Miscellaneous crap.

I haven't checked my sitemeter in ages...until now.  Some searched terms that found me?
"Some really fuck up stuff"
"e-whoring Mafia Wars" (ftr, I don't play)
"maxine waters all look the same to me"

I'm proud of this assortment.  Also, someone from State Farm in Bloomington found me. *waves*  I don't think you're supposed to be reading my blog at work, but hey, we can keep it between us.  ;-) I hope you can forgive me for the fact I'm about to take my policies elsewhere.  It's nothing personal, mind you...it's all about saving money these days.  Didja see where Aegeon sold their reinsurance division to Scor?  That worries me a bit.  They had to sell out in order to repay Sweden (or is it Denmark?) back.  That tells me this isn't a particularly lucrative business anymore and that bodes ill for most everyone, if I'm right.

Here, I found this interesting.  I don't do anti-depressants but if you do, you might want to read this.  And cry.  Or whatever it is you do.  Antidepressants, OTC Painkillers Not a Good Combo - FoxNews.com  Ignore that it's from Fox News...as long as it's not political stuff, they can be trusted.

Lastly, do you live in the South?  If so, here you go.  It's helpful, really!  Southern Savers

Ditto, Dad.

Another Easter has come and gone and another Easter made me miss my dad all over again. Easter was his holiday.  He hated holidays that required real shopping, decorating or stress but loved a holiday that allowed for some sneaking around.  Halloween was a good one for him, too.  But Easter, he really loved.  He enjoyed coloring eggs and would draw tacky-ass shit like toilets and roadkill with the magic crayon in the egg coloring kits, just to make me laugh. Then, after I was asleep, he'd set to work with his carrots and Cocoa Puffs cereal in the backyard, creating the best messy bunny and poop trails ever.  I actually bought into the Easter Bunny a good two years after I knew Santa was a lie. But the most amazing thing was that every Easter morning, just after I got up, he'd say, "Oh, look, Lisa!  It's the Easter bunny!" and I'd look out back and sure enough, there would be a huge brown rabbit in the yard. Granted, we lived against a bit of wooded area but every single Easter morning?  That's odd.  One morning he told me that Mrs. Bunny had stayed behind to have her babies and I remember going out into the chilly, damp morning barefoot, the tail of my nightgown getting all wet, and seeing a little nest of babies up against our house, nestled in some pipes and mulch.  I was sold on the Easter Bunny, let me tell you. As an adult, I asked my dad about those bunnies every Easter, since we lived out the woods with Jake and we never had that kind of luck.  He just laughed and said he would ask them to come.  Riiiiiight.  I  wondered about this statement, though, since I'd seen firsthand that he could actually communicate with animals to a degree (remind me to tell y'all about our Irish Setters sometime because the stories are amazing) but I still blew it all off as a coincidence.  I mean, who does that...you know?

Saturday night, it's late, I'm going in and out my back door to do laundry and sent up a quick little prayer. "Hey, Dad, if you still hear me, will you send me a bunny in the back yard for Easter, so I know you're still with us?"  I got up yesterday morning and peeked out back.  Nothing.  Went out and looked around. Nothing.  Honestly, I just sort of laughed at myself, even though I was a tiny bit disappointed...I'd been foolish in hoping.  I fixed my coffee and was sitting down at the computer when my mom called.  We wished each other happy Easter, made our plans for the day, I filled her in on some gossip and before we hung up she said, "By the way, would you believe I saw a big, fat rabbit in the backyard this morning?  I had to laugh, it reminded me so much of your dad and his Easter bunnies.  It's been years since I've seen a rabbit at all."  Well, damn, Dad, I guess I forgot to specify which backyard I wanted it in, didn't I?   

Then, my dad always called Jake his little lamb (when he wasn't calling him a baby girl, lol, so it's no wonder Jake has no gender lines) and all four Easters they were together,  he bought Jake a lamb stuffed toy.  Yesterday morning, Jake walks in the door after spending the night with a friend and I'm cleaning the bathroom on the other other end of the house.  I holler out "Who is it?", as I always do, and the answer I get back is not the normal "It's me!"...oh, no.  I hear "It's your little lamb...happy Easter!"  I came out fast and demanded to know why he said that.  He laughs and tells me "I don't know, that's just what came out when my mouth opened. It's Easter...relax, Mom!"

