This job rarely gets busy, but today has been insane. It started when I first came in and learned I was going to have to call a bunch of associate offices and inform them about the Vet's Day holiday schedule. It wouldn't be such a pain if I had no clue how to interpret what I'm telling them, but I really don't, so if my by-rote reading elicits questions, I'm in trouble, especially since Gary and Clyde, who assured me they would answer any questions, disappeared!

I bumbled through, but didn't get my walk; I just punched in and out for lunch and stayed here. Hey, I don't mind. I even got four points from Gary and Clyde, enough for a $50 gift certificate to Red Lobster. Given that in a different lifetime I would have gotten a $500 Special Achievement Award, $50 seems like a big comedown, but I guess I should be grateful to finally have a bit of my hard work recognized--especially given how very hard I was working today. Drop shipments has been very heavy, especially with the influx of political mail. But that will come to an end tomorrow, when we vote and all the political mail should end. The way these people have been lambasting each other, I really don't want to vote for ANY of them!

I took naps both weekend days, so I guess my Synthroid hasn't jump-started my thyroid yet. I figure when I have more energy and feel less urgency to sleep, that's when I'll know the medication has kicked in. Dan and I went to the buffet and gym yesterday, and I bought a pair of new shoes and new sneakers in the afternoon at a buy one get one half price sale at Marty's Shoes. We also dropped off a blanket and some snacks for the dogs at Bide-a-Wee (which has yet to take us up on our volunteer offer to walk their dogs).

I also purchased a nice new black and blue tote bag for my gym stuff at National Wholesale Liquidators, for $20. Dan's been bugging me to do that for a long time, so now he can get off my case about it.

Dan and Mike saw a violent torture movie, SAW III, Saturday, and before that, the three of us had lunch at our favorite Chinese buffet in Deer Park. I napped while they watched the gross flick.

Brad joined Dan and me at the diner for dinner last night. A great time was had by all, except that we glumly realized we had to go to work today. Brad caught two of his kids cheating on a test the other day. He had a really tough time with the kids' parents, who refused to believe their angels guilty of anything so heinous. What is happening with this world?




I'm going to stop by the gym briefly today because Dan made arrangements for an oil burner repair guy to come look at our humidifier after I get home from work tomorrow. So tomorrow I can't stop at the gym.

Gilda was right--it's always something!

Love, Robin

For many years, I wrote porn stories to make extra money. Yes, folks, those "true" letters you read in pocket-sized magazines are all made up by dirty-minded writers like me who keep trying to come up with new, sexy words for vagina and penis.

I no longer write erotica because everyone can read it free on the internet, and also because, after writing hundreds, perhaps thousands, of such stories, I simply burnt out on writing them and don't feel I have another one in me. (Snicker--a double entendre!)

As a kid, I used to watch Romper Room and always wanted to be on it. Ditto Let's Have Fun, that Sonny Fox show (Wonderama?), Queen For a Day and that Circus Show with Claude Kirschner (sp?).

My brother Steve taught me the alphabet before I ever saw a classroom, and about George Washington, Abe Lincoln and a slew of other stuff. He used to play classical pieces of music on the piano for hours and hours, and I learned the beauty in composers like Chopin, Lizst, Beethoven, Mozart and many others. He even broke down and played rock 'n' roll once in a while.

I'm a cryer. I cry at the end of happy and sad movies, TV shows and real life events. I nearly flood out the theater when I see TITANIC or GONE WITH THE WIND, I'm sobbing so hard. I cry silently, though; you won't hear a peep out of me, but I sometimes think my heart is going to explode from holding in my noise. I don't want to disturb others with my weeping.

Sometimes, when I sneeze or laugh, I piss myself a little. I think this is what happens when you get to my age while in peri-menopause. Yes, it's gross, disgusting and I shouldn't have told you. My crotch never looks wet, though, I promise you that. My panties protect me from such embarrassment.

I had 7 or 8 parakeets, one at a time, when I was in my single-digit years, but most didn't live long. One lasted three years, my gorgeous blue-chested miracle bird. They were all named Chippy, and not one of them ever spoke, even though I repeated my name thousands of times to them. I loved their beautiful colors and the way they tilted their heads to one side when they looked at me as they sat on my finger.

We had turtles, small and large, fish, dogs, cats. It's no wonder I love smaller creatures as much as I do, growing up, as I did, in the midst of a menagerie.

I love Italian food so much, I should have been born Italian. Give me a good plate of spaghetti with meat sauce and I'm in flying to heaven. Add Italian bread to soak up the excess sauce and I'm there for the duration. Giovanni's makes such good food, yummy!!

That's enough tidbits for today. Have a wonderful weekend, Merry Blogsters!

Love, Robin

Brad's having a hard time coping with some of his math students. They were so coddled in grade school, junior high is asking too much of them--they actually have to THINK, and God forbid, WORK! And their parents aren't helping at all. He calls to tell them their kids aren't doing homework, failing tests, and the parents' attitudes are basically, oh, well, he/she isn't good at math, neither was I, what can I do?, just do the best you can, blah blah blah. But I can guarantee this: when my son sends home a report card with a failing grade for their little darlings, they're going to go apeshit!

