Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Unwelcome, Unexpected Guest Arrives

Good Wednesday morning folks.  You've been reading about my attempt at a long weekend.  Keep in mind, you are reading about last week, not this week.  Although, we're getting to that.

So, when Mom finally returned on Thursday to take over Dad-sitting, I headed back to the farm.  I decided to stay at the farm Thursday night instead of going to Bart's.  One or two nights a week, I'm usually at Bart's house.  But, Bart's dog, Pip, keeps me awake, as you know.

I was in desperate need of sleep.  If Pip woke me up, I couldn't promise what I'd do.  So, for everyone's sake, I stayed at the farm.

I called Bart at work Friday morning.  We had talked about going to lunch on Friday.  He was unusually bright and cheerful.  Of course we'd go to lunch.  Blah, blah, blah.  Good cheer every where.  What's going on?

Then, he got to it.  "There's someone in town and you're not going to be very happy about it."  Uh-oh.  It had to be his old college roommate, Robby.

I asked, "Is Robby coming to town?"

"In town.  He showed up on my front steps this morning."

Turns out, Bart thought Robby was coming to town next weekend.  But, Robby talks about doing a lot of things that never happen.  Bart doesn't take him seriously.

Even if he did take him seriously, Robby was a week early.  And, because Bart didn't believe Robby would show up from four states away, I was uninformed.  Bart was right.  I didn't like it.

Robby was here just in time to screw-up my weekend.  I just had a screwed-up weekend last weekend, remember? Freezing cold and raining at the beach.  I needed rest and relaxation with Bart, not Robby.

Robby is crazy, and not in a good way.  Robby thinks he has life all figured out, all evidence to the contrary.  Robby's life is a mess, much like Robby himself.

He never married.  He never had children.  He hasn't had a relationship in at least 40 years.  He doesn't even have pets, never has. He doesn't work.  He took "early retirement" five or six years ago, I think.  Finally, Bart says he's always been this way...strange, weird, whatever you want to call him.

He doesn't have any close friends where he lives.  He meets people on the internet.  He keeps in touch with people from his past.  Then, he shows up at their houses unannounced and planning to stay.  Yes, the internet people, too.  He showed-up at some couple's house in Florida a few years ago.  Needless to say, they did not let him stay.

This happens about once a year at Bart's house.  Robby shows-up.  Robby stays.

Robby never stays for less than three weeks.  Robby doesn't have any money for a motel or food or gas.  So, Robby becomes Bart's very large 300+ lb. foster child for the duration.

Robby is likely a genius on the IQ scale.  In life, Robby is a dud.  He's brash and talkative.  He has a lot of issues that explain the "no relationship, no friendship, no job" problems.

As determined as I was to be understanding of his many troubles, he was more determined to make me not like him.  He succeeded.  He is one of the weirdest, rudest people I've ever met.  I am not alone in my assessment.

A few years ago, Robby managed to freak-out Cowgirl Slim, too.  He told her how to make leprechaun turds, basically.  He suggested she follow this recipe, go to a public place, use the bathroom, but don't flush, and everyone will think a leprechaun has been there!

Slim looked mortified.  As I led my then-12 year old barn baby away, Bart patted his arm and said, "That's enough Robby.  That's enough." Robby was giggling to himself, not understanding why the rest of us were so horrified at his comments to a 12 year old girl upon their first introduction.

Among Robby's many troubles are:  incontinence, so he's prematurely in diapers; narcolepsy--you know when people just fall asleep suddenly; lack of personal hygiene--meaning he doesn't bathe in winter; lack of money; and lack of social skills. He's also a hoarder.  He hoards to the point Bart goes to Robby's house once a year and clears a path for him.  There are probably a few undiagnosed mental illnesses in there, too.  I know I can think of a few. Are you starting to see why Bart knew I'd be unhappy about Robby's arrival?

Robby's assessment of me is that I'm uptight and I don't understand animals.  I should have let the dogs maul him when I had the chance.  But, no, I called them off of him--or rather him off of them.

A few years ago Bart brought Robby to the farm. I thought Robby couldn't possibly be as bad as Bart described. Sure. Bring him along. It was the same day as the incident with poor, flabbergasted Cowgirl Slim. Robby was exactly as bad as Bart had described--maybe worse.

That day, he kept coming towards my guard dogs, Coffee and Killer. He kept heading for them despite my warnings and their fierce barking.  He started getting down in their faces.  I finally spoke strongly and loudly, "No! Stop! You are going to get hurt!"

He stomped off to find Bart and delivered his assessment of me...uptight and doesn't understand animals.  Yeah, right, Robby.  You know everything.  You know it all, buddy.  Despite the state of your life, you have the answers.

Good Lord, help me!  Every encounter I've had with Robby has been about like that.  And now, I'm in need of a vacation, and Robby is here.  The bastard.

Geez!  What's happening? Did I take a wrong turn and fall down the rabbit hole like Alice in Wonderland?

There is now a virtual force field around Bart's house that will insure I will not be visiting until Robby leaves.  Between Robby and Pip, well, can you imagine a more unpleasant place to be?

Even Bart isn't happy, but he won't leave them there together overnight.  Why?  He says he worried about Pip's well being or that Robby might set the house on fire with the toaster.

I tell you what...let's think now...what if Robby puts Pip in the toaster, sets the house on fire, and they both get in the reincarnation line and try again?  How's that for a possible solution?  See, I told you, I need a vacation.

Ok, that's it for now folks.  I'll let you know if Robby ever leaves.  Needless to say, he won't be coming to the farm again.  Telling a 12 year old girl how to make leprechaun turds and not to flush the toilet.  Pervert. Wonder if I could arrange for him to be locked up somewhere long term?

But, you think about what I've told you and ask, "Didn't you say he's narcoleptic?  Should he be driving?  Can you warn us when he leaves? Will you tell us the route he'll be taking please?"

Yes, friends.  Those are all valid concerns.  There's a story there, too, from 2009.  I'll tell you tomorrow.

Thanks for reading about all of the strange people who cross my path at the farm.  I hope you're getting some laughs out of it, too.

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