Good enough, Dad. :-)

I love you, too, and thank you.

A year in pictures.

I've been thinking about this place lately and miss sharing things.  I know, because I'm such a sharer, right?  Whatever, I do miss it.  I've been wondering why I let it go and think I just became very unfocused or something. Let's go back to this time last year, shall we? 

Right around this time last year, Miss Arse lost her sight.  She wasn't blind as in the world went dark and she needed a service dog named Libby or anything.  I mean, hell, she's got me, right?  Right.  She could see variances in light and dark, she could tell if something was large and red although she'd say it was purple and have no clue it was a firetruck.  But she wasn't Stevie Wonder, either.  So, what happened?  Wellllp, she neglected cataracts for over 25 years and they rebelled on her, causing massive infections in both eyes and fusing to the corneas in both, one worse than the other.  So, repairs began since doctors just swore they could fix this for her and she was game to try.

The poor old bird was also terrified, as you can see here.  This was in the waiting room, just before her first surgery.  We both had to take Xanax on this day and I still had a panic attack that necessitated me sitting in my car, reading an IKEA catalog and trying to not vomit the whole time.
 

Once it was over and I had her back home, she was good.  Of course, she was also drugged, but hey...she was happy. It was an unusually long removal that involved both laser and knife, and she wound up with a destroyed cornea but hey, she didn't die.  It was a good day!

I think the corneal transplant nearly killed her, though.  Doesn't she look dead?  Actually, the transplant was super-easy on her but she had to lay in bed 48 straight hours on her back, facing the ceiling, with only momentary breaks to pee or eat.  After hour 6, she wasn't so much fun anymore.

After hour 30, I was desperate so I loaded her in my car and drove her to my house so she could sleep in my bed and be entertained by my cats while I crawled into my recliner and ignored her.  You know, just for a change of pace.  It was during this time we began calling her Old Cadaver Eye, for the record.  Desperate times call for desperate measures when it comes to amusement.  As you can see, it was an exciting time for us all.  And yes, my bedroom looks that boring most of the time. What*ever, it's clean.

While the transplant went well and by God, she could see out of that eye again, they had to tweak the cadaver flesh because a stitch (ewww!) malfunctioned.  That deal went so well she didn't even have to wear a patch *and she got good drugs...see?  She was showing her nifty new cornea off here.

Once that eye was repaired and healing well, they tackled the other one.  Luckily, they saved her cornea but this time she didn't get the good drugs and things went harder than they thought.  It hurt her very much and she was whiny so I bought her a Whopper and made her coffee. As you can see from the noticeable lack of happiness on her face this time, Whoppers and coffee can only do so much when you hurt. But, in the end, the doctors were right and while it took 9 months to get her there, she can see so well now that she's quilting again.  And...discussions are underway to buy her a pickup truck soon because she's going to get her license back and she wants to be able to haul stuff.   Lord, I love my mom. :-D   But, for these 9 months, I was busy-busy driving her to multiple appointments and helping with the 30+ drops per day she had to do at one point, in addition to cooking and cleaning for her, plus just keeping her company since she couldn't see her computer or TV.  In the end, I hope if I ever see 82 that I'm mostly like her.  One of these days, I might even tell her that.

In the midst of all this eye drama, Beatrice gave up sleeping in the casserole dish and chose the center of the couch instead.

She's adorable no matter where she sleeps, isn't she?  One of my old lady cats (19 this August!), Ginger, had other plans and not only stole Bea's casserole dish idea...

...she tried to make it better.  Or warmer.  Or something.  A cookie sheet sort of thwarted her plan, though.

No one fretted over the dish sleeping; she was just stringing us along because she had an axe to grind.  We tuned her out.
Bwahahahahaha!
*pauses*
Sorry.

And no, my cats aren't spoiled.  Why would you think that?

Jake had a busy year. He turned 19 and got his first ice cream cake ever.  Go him. Maybe when he's 20, I'll let him get a driver license...

That's kind of pitiful, I suppose, but hey, he's lucky I didn't get him a chin implant to go with it.

I did, however, get him very cool "doll eye" contacts...one blue and one violet.  No, he's not spoiled either.

Then Christmas came...he got tons of junk and taught Miss Arse to play Rock Band. And the best part?  She could see it!  She still sucked but dammit, she could see it!

