Category Archives: Journal

This is pretty self explanatory. I’ll post personal things here or random stories.

Receiving Deliveries During Self-Isolation

The WILDCARD a.k.a. “The PHUK”

The Wildcard – Un Soupçon De Je Ne Sais Quoi
(A little bit of I Don’t Know What)
“The PHUK did I just taste?”

This is a concept I reference in my recipes and when I talk about cooking and wine. I often call it the WILDCARD flavor but Un Soupçon De Je Ne Sais Quoi is more douchey and works better for a blog. For brevity, I will refer to it in my posts as “The PHUK.” Yes, pronounce it like the F word. I spell it differently in my recipes so you fuckers don’t get your fucks all tied in fucking knots over it.

The concept came to me when I was learning about wine but could not identify a subtle flavor or scent. I could tell something was there but could not identify it. That is what gives great wine such great character. It’s just slightly too complex for the uninitiated brain. I would detect that scent and then say to my wife, “The PHUK?” As in, “What the phuk am I smelling?” It was this experience that pushed me to try bigger, bolder, and more complex wine. I was always trying to get my next PHUK fix. Simple wines became boring.

Learning about wine is very important for a cook. It will turn your nose and taste buds into advance chemical detectors. Once you learn to detect those “little bits of I don’t know what” your appreciation of high quality food, wine, beer, spirits, etc. will go through the roof. It can change how you cook as well. You can start to PHUK your own food!!!

Layering In Complexity

When I cook I will complete the dish as intended and then try to find some kind of WILDCARD flavor to add in order to PHUK with your brain. I want people to taste or smell that WILDCARD but not be able to identify it. It should enhance without overpowering. You should know SOMETHING is there but not know what the PHUK it is. The WILDCARD is always a pinch, a dash, or a splash. You’ll taste my food and suddenly think, “The PHUK did I just eat?” I’m adding in detail that you don’t notice, but your brain does.

Here are a few examples:

Standard Italian-American pizza sauce with a tiny amount of ground fennel seeds added.

A fire-grilled, dry-rubbed steak dusted lightly with fine ground espresso beans.

Scallops sautéed in butter and white wine with just a tiny splash of absinth or Pernod.

Homemade enchilada sauce with a pinch of cacao or coco powder.

Caesar dressing with just a few drops of balsamic added. Oooh! Or a sliver of fresh habanero pepper, if you dare.

A smidgeon of lemon or sugar in any dish to either brighten or fatten slightly for balance.

Remember, if your recipe is average…. PHUK it!

White Knight Syndrome

I think this is something I have dealt with most of my life and I am only now starting to see it so I can fix it. The hardest part is realizing that I’ve always thought of this behavior as being generous and “feminist” in a way. It’s not. The farther you go back in my life, the more selfish it was. I still do it today to some degree, always looking for a pat on the back or wanting someone to be impressed by me. I’m slowly shifting towards me doing things just because or for the joy of doing it. But still. I need to own this behavior.

The White Knight Syndrome essentially stems from two erroneous beliefs that all white knights have in common. Deep down, they believe that 1) it is imperative for them to be liked by all women and 2) they are not good enough to be liked by women as they are.

Thus, the White Knight Syndrome ensues, as sort of a coping mechanism.

The white knight craves female approval, attention and companionship, as well as sex, a romantic relationship and perhaps marriage. But he doesn’t believe that he can obtain these things by just being himself, because he thinks he’s not good enough.

He believes he has to do something special to cope with this predicament. And the something special he discovered is trying to save women from their troubles. It’s no wonder he is drawn to women who need saving like a fly to honey.

At some level he thinks that if he can find women who are weak or in dire need of help, and he will swiftly jump in to provide that help, he will get these women to like him and give him all that he craves from them. Without him openly asking for any of it.

Even though the white knight asks for nothing in return for the help he offers and he may seem to offer it out of pure kindness or morality, make no mistake about it: he has a personal agenda, which he keeps hidden (often so well even he’s not truly aware of it). He wants something from the women he helps. Sometimes it’s only something emotional such as their approval, other times it’s something more material.

Unfortunately, to the white knight’s utter surprise, instead of providing him what he wants from women, his behavior mostly generates steep negative consequences.

When I was 11 years old my father had since moved out. My brother was off drinking and doing drugs with his 15 year old friends. My mother, severely depressed and with lupus, was either at work or asleep that entire year. I ran the house in 1985. I cooked, cleaned, went shopping on my bicycle for groceries.

