Welp…

 It finally fucking worked.

Fuck you, Twitter

So I’m suspended from Twitter again.  Why?  Because I am furious that Donald Trump, that hideous orange SERIAL KILLER, still has not been indicted and in fact lied about being arrested Tuesday so he could grift on it and get his imbecile supporters to send him more money, but more importantly, so he could incite violence toward another insurrection.

His tweets, or “truths” yesterday were blatant racist and antisemitic calls to his base to protest, and he knows that said base does not protest peacefully.

And after a morning of these repulsive, hateful bleats, he posted this, which thousands of people retweeted:

After which I was so damn shocked that he still wasn’t arrested, I replied to a friend of mine with this tweet:

And was literally suspended instantly, two seconds after I posted.

How was that even possible?

I didn’t say I hoped Donald would die, though of course I do, but I know that would be a criteria for suspension so I didn’t say it.  

Donald, however, also said this:

All the people who retweeted this got a free pass, but I’m suspended.

Okay, whatever.

And then, last night, he posted this:

There will be death and destruction if he’s indicted?

THAT’S DONALD’S WET FUCKING DREAM!

Fuck you, Merrick “Derelict” Garland.  You should be fired in disgrace today.

Fuck you, Elon Musk.  You ruined Twitter, just like you ruin your personal relationships.  I was friendly with your ex wife, your kids hate you, too.

Take it from me, citizens.  Rich people in general ruin everything.

But triple Fuck Yous to every idiot in America who voted for Donald.  I hate you with every fiber of my being.  If you think you are a good Christian, you’re not, I will throw you to the lions myself.

Just look what Donald did to America. You’re responsible, too.  Let’s start with 600,000 Americans dead in a pandemic because of his lies and politicization.

Have a nice weekend.

Where the fuck is Merrick Garland?

 I haven’t properly processed the deaths of Jeff Beck, Kim Simmonds, and David Crosby yet and this ugly orange serial killer in the Alfalfa wig is still alive and laughing at us while Merrick Garland lets him continue to destroy America.  Fuck everything today.

My favorite night of the year

Good evening.  Welcome to my favorite night of the year.  I’m not even joking, I start the countdown January 1 and I’ve been celebrating all day. There will also be hand cut french fries tonight because I know how to live 😎

Anniversary Celebration

Yesterday was amazing and perfect and everything we would ever want for an anniversary celebration.

Because Julie is in the middle of a month long tour across America which hits the Philly area tonight (Yes!  Can’t wait!), we couldn’t celebrate on the actual date, but three days later, on her day off yesterday, Eric flew in from Nashville and after spending an incredible day together, the two of them took Gary and me out to dinner at our absolute favorite special occasion restaurant, The Saloon.

What’s great about the four of us is that we see each other only 2-3 times a year but we pick up right where we left off.  We spent the entire two plus hours at dinner talking nonstop and giggling like little kids.

Oh my god, the food at the Saloon.  They make their pasta in house, it’s perfection.  I not so jokingly said to Gary the Saloon is our last real reason for staying in Philadelphia.

Because yesterday also confirmed how much I hate living so far from the kids and I came up with the perfect solution, sell the house and get two small apartments, one in Seattle where we’ll spend spring and summer and one in Nashville where we’ll spend fall and winter.

“What?  Are you crazy?” Gary asked.

“This is a newsflash to you?  But this time I’m serious.”

Oh, I’m kidding.  I’m just basking in the glow of yesterday but know the reality.  Right now there will be no going anywhere.  That said…

A girl can dream.

Anyway, I’m very stoked about the Remain in Light show with Julie at the Keswick Theatre tonight.  

See you there 😎

Fifty years

 

Gary and I are married fifty years today.

Yeah, I know, how is that possible when we don’t even remotely look like we’re fifty? 

Har har.

We got married at eighteen and much to the disbelief of everyone who attended our wedding, I wasn’t pregnant.

Married at eighteen.

WHO DOES THAT?

Whose parents let them do that?

I’m always flirting with the idea of writing a memoir. A lot of it isn’t pretty but oh well, at least it’s entertaining.

Especially if you like watching burning buildings.

Some of the knuckleheaded stuff Gary and I did over the years would have ended even the stablest of marriages but we’re Exhibits A-Z of whatever doesn’t kill you will make you stronger.

Between the two of us, we’ve covered every twelve step program imaginable.  If it was illegal or batshit crazy, we were first in line.

But despite our best efforts to destroy ourselves and each other, we survived. Gary is my best friend, my love, my rock.  He makes me laugh every day and I doubt I could live with anyone else.  Besides, who would ever feed me like that?  His cooking, always five star gourmet, has reached extraordinary new levels since our retirement.  Not that I care about food or anything.  

Much.

Most importantly, though, he’s an incredible father. I don’t have enough hours to go there but all you have to do is observe and speak to our kids.  They’re pretty fucking special.

And woo hoo, now we can add being quarantined together for the past three years and not killing each other to our list of accomplishments.  Besides the kids, I think it’s #2 on our greatest hits list.

Oh, we go out, we travel, but we limit what we do because Covid is still around and people over sixty-five with wonky hearts and such have to be, um, cautious. Okay, try terrified. But we’re reclusive homebodies anyway, which really sounds funny coming from 2023 Robin. 1973 Robin would not have believed it, she was the one out every night dancing on the table wearing the lampshade and not much else while 1973 Gary was busy breaking the most Jello shots and bong hits by a human record.

Ah, well.  Passages.  

Getting older is weird and to quote George Martin, it sure isn’t for sissies.

The problem is, when you do get older, you realize not only are you suddenly invisible and irrelevant, there’s a daily onslaught of change and death and destruction in a world you no longer understand so guess what, you can’t avoid becoming a sissy.

Haha, well, not Gary.  He’s gonna be the cranky old coot screaming at you to get off his lawn.  He’s still fearless and thinks he’s nineteen.

I’m the one whimpering and hiding from the UPS guy knocking on the door.

“But Gary, I read on the Citizens App there’s a maniac delivery guy impersonator in the neighborhood preying on seniors…”

“Oh my god, Rob, go breathe in a paper bag. Seniors?  I don’t see no fucking seniors!”  

He laughs.

Truth: We still have a mummified package of brown paper lunch bags from when the kids were little that Gary loves breaking out when he tells me to calm down, which is often and when I want to kill him the most but I have been known to use the damn bags because yeah yeah I do hyperventilate when I’m upset sometimes maybe.

What can I say, we’re the yin to each other’s yang.

Last year I wrote a book addressing fear of change and loss and getting older called The Crazy House but I just changed the title to Leaving Candyland and I still can’t decide what to do with it but that’s a story for another post.  The new title has me stoked because it says it all.

Anyway…

Fifty fucking years.  Man.  I still can’t believe it.  

We should have some cake or something.

Yay us.