What’s the secret password?


I am so tired of having to have complicated passwords.  Why do I have to have one capital letter and one number for the password to my grocery store account?  If that actually got hacked, what is at risk?  My penchant for SmartOnes frozen lunches?  OMG, they may steal my gas points!!  I mean…seriously?  That’s the worst that’s going to happen.

Years ago, I tried to simplify my life and create three levels of passwords for online activity.  I had one simple password for all my non-critical interactions; one more complicated password for email, etc.; and one very cryptic password exclusively for my bank account.  Then shit got complicated and websites started putting more demands on me.  The problem is that their level of importance didn’t fit into my nice, neat password boxes.  So, I met the criteria by capitalizing the first letter and adding a number at the end.  Problem solved, right?

Not even close.

They added punctuation.


Okay, so I added a random punctuation mark in the middle of my now capitalized password with the number at the end.

At this point, I’m up to about 85 passwords to remember – my email password, my bank account password and 83 variations of the cheap, useless password, which were supposed to be easy to remember.  Okay, I can do that.

New problem.  They don’t tell you what the password format is for each individual website.  This starts a whole game of “guess which fucking password you used the last time you shopped at Target.com you dipshit you”.

Username: Shenanigans@hootmail.com – OK.


“sparkle” – NO

“Sparkle” – NO

“Sparkle9” – NO

“Sp@rkle9” – NO!


Secret answer:BiteMe!

New Password:

“sparkle”You cannot re-use a previous password.

“Sparkle”You cannot re-use a previous password.

“Sparkle9” – You cannot re-use a previous password.

“Sp@rkle9”You cannot re-use a previous password.


“Sp@rkle98”Password has been changed.


Grrrrr………Didn’t I already tell you this?



Oh. My. God.  Seriously????

At this point, I throw my phone.  Because of course, I was trying to do all this on a teeny-tiny touchscreen and I now not only need a break, but also an Advil and a very strong drink…at 10 a.m.

And then I get a text message from my kid.

“Mom I’m out of lunch money.  Can you put some on my account?  I’m going to lunch now.”





P.S.  The thing that I failed include in this entry is all the times that I ran through the 82 possible password variations, clicked on the link for my “forgotten password” reminder and discover that I simply had a typo the very first time.

P.P.S – I also failed to mention all the times that I forgot my username, because your username can’t be your real name, email address or anything that you could even remotely identify with.

P.P.P.S. – Oh, I forgot to mention the variations of my secret question because of a phase I went through where I got tired of trying to answer secret questions and just answered everything “blue”.  This regularly has me screaming at the computer “YES THAT IS THE NAME OF THE STREET WHERE I GREW UP!! YOU DON’T KNOW ME MOTHERFUCKER!!” “Oh, sorry…it’s “blue”.

P.P.P.P.S. – This doesn’t even begin to cover my work email, where you have to change the password every six months.

P.P.P.P.P.S. – Or my husband’s accounts.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. – Or my kids.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. –  I need a nap.



Mayonnaise is Not a Vegetable


I got tired of listening to the hubster complain about how I make our son’s lunch, but not his.  So, this morning I made his lunch. Hubster came in the kitchen just as I was finishing.

Me: “Mustard okay on your sandwich?”

Him: “Nooo!  Mayoooh!  Who the hell puts mustard on turkey!?”

Me: “I thought you did.  Okay, I’ll take it off.”


Me: “Yes I can…see?”  (Scraping mustard off the cheese)  “I only wasted one piece of bread.  You’re good.”

Him: (muttering) “Mustard on turkey…that’s just wrong………..”…blah blah blah….


Then this afternoon, I got a text message:

Him: “Where the hell is my dessert?!?!?!”

Me: “You got yogurt.  You ate all the cookies.”

Him: “That was my fruit.”

Me: “Yogurt can be fruit and dessert.”

Him: “Yogurt is fruit dammit!”

Me: “And dessert.  Yogurt and pudding would be redundant.”

Him: “The hell you say!”

Me: “Tomorrow you can have blueberries and pudding.”

Him: “I hate you.”


I figure another few days of this and he’ll be demanding to make his own lunch.  :)

If Marriage is a Contact Sport, Where’s the Referee?


