel like SHIT! After 60 days without menstruating, my period, Aunt Flo, arrived with a bang--cramps, diarrhea, the need to change my tampon every hour. All this for WHAT? To get knocked up a total of once in my lifetime? To bleed from my pussy from the age of nine until now, all those months of feeling like my guts are pouring out of me?

I've said it before--you should be able to turn menstruation on with a switch, ONLY when you WANT to conceive a child! Imagine, there would be no 13-year-old mothers, no rapes resulting in unwanted pregnancies, no stupid teens creating babies their first time fucking, no need for condoms except fear of transmitted disease! A gal would get her first period, then simply turn off that damned switch until she was ready to have her first baby, her second, third, etc.--and we would only have exactly how many kids we wanted to have! Doesn't that sound fabulous? And women could have kids for as many years as they wanted, just like men can!

OK, back to how crappy I feel. Bloated, in pain, cranky, pissed off, I just wanna go home. I'm supposed to go to the gym this afternoon, but in all honesty, I don't feel up for it. I'd rather just go home and wallow in my misery, watching TV with my doggies by my side. I will make up the gym by going both Saturday and Sunday, I swear.

Work is also a pain in the ass. We have no empties to give anyone, and that's really a mess. I'm off for the next four days, up to July 4, which is really great, but Rudyk is on vacation next week, which means the shit falls in my lap for three 10-hour days. I don't mind the overtime, but I do mind that it's going to be very aggravating and no one here gives a shit.

On a happier note, Brad joined me for lunch here today. Of course, I had to show him off a bit--Connie, Tony Buck, Gary, and for the first time, Nancy. We walked down to the cafeteria. He had a chicken sandwich, soup and a bottled water. I just had a large soup, which he didn't think substantial enough. I explained that I wasn't feeling well, it was "woman trouble," which seemed explanation enough. Men don't want any of the gory details, LOL. He excitedly told me he was going to Grand Avenue School to decorate his classroom (he starts teaching summer school next week), and needed to make copies and such. I hope he's this enthusiastic after his first week with the not-so-smart kids he'll be teaching beginning July 5.

Four days off! I hope they'll be good ones. I hope poor Bugsy manages OK with all the fireworks. I hope *I* do. I'm not much of a fan. I enjoy the pretty colors in the sky. The noise I can do without.

Love, Robin

It rained again today. I believe it started as soon as I took Bugsy and Snaps out. Sure. Some mischievous Higher Power up there saw me getting ready, snapping the hooks around their collars and said, "Ooh, there's Robin--turn on the rain! I love watching her juggle the two dogs, the pooper scooper and the umbrella! Heh heh heh! Send in the deluge!"

And down it comes. I walked them around the front yard, trying, with little success, to keep from getting soaked. Snaps just kept tugging at the leash, wanting to return to the house. Bugsy got in a couple of long pee squirts, but I wanted him to take a nice dump, which he's been doing every morning lately. I had to keep yelling at Snaps, "Stop pulling!", urging Bugsy, "Make nice doody for Mama," all the while holding awkwardly onto scooper, leash and umbrella in torrential downpour and unrelenting wind.

"SHIT!" I screamed. "Snaps, stop pulling! Bugsy, poop!" Neither dog obeyed. Cursing, I led both dripping pooch back into the house. Dan had at least remembered to put down towels; unfortunately, one I had planned to bring with me to the gym later today. He dried off Snaps first, then I took the towel and worked on Bugsy. He allowed me to wipe him down for a good 40 seconds before snarling and attacking in that terrorizing way of his that sounds like he's going to bite off your hand. I instantly ceased the drying process and released him from the leash.

My soaking-wet hair looked like crap all day today, greasy and frizzy, but I didn't give much of a shit. I also had a streak of red in my panties this morning, so it appears my period IS NOT completely done with my yet. On the other hand, I don't feel all crampy, and the flow is definitely not the gusher I would expect after not getting it for three months, but perhaps this is just the pre-cursor, and pre-period, if you will. Maybe I will explode like Mt. St. Helena in a day or so and I will require a transfusion of B+? Please keep me in mind if you match my type, OK? Thanks!

Dan, Brad and I went out for Tuesday Two-Fer at Sidekicks last night. I had the sandwich, and I gave half of that to him for lunch today. He's attending day 2 of his two day seminar. It was dull, but he gets a credit toward his next salary increase. Pretty cool, huh? That's my boy, already climbing the corporate ladder--before even officially starting his job! And he still doesn't want to start paying for his own car insurance--or gas--until it's absolutely necessary! We think it's NOW, he wants to wait until September. Sigh!

