All De Little Critters

I'm sure they have rules against this kind if thing, but I placed some bread out on the balcony during the blizzard and am currently delighted by the birds that have discovered it.

It took a while for them to find it. I don't think they're used to handouts around these parts. Not because people don't care, but because if people were to put bird feeders on their balconies, we'd all be awash in caca. But this one time can't hurt.

Along the same lines, I've found some fine furry programming that helps me while away the job-searching hours. Animal Planet has surpassed VH1 as my favorite time-wasting channel (which speaks volumes about my worldliness and sophistication. Meh). I'm quite taken with Emergency Vets (ER...for animals!) and Animal Precinct (COPS...for animals!). I like That's My Baby as well, but were I to watch it regularly it would amount to two hours a day of watching farm animals and Sea World denizens give birth, and there's something inherently wrong with that.

My favorite show has to be a program that looks as if it wandered away from Brooklyn cable access and found its way into syndication on Fox. It airs Sunday mornings and is called Pet Shop, and features this doofus giving pet advice while surrounded by MORE ANIMALS THAN YOU CAN SHAKE A STICK AT. There's giant bunnies mingling with prairie dogs and parrots and puppies and cats and hamsters and two extremely wound-up chinchillas and ferrets and crows, all sitting on a space the size of an office desk. I don't know what the hell he's talking about half the time. That's not the point. If you do find yourself awake on a Sunday morning, give it a look. You won't be sorry.

Robyn

Playing House

There has been a severe lack of updates due to a severe lack of opportunity to go online due to a severe lack of a stable existence over the past few weeks.

Got that?

To whit, I left New York on December 21, went to Washington DC for three days, went to Richboro for two days, DC for one day, Texas for a week, and returned to DC on Saturday.

Life is slowly returning to something resembling normal, although the apartment is still in the moving-in stage. Which is a nice way of saying my books, videos and other assorted crap is strewn all over the place awaiting the arrival of bookcases and other furnishings that will make it a little more homey in here.

And there's the pesky lack of employment to contend with as well. And insurance, phone plans, etc.

Playing house is hard.

I suppose that should suffice as far as boring personal updates go. Next time I'll talk about something more fascinating, like the Animal Planet channel.

How I love Animal Planet.

We'll talk later.

Robyn

Another Routine Wildly Life-Changing Adventure

It is a very bad thing to waste a day in New York City. Under any circumstances. Especially when it is 80 degrees and sunny.

But alas, I feel I have done just that today.

I arrived back in NYC yesterday, and am delighted to be in an interesting neighborhood on the fringes of Little Italy, Chinatown, and SoHo. I believe the hipster slang for the area is NoLiTa (North of Little Italy), but since I am decidedly unhip, I really shouldn't throw that around in everyday use. Neither should you, if you know what's good for you.

So after spending all of yesterday unpacking and the early part of today stocking the pantry, I collapsed on my bed with a very old magazine and whiled away the afternoon.

There are better ways to piss away an afternoon. I could have read that old magazine in Battery Park. Or the very nice playground around the corner that says "Play!" on the wall.

But the bed just looked awfully appealing.

It won't happen again, but NYC is going to have to wait for me to atone for my sin. Tomorrow I set off for another wildy life-changing adventure when I fly to Dallas to drive halfway across the country to assist Jeffrey in finding a new home in Washington, which is destined to be another regular urban haunt.

The wildly life-changing adventures seem to be occurring rather frequently, don't they?

Maybe an afternoon reposing on the bed was the proper thing to do after all.

Robyn

Kickin it 'Burb Style (Y'all)

Today Bobby and I drove into Newtown in the Eminem-blaring, tire-rattling 1992 Buick LeSabre to visit the brand new Chik-Fil-A restaurant which was overrun with high school kids celebrating the next-to-last day of school and myriad others who were curious to see the latest addition to the area's ever-growing cache of corporate outlets. After which we watched MTV before heading off to our respective mall job or appointed hang-out date at a friend's house followed by a late night trip to the Wawa.

Yep. It's summertime in suburbia.

Now you know why the updates haven't been quite as often in coming. Unless you're curious about how different diners' mozzarella sticks stack up against each other. Or Wawa's new computerized ordering system. 'Cuz I can talk about these subjects at length.

But I won't.

Gotta go. Conan's on.

Robyn

Back from Texas

No updates for awhile because I was in Texas for the New Year sans computer. Sure feels nice to come back to a mailbox full of 10 days worth of unsolicited pornographic e-mail, I can tell you.

I spent the New Year with the honey at his grandparent's home in Arlington. I ate massive amounts of chicken fried steak and spent a low-key New Year's Eve drinking sparkling grape juice. I also had the opportunity to explore Ft. Worth on my own while Jeffrey went to work at City Hall. I wouldn't reccommend (recommend? reccomend? reccccommmennnd?) it as a lifestyle, but killing an entire day, sun-up to sundown, by oneself can be immensely satisfying. I shopped, trekked, and saw a movie all on my own. Quite novel. It was probably made all the more pleasant because I knew I had a Jeffrey to go back to at 5:00 after my day of solitude, but I guess there's no harm in taking a little personal time.

I also discovered that a lot of Ft. Worthians respond to 29-degree temperatures and flurries as though they were the harbingers of the apocalypse; and regard any who dare to venture forth into these conditions as stalwart and noble-hearted meteorlogical warriors.

But then, they never had to stand outside of the Ed Sullivan Theater on 53rd and Broadway in subzero temperatures in nothing more than an ugly page uniform, pretending to be chipper, cheerful and welcoming all the while.

I eat 29-degree termperatures for breakfast, is what I'm trying to say.

All in all a lovely visit, and a nice send-off from the Jeffrey, who I shan't see for at least two months ::sniffle::

Robyn