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

I don't. Not this hot, and sticky. I like the in-between seasons, when there are spring and fall breezes and temps where you don't need to turn on the heat or air conditioning. Given how much electricity costs on this godforsaken island, I don't want to give LIPA/Keyspan anymore than I have to!

Father's Day was steamy and hot. Dan and I went to the gym in the AM for lots of exercise and a dip in the jacuzzi. I slipped a questing toe into the pool, considering some laps, but it was WAY too cold for me. So I slipped into the 103 degree water with a sigh of pleasure, and when Dan joined me, I gave him a smooch. I still love him, even though he is often a pain in the ass.

We ate haphazardly yesterday, especially for diabetics. Technically, it's best for us to eat 5-6 small meals daily, but we didn't eat anything at all until 2:30, when Mike joined us at Old Country Buffet. We just missed a HUGE crowd there; shortly after we sat down at a table, the line snaked all the way out onto the sidewalk, and even those who'd paid had to wait until those of us eating left our tables.

Mike and Dan overdid the food, as usual, scarfing up plenty of all the wrong stuff--too many carbs, too much fried garbage, TOO MUCH in general. I realize that buffets are deadly for diabetics, but you can take it easy by avoiding the fried food, eating more salad and soup, taking the non-fat, no-sugar ice cream, as I did, for dessert. I will confess that I also grabbed a freshly-baked chocolate chip cookie and a piece of chocolate cake that didn't belong anywhere in a diabetic's or Weight Watcher's diet, but I was feeling so smug about the rest of my meal, I figured what the fuck. To top off his meal, Mike grabbed two large hunks of carrot cake, topped with gooey, sugary frosting. I think he really believes that's the same as eating vegetables, for God's sake!

I paid the price. I ended up with the most horrible bellyache last night. I took something for it, but nothing helps when I get that fiery pain in my stomach. It kept me up for hours, so when the alarm went off this morning, my first thought was, "Oh, only Dan has to get up now; I can go back to sleep." Then I remembered, "No, assface, YOU have to get up now, too!" My tummy felt OK, but I am so very tired now, and this will probably carry on for the rest of the week.

When we got home, Dan and Mike exchanged birthday gifts (a wrestling book for Mike, two bags of coffee for Dan) ordered a wrestling Pay-Per-View, and worked together on the computer. After a while, Mike grew famished again and began searching our house for food. He'd only brought over a flat bottle of Diet Pepsi for the wrestling event, and we really didn't have much to eat in the house, but Dan made it sound as if Mike were a bear, desperate to find food in our fridge or cupboards. Sorry, but that's shithead behavior--plus, he wasn't able to give Dan his portion of the PPV last night. He knew they were ordering one, so why didn't he bring the bucks? That pisses me off. What kind of friend is that?

I haven't seen a period in quite a while now, well over two months. I wonder if I'm going to have anymore, or if my next one is going to be a volcanic gusher that's going to drain my iron levels to zero?

Dan's already complaining about the heat. He'll want to put the A/C's into the windows, always an anxiety-inducing project (we haven't done it for 3 years, I think). I think I'd like to get a couple of estimates on installing central air. I'm sure it's going to cost more than $10,000, but it will certainly add more value to the house than a white vinyl fence would.

Give me 65-70 degrees with low humidity and sweet breezes. THAT is ideal!

I don't like it hot-hot-hot!

Love, Robin

Newsday tells ms that another 18-year-old boy has abruptly, inexplicably died. He also was to be a graduating student at a Floral Park high school, a volunteer firefighter and an acquaintance of the 18 year old boy I mentioned in my previous entry--one of the four who died in the car accident.

This boy went to sleep. His father went to awaken him, found his skin cold, couldn't rouse him, called 911. His own fire department came to the house and were horrified to see the victim was, as they say in the newspapers and on cheesy trailers for TV shows, One of Their Own.

WHY???

Babies sometimes go to sleep and don't wake up. Crib death. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, or SIDS, it's called. This, however, was a seemingly healthy 18-year-old adult-boy! They aren't just supposed to die in their sleep, are they? NO, damn it, they aren't!

They'll autopsy him. Perhaps they'll learn what killed him, perhaps not. His family and friends will want to know, but in the end, it won't matter, because it won't change anything, it won't return life to his lifeless body.

Both dead children were about to graduate high school. Their diplomas will be given to their parents, who will hold those pieces of paper and not know what to do with them. Keep them? Bury them with their children? Send them flying up to heaven with helium balloons?

This scares me. The world is a terrifying place that snatches young people away from parents to die in the jagged maws of manmade machines called cars; or simply takes their breath away, like a supernatural monster creeping out of the dark to suck the life from their lungs.

There is no safe place. None. And there's no place else to go.

Not feeling the love today,
Robin

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAN, AND HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, TO THE BEST HUSBAND AND FATHER IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!!!!

One of the topics Brad and I discussed over dinner the other night was his close calls while driving. In other words, accidents he nearly had. "That's something mothers just LOVE to hear about," I said with heavy sarcasm. He smirked at me. He knows that his mother is insane, and worries in inventive and indeed, terrifying ways. I realize how it is--the bird gets a sense of independence and you're forced to let them guide their own course. However, they're STILL coming back to your nest to sleep and eat occasional meals, allowing you to know how late they come home, how little sleep they're getting, how they're being designated driver for half their stupid friends, being out on the road with all the crazy drunks, so even though you know HE'S a great driver, you still worry like crazy!

Deep breath.

Four local kids were killed in an accident a few days ago. It seems to happen every year. Jubilant kids about to graduate celebrate to the max--and for some reason, they get into a terrible car crash--and we lose them.

Why?

Grieving parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, teachers, gather 'round and speak of what wonderful children they were, how much they gave to the world, how much more they had to give, if only they had lived.

Then, we have a crazy man running around stabbing strangers on the subway.

Why?

Why was he not incarcerated? Why was he allowed to just race around stabbing people? Why is he alive doing such terrible things, when these good young people die?

I know, I'm asking ancient, unanswerable questions. I can't help but feel that such terrible incidents demand response from someone. We usually turn to religion for answers, but I'm not sure how I feel about that. It's growing harder and harder for me to believe a just deity exists when terrible, terrible things continue to go on in this world.

At least Duke, the local bulldog facing euthanasia, got another chance at life. I'm grateful for that. Elite Animal Trainers worked with my incorrigible Bugsy, however, and after a brief stint at good behavior, he returned to his evil ways. I hope Duke fares better, and turns out to be the mild-mannered, good dog those rooting for him believe him to be.

Here's to a good weekend without tragedy. Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there!

Love, Robin