His best friends got him the tattoo he's wanted since he was 14 for Christmas.  I maintain that with friends like these, no one needs enemies.  It's the ugliest damn tattoo ever, but he loves it and hell, I guess he really did want it since he waited 5 years for it.  At least it's a nice job, all straight and such.  But really...Manson stuff?  On your arm?  At least get Bowie. Let's see, what else?  *digs through pictures*

Some idiot ran over my mailbox.  I believe this makes 6 of them in 10 years.  Take it from me - don't buy a house on an inside corner unless you like disposable mailboxes.

We grew hot pink mold.  That's special, right?  And kind of exciting, too?  Only it's not really mold, it's a bacteria called Serratia marcescens. I have no idea what started it but it's been an ongoing battle in towels, shower and toilet since it started and it comes on fast.  Like in hours.  What you see on that towel happened less than 12 hours after that (freshly washed) towel was used and dropped in a hamper.  It'll grow in a shower or toilet that was scrubbed a day or so before and it smells like Fritos or the pads on dogs' feet (which are interchangeable, by the way).  I now buy a lot of bleach.  *nods*

 

I did do some cooking and took pictures of one dish, planning on a blog post but it just never happened.  I made trotters for some elderly neighbors who love them.  As for me...?

Even I'm not eating this stuff. I do have limits.

So, let's see...what else?  Oh, back to Jake for a moment if no one minds.  His music has really taken off and, as such, he's been able to get in backstage at various concerts and hang out with the musicians.  Apparently his new thing is to take "surprise!" pictures with these people.

Here he is with Alice from Crystal Castles. I was sort of horrified by the look on her face and asked him if he stank.  He said no, that someone had just hit her in her face and her mouth was bleeding and she didn't want that shown in a picture.  Well, alrighty then. But as horrified as I was over poor Alice's expression, the one that came next was worse.

He licked Gary Numan. You know, *this Gary Numan, one of my all-time favorites. And all I get to do is fight pink mold and cook trotters.  Life isn't fair...not a damn bit fair.

The other interesting thing that happened is that Jake nearly became a statistic.  He'd gone to a club to see (and probably lick) The Dead Kennedys.  While there, someone drugged his drink. Yep, exactly what you hear about in the media and figure will never happen to you...well, it happened to him. Thankfully, he was with a group of excellent and caring friends, as well as the father of one friend.  They were able to see something was terribly wrong and call for help quickly...they saved his life. I get the dreaded call no parent wants from the dad at around 1am, saying he's at the hospital with Jake and I need to hurry.  I hurried.  When I got there, this is what I found and I was scared *shitless.

He spent a couple of days in the ICU because they had a little trouble getting his heart regulated and he was so terribly stomach-sick, but within an hour of me arriving, they knew he was going to live and I was able to relax a little. I took this picture so that all who see it will know (almost) firsthand that this can and *does happen.  People will drug your drink.  In the blink of an eye, in one dumbass move on his part that he's probably done a million times - turning his back on his drink - he very nearly died. And I still cry every time I see this picture and realize how close I came to losing him.

So, that's it for my photodocumentary of what's been going on in my life. I know, you wish we could trade lives, don't you?  It's been a long, rough year and in the end, Tucker had the best idea...

I should have found myself a nice old sari and covered my head with it, then relaxed in the knowledge that I was safe because no one could see me.  Ahhh, were it all this simple...

Heh, look who's back.

It's been what?  Two months?  Yeah, well, those things happen and the only reason I'm back now is because it's almost 4am, I can't sleep, Farmville won't give me my stupid candy container and I'm too aggravated to redecorate my farm.  I'd walk away from it...okay, *them, since I have two farms...except I've...um...put a little money into them.  I don't want to talk about that anymore.  Thanks.

