I found Miss Lilly. A few hours went by but she eventually came out of hiding. She was laying down on the ottoman in the living room, just relaxing like nothing happened. She let me pet her for a few minutes.
Shes fine, everything’s perfectly all right now, we’re fine, we’re all fine here now, thank you, how are you?
Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. We have one plan for the day but I have a few additional things I want to get to.
I think I can manage that.
Until then, I am worried about one of the cats. Lilly. About half an hour ago she made a ton of noise. She was running around like crazy, crashing into things and skidding all over the tiled floor. She somehow got wrapped up in a plastic bag and was absolutely freaking out trying to get untangled. She ran into the bed room where I was sitting up in bed and watching something on my laptop. She then dashed out again and went into hiding. I can’t find her anywhere. I’m worried that she might have hurt herself in her struggles. I’m worried that she might have wrapped the plastic bag around her neck. She hid herself so well though that I can’t seem to find her anywhere. I’m sure she’s okay, but I would like to find her to know for sure.
Poor kitty.
You know you’re old when your wife asks you if you have any interest in going to bed and just sitting up reading for a little while before nodding off for the night…
And it’s not even 8:00pm yet…
And you are absolutely interested. Absolutely.
If you are lucky, like my wife, you get to have lunch at Chef Robbie’s, where the frozen hamburger patties are gourmet and the air fried frozen french fries (not pictured) are superb.
Obligatory morning errands, bakery and grocery shopping post with Hipstamatic App pics.
Why the hell would anyone in their right mind name something after a dope like me?
Given that I was named after my father you might think I had wanted to name a son, if I ever had one, after me. Hi, I am Robert, Jr and here is my devilishly handsome, hyper intelligent son (who clearly takes after his mother) Robert, III. Nope. No way. I would never subject any son I might have had to anything like that. Let’s just say that I would have lived through it so he would not have had to. I don’t have a biological son though (I have a step son who I love as much as anyone could ever love a biological son) so it’s a moo point. You know, it’s like a cow’s opinion. It’s moo.
I’ve seen a few people say they would like to have a street named after them. That’s a really good take. Unfortunately, I have a very common first name and a slightly less common but still very common last name. That means there are already streets in most New England towns with those names. Too late, Robbie. Too late.
As a guitar player one fun option would be to have a guitar named after me. I’d have to be super famous for that, but why not consider it? My favorite guitar is arguably the most famous signature guitar there is, named after it’s co-designer and jazz legend who is even more legendary as an inventor of audio recording devices and techniques, Les Paul. Most of the major guitar manufacturers make signature models of their common guitars or make signature models of new designs. I wouldn’t mind a Robbie signature Les Paul, or ES-335, or whatever. That would be pretty epic.
The best thing would be to have some technique or workflow named after me. Like when Captain Picard was on the Stargazer and he used his warp engines to travel a short distance and therefore appear to be in two places at once and fool his enemy’s sensors. That technique became known as The Picard Maneuver. Or when Commander Riker of the Enterprise started flinging his leg over the back of his chair before sitting down, thus creating The Riker Maneuver. Something like that. Maybe jogging in place (pronounced “yogging in place”) followed by a protein bar breakfast could be called The Robert Maneuver. That would be pretty sweet, don’t you think?
Me and Robin the cat, just checking in.
I have a quarterly review meeting in 25 minutes.
I’m having a low blood sugar moment and feel kinda loopy. Oh good.
A few minutes ago I gave myself a full dose of The Foamies just by drinking water. That’s a first. I’m just shy of two years since gastric bypass surgery and I’ve never had the foamies triggered by a liquid before. It’s always been solid food. It passed quick, but it was a surprise.
My father is having a bad day, health-wise today.
I just got an invite to a training that I took on Tuesday. It says the training starts in 25 minutes. I am so confused. Maybe it’s just the blood sugar thing. I’ve had a protein bar and I’m feeling better. My father is going to get stitches. He’s going to be miserable. I wish I could do something to help.
Blah, this is an example of a Friday that is not living up to it’s potential. It’s supposed to be “Good Friday” today, isn’t it? So far it’s not very good. Blah.
Lots of things make me laugh. Laughing is fun. Laughing makes humans feel good. I once wrote a song called “Laughing” and one of the bands I was in played it for a while. It was written in that dark period in my life after I dropped out of college the first time and if I remember it right it was about how sometimes I was so incredibly depressed that I would laugh at how miserable I was. Yeah… so that’s a bad example… maybe.
The question is, what makes me laugh. Jen makes me laugh. My wife has the sharpest wit and the best sense of humor. Every once in a while she’ll blindside me with something so funny that I just lose my shit. It’s one of the billion or so reasons why I love her so much.
My step kids make me laugh too. They are both adults now and they spend their days doing adulting things so the silliness they excelled at when they were little is a thing of the past. Back then they would slay my sense of humor on a daily basis. The Birdie Dance. Raspberry Pickle. Yeah, we laughed a lot. A lot. These days they are more serious most of the time, the way adults are supposed to be, but they can still cause me to erupt into a belly laugh that shakes the universe. They are awesome like that.
There are other things that make me laugh. Things that are funny often make me laugh. Things that are not funny don’t. It’s crazy how that works out, right? Funny stories are funny. Funny movies are funny. I quoted Dodgeball last night. I had an itch on my arm and I scratched it and my razor sharp fingernail cut me a little and I had to unironically proclaim that “nobody makes me bleed my own blood!” I guess I even make myself laugh… you easily self manipulated dumb ass.
Funny is just funny, you know?
Hey https://gencraft.com/generate, generate an image of a jedi knight laughing…
That is one creepy ass a.i. generated image of one creepy ass yoda-sith. I am going to see this in my nightmares forever.