A few years back, there was a short-lived television show called “The Marriage Ref”.  Produced by Jerry Seinfeld and hosted by Tom Pappa, it featured a panel of celebs (mostly comedians) who would listen to couples’ ongoing gripes and choose which partner was right.  Then there would be a winner for the “most right” of the evening and that couple would win a trip.  It didn’t last long, but I really liked the show.

My question is, why isn’t’ this a real thing?  I mean, take away the t.v. cameras and maybe the panel of celebs (that’s a maybe), and this could be not only a very lucrative career, but also a very important service to married people everywhere!

Now, before you all go getting started on “marriage isn’t about who’s right or wrong…blah blah blah” save it.  OF COURSE it matters who’s right!  Marriage is about surviving the day and not killing one another.  Period.  If you’re lucky, in the end you’re old and sitting in rocking chairs, looking at one another somewhat affectionately and without either of you having major dents in the head or visible scars.

Just think of the possibilities if this was a real person, without all the commitment of marriage counseling or therapy.  I mean, pfffft…they never tell you who’s right anyway.  They just make you examine your “feelings”.  I HATE FEELINGS!  I WANT TO BE RIGHT!

Can’t stand beans in the chili?  MARRIAGE REF!

Sick of the snoring/teeth grinding/ sleeping with(out) the tv on?  MARRIAGE REF!!

Want to start a nuclear war every time you find socks left on the couch?   M-A-R-R-I-A-G-E–R-E-F!!!!

Because, seriously….without someone impartial to tell you that you’re wrong and that you’re lucky the love of your life hasn’t taken a cast iron skillet to your head in your sleep yet…HOW WILL YOU EVER KNOW!?

Right now, I can see my married friends nodding and thinking “You know what, Robin…YOU’RE RIGHT!”  And that’s exactly why there was never a show called “The Friendship Ref”.  Because with your friends, you’re always right.  And if not…there’s always wine.  Image

I’m Back!


Did you miss me??  I didn’t think so.  :)

I’m going to be doing some tweaking and twerking in the next few weeks.  Please hold your applause until the end of the presentation.

And now for something completely different….



(Okay..I lied.  But is there ever a reason not to show a squirrel?)

Who’s on B Side?


The other day, I found my 13 year-old son in the garage, painting and listening to music on the radio.   He’s always been into classic rock, but like many kids, has no idea about the names of the groups or their significance.  What followed was…well… pretty much what you’d expect.

Oh, you’re listening to The Who!

The what?

No, The Who.


The group you’re listening to.  They’re called The Who.

The what?

The Who!  The band!  The band is called The Who!

I don’t get it.

Never mind.

I guess I should just be glad he has good taste in music.  Heaven help me if he discovers The Band.

Dear Geico, e-Trade and AT&T


You’ve ruined commercials.  Because of the Hump Day Camel, E-Trade Baby and those hilarious Kids in the Discussion Group, I can’t stand other advertisements.  

If I can’t stand other advertisements, I won’t buy products.  

If I don’t buy products, my kids won’t have clothes.  

If my kids don’t have clothes, they’ll get kicked out of school.  

Please don’t make my kids get kicked out of school.  


I really need to get out more.  

Shit or Get Off the Stupid Pot!


Okay…It’s go time.  My domain name is about to renew and I have to decide if I will continue to be uniquely weird or just plain old weird.  So, I’m going to pick up where I left off and try to blog every stinking day, regardless of what stupid thing comes to my mind.  If I manage to do it for a month, I’ll keep my domain.  If not, I’ll go poof into the land of blogger wannabe’s.

I have stuff to say.  I just discovered that I’m not nearly as funny as I thought I was.  I guess it’s better to find out  now rather than later.

Either that or I need to consume more jello shots.



So, What Are You Trying to Say?


I know many people don’t buy into the whole “things happen for a reason” thing. Others don’t believe in the spirits of our dearly departed guiding us, but they do believe in divine guidance from God.

Regardless of what you believe, there is some serious shit going on with my computer today.

The hubster and I are looking into financing a venture and I got a list of lenders from one of our contact people. I’m working my way down the list, emailing contacts, explaining what we’re looking for. I started on the phone and was unable to get an answer at two different banks.