Sunshine + heat + humidity makes Robin sad and mad. Robin likes cool, sunny weather. If she wanted to live in place like Florida, she'd go live there!

Hey, keep cool, gang.

Love, Robin

It rained all weekend, precluding outdoor activities. Bide-a-Wee was supposed to have a to-do yesterday, but given the ongoing downpours, we didn't even bother checking to see if it was on; I napped from 12-4, annoyed at sleeping the day away once again. Given my exhaustion and bouts with belly cramps, I was wondering if perhaps my long-lost period was on the way. I don't know. All I know is, the humidity and continually gray skies combined to make me just want to sleep and sleep and sleep!

I did a quick race to Wal-Mart and back Saturday morning after walking Bugsy and Snapple. It wasn't raining when we left the house, but some mischievous higher power must have decided to make it deluge upon the three of us halfway through our walk, and we ended up returning home drenched. I applied towels to Bugsy and Snapple, who waited for a few patient moments and allowed me to dry them off so at least they wouldn't drip on the floors and furniture. My poor hair was so fucking wet!

I went for a facial at 1:30. Prior to that, Dan and I had dozed off for a brief nap. His watch kept awakening us at five minute intervals, and I finally realized it was time to leave. It was the same place I'd gone to the previous day for the facial hair rip and pluck (yes, it hurt), with Laura, the same lovely Russian lady. Her husband had owned, then sold Carpet Depot and must have made a fortune. Laura felt American facials were far inferior to what Russian aesthetists provided, and let me tell you, this woman gave me the most amazing facial! Not only did she tend to my face, she worked on my hands and my shoulders, leaving me feeling absolutely relaxed and marvelous! She plucked blackheads from my nose, soothed my forehead, scrubbed the ugly skin on my chin with exfoliating lotion, played relaxing music, told me how to take good care of my skin, and made me feel like the most pampered woman on earth.

Over the two days, I tipped Laura $15, and she was worth every single cent!

For the first time ever, I think I might treat myself to a facial on a regular basis, but only if I can have Laura take care of me. It was supposed to take only an hour, but she worked on me for nearly an hour and a half!

We dined at TGIFriday's with Mike last night. He spent $9 for two glasses of wine, which is, to me, crazy, but he always has either wine or beer when we go out. I bet Mike still owes Dan for the Pay Per View they saw the other night. And Dan bought tickets on the net to see Superman. Did Mike reimburse him for his? I bet he didn't, not yet. I have a problem with the way Mike does things, but I have to let Dan handle it. It gets me so steamed, though!

Dan and I hit the gym Saturday afternoon. I really wanted to go Sunday, too, but like I said, I chose to use that for a nap day. I'm supposed to come back and meet Dan at the gym later when he gets off work, but I hate doing that! It's so much easier to just stop at the gym on my way home and be done with it, you know? I consider it a waste of gas to come back and forth twice. Ideally, I only want to go with Dan weekends, Saturday and Sunday, and maybe one day during the week, like Wednesday.

Poor Dan--Bugsy got upstairs this morning and climbed on our bed. When Dan tried to pick him up to go downstairs, Bugsy growled at him, and Dan was afraid to attempt to force him, so he called me at work. I advised my hubby to just leave the dog where he was; when Brad woke up, he would take him downstairs without any problem. I was right, too--by the time Brad woke up, Bugsy was ready to go downstairs and holding out his paws in the cute, begging fashion he does when he wants to be picked up. Rotten little dog!

Hey, do any of you remember the song, "They're Coming to Take Me Away?" Wasn't that about a guy who loses his dog? I'm having an argument about that with some folks I know. They think the reference to "you mangy mutt" is a woman!

Love, Robin

For whatever reason, everyone in my office except me is switching desks, moving to other spots in the office. Gary, our manager, has been in Africa for the past month, is returning here Monday. We don't want him back. He makes all of us miserable, and it's been so much nicer here without him. The only reason he's here is because he caused trouble at every other one of the offices at which he's worked, so they shuffled him in here even though he knows nothing about transportation. A former bad boy reformed into a born-again Christian, the man is a complete hypocrite who is undoubtedly going to hell no matter how many good deeds he does now simply because, bottom line, his heart is black, no matter how white he paints himself on the outside.

Nuff said about him. I wish he'd been eaten by pygmies in Africa and only his bleached bones returned to us.

Someone is giving away an 11 month old Dachshund on Craigslist--with no adoption fee. That always worries me. Most people ask a couple of hundred bucks just to prove the person is serious about wanting the dog and has the money to take decent care of it. A "free" dog can be taken by cruel, evil people intent on selling it to a lab for God knows what kind of experiments, or who intend to take and torture it, or want to use it for bait to train other dogs to fight. I was concerned enough to write the guy, cautioning him about screening anyone who contacts him about wanting to adopt the dog. It sounds like a cutie, only 12 pounds, and has a little problem--it pees a bit when excited, which might turn off a lot of prospective adopters. That's something a dog can outgrow, especially since this dog is still a puppy at 11 months. I just pray he gets a good, loving home and not some crazy shithead who intends to harm him or sell him to someone else who does.