So, blogging.  I've actually been thinking about blogging in general lately, which is another reason I've not been doing it.  Don't get me wrong, it's not like chewing gum - I really can think about blogging and do it, too.  It's that *what I've been thinking about it sort of put me off.  Now, before I go any further, let me just say that people who blog to keep families far away updated with tales and pictures?  Totally get it.  People who blog with a purpose, like the women who crockpotted every day for a year or someone giving day to day experiences during adoption?  I get that, too.  My friends online, true friends, who post pictures of their kids and vacations?  I love going and looking, I truly do!  But it's because I know and care about these people and their families on a personal level first and foremost, and pictures/tales are my only way of sharing that part of their lives with them.  But people who blog just to take parts of their mundane lives and jazz them up and expect people to fawn over them?  "Ethan is so brilliant!  He pointed to his peepee sticking up in the bathtub and called it a periscope!"  Yeah, not so fucking much, sorry.  What's worse is when these same people post all over the damn internet, acting like they want to be a part of whatever community or activity they're in at the time but in reality are doing it to try to drum up readers for their dumbass, boring blog.  It's wickedly arrogant to actually think that very average you and your very average kids who do very average things are so interesting that people will care.  These same people are the ones who ask people for comments, put people on the spot to follow them and are just generally an annoying pain in the ass.  And frankly, I just don't want to be one of them, I don't want to be looked upon like that.  It's really been bothering me, thinking how damn arrogant it is of me to think my life is really all that interesting, you know?  Hell, I bore myself and I'm easily amused. I think it's even made me a little bit paranoid and icky-ish, since there have been things I've wanted blog about and stopped, thought, "Wow, would anyone really care but me?  I don't want people to feel like they have to be polite..." and I didn't bother.  Then, enough time passed that I have been a bit embarrassed to come back and try to explain all this, not to mention the added pressure of feeling like it would be arrogant to do so.  In case you've not noticed, given half a chance, I could run myself insane with over-thinking. 

So, here's the deal - I'm back and I might stay back.  Or I might not.  A lot of it might depend on that Farmville candy baskets, if I'm perfectly honest here.  But the only way I can do this and not feel obnoxious about it is to make it clear that I will never, ever be hurt if someone, even someone I care for, is bored and doesn't want to bother reading my crap.  I also will never, ever be upset if no one comments.  I never was before, for the record, but I just want to clarify it.  If I'm going to try this once more, it's going to be purely so that if I drop dead tomorrow, my family will find this little corner of the internet and have a small piece of me to read and smile over.  Should anyone else actually like it, then hey - bonus points.

Also, I'd like to make a prediction:  Mom-blogging is on its way out unless the mom in question has something incredibly unique and freakish going on in her life.  I'm trying, for once in my life, to be a trendsetter and figure out what the next big thing will be but so far, I'm stumped.  And really, I just want my candy baskets, goddammit.

I'm not like her yet, but maybe someday...

I was raised by a couple of fiercely over-protective parents.  My dad remembered what all he got into as a teen and it scared him for me.  My mom, on the other hand, got into nothing and was going to make damn sure I didn't either.  Quiet honestly, they took it to a ridiculous extremes...their individual worries fed off one another and made them both nervous wrecks.  As a result, even though I graduated high school at 17 and was immediately accepted into FSU, they did not allow me to go...it was too far away.  Instead, they "graciously" allowed me to go to the local community college and even bought me a car, but checked my mileage at the end of each day to make sure that's the only place I went.  I wasn't even allowed to go to Orlando, only 30 miles away, without begging and pleading.  Curfew?  For a college student?  Before dark on weeknights and I could pick one weekend night to be out until 10.  Suffice it to say, that didn't work for me.  I moved out, secretly, 3 days after my 18th birthday.  My 18th birthday was the final straw, in fact...back then, 18 was the legal drinking age in Florida and it was a rite of passage to go to a nightclub on the beach called Brassy's for your 18th birthday.   I was the last in my group of friends to turn 18 and most of them were good kids from good families, yet their folks had okayed the Brassy's adventure with cautions to not let anyone drive who'd been drinking and call if they needed rides home.  Many of the parents actually rented a hotel room within walking distance for the kids that night, just to make sure everyone was safe.  So, the day of my 18th birthday came and my 2 best friends, who(m?) my parents loved like other daughters, came to get me.  I told my folks we were going to Brassy's,  Mary wasn't drinking at all due to medication she was on, so she'd be fine to drive and I promised to have no more than 2 drinks.  I thought I was being all adult and responsible.  Instead, my mom forbade me to go to "a bar like trashy people do" and told me I needed to stay home.  We argued and argued badly.  I caved and agreed to not go, told them I'd be home by 8, that I'd just go to visit friends.  I remember my dad just looking ill, knowing this was bad.  Instead of Brassy's, I went to a couple of friends looking for room mates and signed on.  3 days later, while both my folks were at work, I moved out.

