Happy September

 So Gary was just shopping at the farmers market and a guy looked at him and said, “I love your station!” and Gary replied, “Thank you!”

I wonder why.

Me: “You didn’t tell him you’re really a retired plumbing salesman?  Haha who did they think you were? Bruce Warren? David Dye?”

Gary:

Me:  What did you tell him?

Gary:  🎶 I am the deejay, I am what I play 🎶

Oy.  In other news, what a fucking day.  My debit card was hacked, I was on hold with the bank so long I almost had a stroke, and then I ended up having to go there in person where the manager helped me, only it was her first week on the job and I was her first fraud claim.

Right now I’m out $600 and she told me it will be ten days before I get my money back.

I’m afraid I lost it.

But me being me, felt immediately terrible and apologized profusely while telling myself I would go to another branch tomorrow and deal with someone who knew what they were doing.

Anyway, Google told me it would not be ten days, more like 3-5, and guess what, I just looked again and the money is already back this afternoon because I have been checking my balance nonstop.

You see, somehow the thief is still using my card, even though it’s been canceled and reported.  

And where did he get my debit card information? Especially since I haven’t used it for anything but my hair since the pandemic?

Ah, Woodstock.

I didn’t want to talk about it, but after camp ended Friday, we stayed an extra night in Woodstock to see Julie’s show at the Bearsville Theater.  All nearby hotels were sold out, and there aren’t many, plus we had a dog with us, so I booked a place 10 miles away in Kingston, NY through Priceline.

The Rodeway Inn.

Never ever never ever go there.

It was the fucking Bates Motel.

I’ll spare you the details.

But they had “residents.”

Anyway, even though I paid for the room through Priceline, I still had to hand the clerk my debit card, and I watched him make a copy.

Whoever used my card had the 3 digit security number so it’s pretty fucking obvious how he got it.

Btw, I told all this to the bank manager but she didn’t seem interested.

Gary of course wants to go there (Rodeway Inn, not the bank) in person with a baseball bat 🤦‍♀️

Anyway, so yeah, birthday month is officially over.

But the Gary story was cute, right?

Right.

Family fotos

Some  newly discovered family pics.  Understand that when my mom died over 40 years ago, my father didn’t save much so I have very few photos from my past. Some of these brought me to my knees.

Wasn’t my mom beautiful?

Here I am as a baby and omg my grandmother’s note ❤️

Me as a baby and toddler ❤️

This one really freaked me out.  From left to right, my mother’s sister my Aunt Shirley, her son and my first cousin Robbie, my mother’s late brother’s daughter my first cousin Rosalie, my father, my mother, and my brother, David.  Everyone in the pic is dead except my brother.  It was taken in the 70s.   By 1979 my mom was dead of a brain tumor at 49 and Rosalie would be dead a few months later after battling Hodgkins disease. Robbie died at age 48 in 2000 of cardiac arrest and despite my Aunt Shirley’s profound grief, she lived until 2015, age 89.  My father died in 2011 at 82.  He was a jazz musician, below the family pic is his punk rock photo har har, anyway, I sure hope I have Shirley and his genes re longevity but I kinda doubt it which is why I live a hedonistic life and live a day at a time.Though I am a vegetarian 😎

Best birthday month ever

 Photobombed by Adrian Belew 

Pre-birthday

 So Julie and her band are in town and last night they took me to a pre-birthday dinner at what is arguably the best restaurant in Philadelphia, The Saloon.  Not exactly flattering, but here I am enjoying the greatest  tiramisu of my life.

Did you hear the news?

 Newest lineup, King Crimson 2022

WOODSTOCK

 So music camp ended this morning but Gary and I decided to hang in Woodstock at another hotel tonight because Julie et al are playing a sold out show here.

We drove around 30 miles to the center of town, which is all kinds of hippie charming, and Julie texted us to meet her at a really cool vegan restaurant where we could eat with Jasper.

We’re at our table sipping tea when I look up and who is standing there right in front of me waiting to grab a seat.

Neil Fucking Gaiman.

“Hi, Neil!”

“Robin?”

(I refer you to my blog and short stories for my Neil Gaiman history)

“Yep, we’re in town blah blah blah Julie has show here tonight blah blah blah. This is Julie obviously and this is my husband, Gary.”

Gary’s like, “Hey, Neil!”

Neil turns to Julie.

“You’re the drummer, right?”

“No, that’s my brother, Eric.  I play bass.”

“Nice!  Right after lunch I have to pick my son up at the School of Rock.  He’s taking drum lessons, or trying.”

Omg, Neil’s six year old son is following in my kids’ footsteps har har har.

What are the odds? 😜

So that’s my story, everyone around me was all impressed I’m friendly with Neil, and who knows, maybe he’ll show up at Julie’s gig tonight.

Last night

Last night Eric joined the Adrian Belew Power Trio in Nashville for their encore.

Mind blown.

Also, it was Christmas in July for me when both kids FaceTimed from Eric’s house ❤️  (They showed up dressed alike in yellow t-shirts which has been happening their entire lives)

A Fish Story

 

So in our 50+ years together as childhood sweethearts, Gary and I have a lot of stories, but much to Gary’s hilarity, I have attributed one of his finest moments to myself. This pic is from 40 years ago, note Gary’s anti-Reagan t-shirt.  Somehow I’ve been telling people I caught that fish.  

Today I tried to tell Gary that, and he looked at me incredulously and insisted that he was the one.  

I actually argued it was me, and told him there was a pic of me in a drawer upstairs holding the fish and wearing an anti-Reagan t-shirt.

Anyway, neither one of us can stop laughing right now.  I hope all of you are starting your day likewise ❤️❤️❤️

Morning!

 GOOD MORNING!

Happy Independence Day

 

FAKE HOLIDAY!!!

Thanks, Donald.  Thanks illegitimate Nacho Supreme Court.