The first sent me on a wild goose chase of electronic prompts that eventually landed on a busy signal. This wasn’t some 1-800 call center. It was the local number of a small credit union. The next bank had the wrong number on their website. Undeterred, I emailed the “contact us” address on the site and it got bounced back as an invalid address. Also, not a large bank.

So, I moved on to just emailing my list of contacts. I got one message out and when I went to send the second, my gmail went down. Totally down. Everything else was up and running, but my gmail refused to send the message. I tried 6 or 7 times before saving it to drafts.  Hrm.

I composed my message to the third contact and it went right through, but got bounced back as an invalid address!

Then I got an ‘out of office” response from the first one. Okay….

The fourth went through no problem. The fifth got bounced back, so I went to their website to find another contact. Their website would not load!!  Go to any other page on the Internet and it was fine.  Not Wells Fargo…

I went to the next one and the message went right through.

Eight banks and I got two messages to go through.   Bottom line?  If I get financing from one of those two, I’m going to be seriously freaked out.

What a Wonderful Chartreuse World It Would Be


Imagine this: you’re standing with a group of friends, talking about something that you all have in common.  For this example, let’s say you’re discussing your mutual love of the color chartreuse.  You’re opinion is that chartreuse is just the coolest color ever.  Your friends may not all share your intense enthusiasm for chartreuse.  Perhaps they really like it, but they have other favorite colors too.  The conversation is friendly, respectful and fun.  These are your friends, so you feel safe gushing about chartreuse.  

Suddenly, you’re joined by someone else you know – someone who really, really digs vermilion.  In fact, they think people that like chartreuse are downright idiotic.  They join your conversation, call you ignorant names and questions your intelligence.  What makes matters worse is that this person is a relative/close friend/person you can’t really escape being associated with.  You’re humiliated, not because of your differing views, but because this person just vomited all over the conversation.  

Then they say, “We’re in public.  I can say whatever I want. Don’t put it out there if you don’t want people commenting on it.”

Sure, you’re standing in the mall, but you’re clearly talking with your friends…or not.  Why would someone who cares about you, walk up to you and bitch slap you in front of 300 of your friends and family?

Okay, by now you probably get that I’m not talking about standing in the mall talking about obscure colors.  I’m talking about the way people treat each other in the social media.  Rather than rant, I’d simply like to point out a few things and hope it sinks in with some people.  

  1. Social media is not necessarily “a public forum”.  If you’re on Facebook, (where most of these offenses occur), your privacy settings are very likely limited to your “friends”.  I don’t know many people that put everything out there for public consumption.  Therefore, when you swoop in and shit all over someone’s post, it’s the same as walking up to them and calling them out in front of every person they know.  Because, who are we kidding, we probably all have people “friended” who are like our bff’s next door neighbor’s cousin because we went to a party once with them.  I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly want everyone I know to be aware of the fact that Aunt Sally can’t control her mouth when she’s drunk…again.
  2. Just because you disagree with someone, it does not mean they are wrong.  Seriously.  Deal with it and move on.  
  3. Comments on social media are not a private conversation between you and the original poster or anyone else who may comment on the post.  To spell this out further…EVERYONE CAN READ THEM.  Please.  There are many other ways to find out if she slept with so-and-so.  Truly, none of the rest of us care.
  4. The same goes for blogs.  If I say Mary is my best friend in my blog, don’t comment that you think Mary is a tramp.  Guess what…Mary can read it and you’re an idiot.  
  5. Lastly and most importantly (yet, what I know will be lost on most people), don’t treat people like shit just because you can’t see the hurt you inflict.  I learned this one the hard way.  If you don’t agree with someone’s opinion, move on.  Hide the post or close the browser.  Rant to your husband about what a drunken idiot Aunt Sally is.  But don’t call her one on Facebook or anywhere else.  Words hurt and sometimes the hurt lasts a lot longer than you’d imagine.  

And for the record, this is chartreuse.  



I’m Sorry, You Have the Wrong Number


The past couple of days, I’ve received notifications regarding comments on old blog posts.  Very old.  Like back to the beginning.  I would like to think, “Hey cool! New readers!” However, the comments are very strange and have absolutely nothing to do with the content of my blog.  It seems like somewhere there’s a link on another website that directs comments to my blog. I’ve reported them as spam, because I guess that’s what they are.  But it’s still weird.  

Is anyone else having this issue?