I always swore I'd never, ever repeat their mistakes and I know a lot of people swear that, then when they have kids of their own and they revert right back to how they were raised.  I have not.  I was *that suffocated, that angry, over how they treated me and felt so strongly that they were wrong that I have not parented like them at all.  One example - we've had co-ed sleepovers here since Jake was 11.  I stay awake all night and watch them, but it is nothing for me to have a living room full of teenagers, male and female, in various stages of sleep.  I let couples sleep near one another so they can hold hands but they have to be cocooned in individual sheets or sleeping bags.  And I check.  Often.  All night.  I've always let Jake go to co-ed sleepovers, as well.  I mean, really, it's not like he was going to do anything he couldn't do otherwise.  Miss Arse?  Was and is always disapproving.  She gets this same tight-lipped look on her face that my old Irish Setter would get when she spotted a squirrel in a tree.  That didn't bode well for the squirrel and it hasn't been good for me, either. 

So, this weekend, Jake heads off. with my blessing and my money, to the Anime Festival in Orlando.  He's going with one couple and another girl I think he likes.  Basically, two couples. Hey, he's nearly 19 and he's upfront about them all getting a motel room together for the weekend and actually asks if I mind him going.  My own-mother-self  thumps my brain and I want to scream NO!!! and be a bitch if I have to.  But my rational self  kicks in and says, "Okay...just be super careful, call me if you need anything at all except for bail, which I won't do, and have a great time!"  Off they go and I head to my mom's so we can go grocery shopping.  Not an hour into them leaving, Jake texts me to give me an update...lol.  Miss Arse and I both laugh since he always texts me within an hour of being apart, regardless of which one of us leaves.  Over the course of the weekend, I've heard from him several times, just checking in or replying to my telling him something, even if I say he doesn't need to reply.  So, she calls me around midnight, just before she goes to bed, to ask if he's home.  I tell her no, he asked if I minded if they stayed one more night since they were all tired and I told him it was fine, especially since our a/c is down.  Miss Arse?  Gets very quiet and I'm braced for the criticism because I'm not doing it as she did and that is generally wrong, not to mention immoral.  Instead she says, "You know, you're a better and smarter mom than I was when you were that age.  I wouldn't let you have that freedom so you fought and took it anyway and kept your distance.  You've let go, you've given him his freedom, and he stays close even if he's not in the house with you.  I wish I'd done that with you."  Yeah, I wish she'd have done that, too, because I'd have totally never left home for years, considering how much I love my parents.  And I'd have known every payphone in this county personally.  But the fact she said this, acknowledged this? Means the world to me.  Lord, I love that old woman fiercely...she's might be nearly 82, but she's still learning and embracing what she learns, accepting that things change.  And she's not too proud to admit when she is wrong.  Finally...after all these years...I can say that I hope I'm like her someday, because she's turned into an amazing mother and grandmother these days.  How lucky am I, having her as a mother and Jake as a son?  Even if he is off in some hotel doing God knows what.

The new mop.