I think my White Knight Syndrome manifested as a sorta Freudian need to make my mom happy and have her acknowledge that I was one of the “good males” unlike my father and brother. To this day I feel this need to have women validate that I am a good man//husband, that I cook and clean, that I am attentive to women’s needs, etc. I am realizing that is a primary motivator for why I post so many videos of me cooking elaborate meals. The meal was good without advertising it to the world! I’m looking for praise, specifically from all the woman I know. I thi k I subconsciously am trying to get the attention of women who wish they had a man who is like me. I’m think I’m seeking a pat on the back and I’m just now realizing how totally disingenuous and self-indulgent this is.

I am improving as I get older. I feel more comfortable with myself and have the means to just be generous for generosity’s sake. By discovering and acknowledging my White Knight Syndrome tendancies, hopefully out outgrow them. Mostly, I still want to be the best man I can be but be mindful as to WHY and do it just for self improvement instead of validation.

And yes, part of me wants women to praise this blog post for showing that I am self-aware and can become a better man.

HA! #Irony

Oh well. Baby steps.

F**k ‘Em!

Doing stand up comedy in the beginning is strangely terrifying. Nothing is going to hurt you up there, but when you’re doing poorly the crowd feels your fear and they seem to amplify it with their reaction. They get uncomfortable and that makes you more self-conscious about a poor performance. It can take years for comic to reach that point where they stop caring about bombing. It’s like learning to ski or ice skate. You have to fall down in order to get over your fear of falling down.

On Sunday, July 10th in 2005 my improv troupe, The Sandbox Association, performed during half time for the NBA Summer League Game at Cox Pavilion in Las Vegas. There were at least 2000 rabid NBA fans there. Of the six people in our improv troupe, only three of us could be there. We did a game called “Sports Center.” This is how we described it on our website (seen in the screenshot above):

“The Sandbox asked for a simple everyday household activity and one basketball fan yelled ‘mopping’, and with the help of another audience volunteer the crowd witnessed the mock Olympic mopping competition narrated by none other than Sandbox newscasters.”

Many comedians I know remember the moment when they stopped being afraid to bomb. It’s usually some heckler they remember or a set when they did really well. For me it was this NBA halftime show. This was the single most brutal incident I’ve ever experienced performing in front of people going all the way back to doing stand up for the first time as a freshman in high school.

The fake sports mopping improv game started and I went to TOWN, Jack! I was all over that floor like a spastic. The kid who volunteered to “compete” against me looked at me as if I was insane and quickly walked off. The crowd did not just boo us, they were ANGRY booing. They got up in droves and fled to the concession stands. “YOU SUCK!!!”

I could hear and feel their anger. I wanted to perform harder to make them even more angry. That was the moment I stopped looking for validation from other people. Being on stage no longer frightened me.

It was a turning point in my life. Speeches, presentation, comedy, acting, playing music, doing anything before an audience does not phase me anymore. I don’t care how large the crowd or how unprepared I am. That event made me fearless.

The organizer of the event apologized and paid us. We left a bit shaken and glad it was over. My two troupe mates said to me, “Wow you really committed to that.” And I said, “Yeah, the harder they booed me the more I gave.” They asked me why.

“Why perform harder for people being that rude?”

“Because, fuck ‘em! I hope I ruined their whole goddamn week.”

Pol Roger: Sir Winston Churchill – 2002

In recent months, potential good fortune presented itself to Misty and me. Shortly after I left my job I immediately had interviews with Kronos, an HR systems company, for a fantastic pre-sales solutions consultant position. It had great pay, it was work from home, great place to work, and exactly the kind of job I want. I aced my interviews. They flew me to Indianapolis for the final test: an in-person presentation to the pre-sales team, which I nailed.

After eight years of seeing a neurologist for chronic daily headaches, Misty’s doc wanted her to have a lumbar puncture, a spinal tap. She was in a car wreck decades ago. Whiplash can wreak havoc on the skeleton. A previous MRI showed that Misty has bone spurs, disc problems, and a small syringomyelia in her spine. All of these things can cause problems with cerebrospinal fluid (CSF). If low pressure was measured during a lumbar puncture it would be a clear sign of a CSF leak. She has all the symptoms of spinal fluid hypotension. We were very excited because if confirmed, a CSF leak is curable. She’d finally have an end to her headaches.

On March 28 I arrived home from Indianapolis fully confident I would get that job. I’ve never had a job interview go better. The hiring manager seemed proud of me. She gave me advice after the virtual presentation I gave her the week prior. My improved presentation impressed her. The people in my final interview gave me nothing but overwhelmingly positive feedback and they acted as if we’d all see each other again. I left Indianapolis feeling on top of the world, convinced I was about to get a fabulous new job with a large jump in pay. I was so confident that I stopped at Total Wine and Spirits on the way home, hours before Misty got off work, and dropped over $200 for a vintage bottle of 2002 Pol Roger Winston Churchill champagne.