Brad tutors a couple of kids (none his own students; that's not allowed). He gets $50-$60 per hour, which isn't as much as many other teachers get for tutoring. The going rate seems to be $80-$100/hour for a certified teacher, so Brad is relatively inexpensive. When he tutors a kid, that student does a lot better, and it makes Brad feel great. The one-on-one shows positive results, and makes my son feel appreciated. I love talking to Brad about his work, his day, his efforts. We're two adults now, and it's so COOL to share work stories. Not that mine are especially interesting, but I love hearing about his.

Last night, Bugsy kept bothering Brad, who was lying on the sofa. Standing on the floor, he barked at him incessantly. Finally, at our urging, he joined Brad on the sofa. Brad must have spilled something on his pants, because Bugsy began eagerly licking him down there. Brad protested that he was being tickled, in embarrassing places, but Bugsy refused to stop. It's dangerous to try to prevent Bugsy from doing something he's enjoying. Dan and I were laughing our asses off over Brad's predicament. Our son reclaimed his dignity by carefully standing up and walking away. Bugsy followed. Brad closed himself in his office. Bugsy sat outside the door, scratching and barking, and although I was able to distract him for a few brief periods of time, he kept returning to bark and mewl for Brad to let him in. Brad finally exited the room, muttering nasty expletives about Bugsy's relentless stalking.

Tonight I'll meet Dan at the gym for a good workout. I stopped by yesterday for a half hour of exercise, which felt great. Tonight I'll get there ahead of Dan and work out by myself for a while. By the time he arrives, I'll be pretty much finished with most of what I want to do and ready for swimming and jacuzzi.

Tomorrow is dinner with Sharon. I haven't seen her in a month and a half, which is way too long to wait to see one's best friend. I can't wait!

I hope there is something in your near future that YOU can't wait for, because you know what? Having something to look forward to is what keeps us going. Seriously!

Love, Robin

We only had a dozen kids show up at the door last night. I was so disappointed, because I love the little kids proudly parading around in their adorable Halloween duds. Maybe Bugsy's and Snap's barking scared them away? As three girls were heading up the walk, both dogs were nosing around the front door. "Get away from the door!" I yelled, sending the trio of girls fleeing. I chased them down, bowl of candy in my hands. "I wasn't screaming at you, it was my dogs!" I cried, pressing candy bars into their pillowcases. Poor things.

Because I had to pick up dice for Brad to use in his classes, I was late getting home, which is why I probably missed all the cute little kids who usually come to my house. Not even my next door neighbors or the munchkins from across the street, who I know adore me, stopped by. Perhaps they went trick or treating at the local mall? I don't know, but I feel cheated, and even all the leftover chocolate isn't assuaging my feelings.

Speaking of the dice, there's a funny story. I went to a local dollar store to buy them. Brad needed 12 dice. The store is run by Orientals. When I went in, I asked a man stocking shelves where I could find dice. He looked at me blankly, and I realized he didn't speak English. I shook my hand as if I had dice in them, then threw my imaginary dice. "Dice," I kept repeating, "you thrown them when you play a game." I followed him to the pet section and handed me one I might throw to Snaps or Bugsy.

Realizing he wasn't understanding me, I went to the girl behind the counter. She, too, was Oriental, but comprehended my request. Unfortunately, when she searched for dice, she couldn't find any. I went down the street to Duane Reade, where I purchased 15 dice for $6.58. I felt ripped off, but mission accomplished, and I raced home to hand out candy.

Dan came home about 6:15 with a pizza. We'd decided not to have the usual two-fer dinner at Sidekicks so we'd be home to deal with the hordes of trick or treaters we were expecting. Given that four more showed up, we realized we could have--should have--gone ahead with business as usual. How sad is that?

Now I have a dilemma--three diabetics in a house filled with chocolate candy. What do I do? WHAT DO I DO???

Love, Robin

I used to love Halloween. What's not to love? Being a chocoholic, I could go door to door, collecting bags filled with Three Musketeers, Hershey Bars, Peanut Butter Cups. Mmmmmm! I was supposed to bring it all home for Mom's inspection, of course, but I always snuck a few candy bars along the way for energy. . .yeah, energy. My favorites were always the combo bags, where they put a bunch of candy bars in one. Oh, boy, and the fatter the bag, the more candy inside! Once, I was handed this big, thick bag, all taped up. I raced home to show it to Mom, who unwrapped it eagerly while I danced impatiently from one foot to another, anticipating the thickest piece of chocolate EVER. It was a mini-sized Tastybread, just big enough to be cut in half and slathered with peanut butter and jelly for my lunch. Oh, the searing disappointment! Mom, however, was delighted with the stupid mini bread loaf.

I never dressed in a scary costume. No witches or ghosts for this girl; I was a nurse, fairy princess or other equally benign characters. Just like now, I wanted people to LOVE and NEED me.

As a trick or treating kid, I could--and did--get lost walking around the block, and good-hearted people would call my mother to come get me. She sighed over my poor sense of direction, which haunts me to this day.

Today, I will stop to pick up dice for Brad for use in his classroom, then head home to give out candy to the trick or treating children. I love their costumes, their parents, waiting on the sidewalk, their eager faces as I dole out the chocolate treats.

But I always save a few for me, who is dressed as a devil today, horns on my head as is befitting. I may be an adult, but I am still a raging chocoholic!

Love, Robin