I'm so glad it's Friday, even though the weather forecast for the next seven days is rain, humidity, thunderstorms. I just want a couple of days to relax. Tonight, I'm getting together with my best friend, Sharon, and her daughter, Gabby. We're doing dinner at Krisch's and then, if the weather cooperates, a walk at Jones Beach. We haven't done that in a while, and I'm really looking forward to it. I even told Dan to fend for himself for dinner. I usually feel so guilty, I make Dan a meal before I leave, but tonight, I might only have to make something for Brad. So it will really be a pretty free night for me!!

I feel so restless! I just want so much to get out of here this afternoon! I have an appointment to get some facial hair waxed off, (courtesy of that auction at which I won a day of beauty), which I guess is going to hurt like hell, but the hair on my chin has to be shaved every morning, which is a pain, so perhaps this will free me from having to do so for a couple of days at least. I assume waxing really gets down near the roots of the hair.

Today is Brad's final day at school. He gets a week and a half respite, then begins teaching at summer school. Three hours a day for six weeks! And he gets paid damn well, far better, for far less hours, than Maplewood Day Camp! Ironically, Brad is also working for the head of Maplewood, helping him with his doctoral thesis. He's being paid $75 per hour for that! So Brad has become a professional making professional-league money, as he should. It boggles my mind, and I think it's fabulous.

Well, little pup, I'm saying a prayer for you. If I didn't have two dogs already, and one a biter, I'd take you myself. I hope you find a good, safe home.

Love, Robin

As you know, I've waxed rhapsodic about my son, Brad, and his recent accomplishments--the straight A's in college, his snagging the teaching job of his choice. I consider him damn near perfect.

When it comes to household chores, however, Brad lags behind and always has. It irks me, I admit, but it must be my fault. I never taught him to cook anything except for grilled cheese sandwiches or hot dogs. I insisted that he make his own lunches every day, and he took on that job without argument, making sandwiches, enclosing fruit, 100 Calorie packs, etc. Of course, all the stuff that went into that lunch cooler were purchased by Mom and/or Dad. I've asked Brad to buy boxes of cereal at Wal-Mart, but he has never taken it upon himself to food shop unless he sees something he wants to eat and purchases it of his own volition.

School is grinding to a close, and Brad's been pretty much vegging it lately. So I asked him to put out the garbage Monday for Tuesday pickup. Given that he usually leaves the empty can out at the curb, this was perhaps asking for a bit much, but he lives in our house, so why can't he contribute once in a while? Dan and I usually do all the laundry; Brad does laundry when he needs something of his own done, and generally allows us to do ours plus his. He doesn't tend to volunteer his assistance with household chores. He sort of owns the loveseat in the living room, and uses it for his books, papers, mail, etc., and seems to think if he keeps THAT neat, that's his only responsibility in the house.

Dan and I disagree.

Anyway, Brad very reluctantly took care of the garbage Monday evening. He collected his garbage pail from upstairs, plus the kitchen can, dumped them into the main can outside and wheeled it to the curb. It's even on WHEELS, for God's sake!

Last night, though, Brad wasn't happy when I asked him to take care of the newspapers and yellow can (our town recycles aluminum cans, plastics, yada yada yada).

It hurts my feelings, you know? Dan and I both have diabetic neuropathy in our feet, I have a bad back, and when he helps us this way, it's one less thing we have to do, a little less pain we must deal with. Doesn't he get that? Have we made him THAT selfish?

A co-worker complained that her son and daughter-in-law don't help out at home, even though they and their baby son are living in her house--plus, they neglected to give her husband a father's day card or gift! Brad gave Dan a terrific gift, card, dinner, birthday present, the works. Does that mean he's off the hook in helping out around the house? I don't think so!!

Brad did NOT take care of the garbage last night, despite several reminders. When Dan and I gazed out our window overlooking the front yard, we saw the yellow can and newspapers had not been taken out.

I will be discussing this with my son when I see him later today. He still lives with us, he knows we have physical difficulties. We shouldn't even have to ASK for his help. He should just DO these things because he loves us, feels he owes us and fulfills those obligations without being asked.

I'll keep reminding him until it's stuck in his head like a song's refrain he can't forget.

Or at least until he remembers how much he loves us and wants to lighten our burden.

Whichever comes first.

Love, Robin