So, some of you know of my deep and abiding love of my special mop.  I have a mop thing, sort of like my scent thing, and I can't resist a new and better looking one.  Let me add in here, I have three problems to work around - rheumatoid arthritis, hard floors throughout my whole house, and I'm cheap so I don't want to buy expensive canisters of solution since I mop often.  In the end, about six years ago, I found this mop and bucket system and love it.  I mean,  I genuinely love it.  O-Cedar UltraMax  It was perfection in a mop...no hands touching, no bending, it goes behind toilets and up under couches, long handle for us tall people, pad cleans the floor very well and I can use my own pretty smelling cleaners...then toss the pad in the washer when it's done, all good again.   What's not to love, right?  Except they discontinued it in the US, the bastards.  I've made that poor pad last over 3 years but it's shot and I was faced with a choice - do I order a new pad for around $30 shipped (yes, just for the pad) from out of the country, or do I suck it up and mop shop?  I've been mop shopping.  Nothing.  Miss Arse has a Libman Wonder Mop and loves it, so I borrowed it.  I wasn't thrilled because it involved a lot of bending over to wring it when you do an entire house.  For her kitchen, dining room and two small baths?  It's a great mop,. no question.  It wasn't for me, though.  So, I'm getting all braced up to lay some money out for a new UltraMax pad when I stumble across something brand new at Publix.  I found this:  O-Cedar ProMist.  Let me just tell you about this mop because it is wonderful!  Maybe even better than my beloved UltraMax.  It is like a Swiffer WetJet in that it needs no bucket but it is oh-so-much better! The head swivels, the container is refillable so you can use your own cleaning solution or just plain water, it takes no batteries and it gives you a  choice of replacement pads...a microfiber one that is washable for months and months of heavy use or semi-disposable ones that I can get 10 for around $8 and they can be washed 3 times each. It also will use Swiffer Wet Jet pads. After looking at it, I think it will take *any pads that attach with velcro, so you know.  My house is small, around 1200 square feet.  I just mopped it all  and had to refill the canister once.  I also removed and thoroughly rinsed out the microfiber pad while I was at the sink doing that.  No big deal at all since I empty the bucket and rinse the pad on the UltraMax once midway, too.  That's it, I've found a mop that beats my perfect mop!  It's not cheap initially, so you know.  It was $22 at Publix but I do get a $5 mail-in rebate on that and since it beats the nearly $30 for the replacement head alone on the UltraMax, I'm thrilled.  So far, I've not found it at Walmart but when it hits there, it should be a bit cheaper.  I swear, I should be a product tester or something, shouldn't I?  ;-)  I'm not, though...I'm just me, always on a the hunt for things to make life easier and cheaper. This mop is amazing and I'd recommend it to anyone, no question.  It's the best mop I've ever had and I can't imagine anyone expecting or wanting more from one.  My once-beloved UltraMax is now the official utility room/emergency second mop.  And that?  Is something I never thought would happen.  For the record, I used Mistolin brand cleaner in Gardenia scent and it smells wonderful in here. Also, for the record, I should be in bed instead of writing this post.

They all look alike to me.

For a few days now I've been debating about talking about race, especially since it's all over the news right now.  When I read the story of the Greta Van Susteren's show's screw up , I decided it was time.  So, here's the deal...they screwed up and showed a picture of Shirley Sherrod during a segment about Maxine Waters.  It was a stupid as hell mistake but now the show and Fox News is being accused of being racially prejudiced by confusing pictures of the two.  The whole "they all look the same to me" deal that seems to get people all  twisty-butted is being dragged into it. Let's really look at statement and talk about it honestly, shall we?  I mean, completely independent of this particular stupid screw up, since, as a new agency, Fox should have been more careful.   That said, is there not a lot of truth to the whole "they all look alike to me" phenomenon?  I'll own it. When I look to identify people, I start with hair color/texture/style and race.  Show me a picture of  *frantically tries to think of someone recognizable* Madonna and put me in a room full of people to find her and I'm going to search the room for a head of blonde, wavy hair first.  In a room full of middle aged, attractive blonde women, my first instinct is going to be that they all look alike and I'm going to have to work a bit to find Madonna. What about you?  Put me in a room of Asian women and ask me to pick out Margaret Cho and I'm going to flounder for a bit even though I really like Margaret Cho.  I'm of mixed race but if you put me in a room of medium-skinned brunettes and asked me to point out my cousin Susan quickly, I could probably do it *only because I know her so well and having seen her so many times in my life, I'd know to look for her unusual eyebrows and jawline.  Ask me to find Soledad O'Brien and it's going to take me some time. I have a dear online friend who is a pale-skinned, freckled redhead approaching 40.  She's beautiful and I think the world of her but put her in a lineup of other 40-ish redheads with freckles and I can't promise I could pick her out at all.  So, let's go back to Greta's show...both of these women, Shirley Sherrod and Maxine Waters, are middle aged, reasonably attractive black women in the news and with no unusual features such as a huge nose, scars or crossed eyes to set them apart from one another.  Is it possible that they were confused due to physical attributes of their race, but not due to racial *prejudices, as is being implied?  Of course it is and those are two very different things.  Want proof?  Let's say two somewhat well known young actresses, Kristen Bell and Elisha Cuthbert, are in the news this next week.  If, say, Robin Roberts was telling the story about Elisha and flashed the picture of Kristen instead, do you think anyone would screech about it, call it racist?  Or was it just an honest but careless mistake?  Take a look.

Yep, they both look alike to me until I start really analyzing features and then I realize they don't look anything alike but for general hair color and general paleness of skin.   But here's the big question - would Robin have to go on and on and on about how horribly, horribly sorry she was for this mix-up?  You tell me.  I'm betting not.  But Greta did. 

And with this post, I start.  Buckle up.  :-D