I tasted the non vintage Pol Roger at a Vino Volo shop at the Portland airport and was completely blown away by how gorgeous it tasted as the waitress informed me that it was Churchill’s favorite champagne. To be honest, the bottle was $240 but I had a 20% off coupon for Easter. It would have been crazy NOT to buy it with that kind of savings!!! I am not one to be overly optimistic as I usually prepare for the worst. Standing in that wine shop with that expensive champagne, I heard that little voice in my head tell me not to count my chickens until they are hatched. I told that voice to piss off. I got home before Misty got off work and I hid the bottle with the plan to surprise her once I had the job offer in hand.

Today I drove Misty to get her lumbar puncture. She had been worried about how much it would hurt and thankfully she said it wasn’t bad. After her procedure she came out into the waiting room with her eyes floating and shaking her head. “Nope. Normal pressure.”

She cried off and on for a few hours feeling that this was the last chance to fix her headaches. I did research and found that normal CSF pressure does not rule out a CSF leak. They drew CS fluid and will test it for further signs of a leak like white blood cells, proteins, and some other things. This is not over, but today Misty felt defeated, hopeless.

This is common knowledge by now but I did not get that job at Kronos. I felt like a schmuck for spending $200 on a bottle of champagne before I got the news. I kept it hidden, figuring I would hold it for when I do finally get a job. Last night, on the eve of Misty’s lumbar puncture, I decided to surprise Misty and pop that bottle of Pol Roger in the event that she came back positive for a CSF leak. We got back from her test with the reality of normal CSF pressure. I already mentioned that her results so far do not rule out a CSF leak, but it’s discouraging. Low pressure would have been conclusive today and a great reason to celebrate, knowing her headaches will be cured soon.

I try to stay in the moment in life and I try to remain in a good mood but I anticipate the worst so I am not disappointed. Optimism can really set you up for horrible disappointment. It’s hard to remain positive, yet practical, and be persistent in spite of many let downs. This is especially the case with Misty who has endured more than eight years of constant daily headaches with no end in sight. That is why I am generally pessimistic about things. Yet, for some reason I went in the opposite direction with my Kronos interview and with Misty’s lumbar puncture. I threw caution to the wind and splurged on an expensive indulgence. After so many disappointments , that champagne remained in my house having outlived its original objective.

After we got home today, Misty asked me to please stop talking about CSF leaks and just let her watch TV while she recovers from the back pain caused by this procedure. She will push forward and keep seeking answers on her head pain, but today she earned the right to be in a bad mood. Meanwhile, I’ve been looking for work in the best job market in 18 years and nobody is calling me. I’m frustrated and time is running out for me, financially.

A few hours ago I went into our wine fridge and pulled out the bottle of Pol Roger that Misty didn’t know was there.

“I bought this right after my final Kronos interview. When I didn’t get that, I figured we would have it when I got some other job. Last night I decided I would surprise you today once you tested positive for low CSF pressure. This bottle was supposed to be for a celebration, but I think we should drink it tonight.”


“Because. Fuck ‘em!”

“No, we should save a champagne like this for a special occasion, like your birthday! Or when you get a job.”

“No. Let’s have it tonight. Carpe diem, rock out with your cock out, YOLO, and all that other bullshit. Good champagne doesn’t need a special occasion. It just needs to be chilled. If you need a reason to celebrate then we’ll toast to each other and then toast to the puppyheads.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

(Solo: A Star Wars Story. In theaters May 25!)

Make Me Laugh

[Caution. Another Robin Williams post. Well, more like a self-indulgent, self-reflection. I needed to vent some emotions. If anyone finds this post interesting, that is a bonus.]


I have an old video from 1995 the week of my 21st birthday hanging out with high school friends at the Denny’s near my high school. It was a year after I moved to Texas. The video makes me cringe because I remember sitting there desperate to make those people laugh. Deep down I knew that chapter was over and that I had to move on.



Back in Texas that summer, my step father (at the time) was planning to kill himself. We later found out that he took the gun out of his mouth because our dog, Muffy, could sense he was not OK and would not leave him alone. He waited a few more months until my mother was away on a trip, packed up his belongings, and left. I came home from work and found his note. My mother eventually tracked him down and he sorta got his life in order after that. But he drastically altered the direction of my life and helped set the stage for my own depression.

I had to quit school and go to work full time. My step-father was gone long enough for his business and his finances to collapse. My parents sold their home and left Texas after declaring bankruptcy. Soon I would be living alone in a roach infested cinder-block efficiency apartment, two blocks from a school I could not afford to attend. 1996 was the first year I really experienced depression. The only girl I had ever loved (up until then) lived in another state and got a new boyfriend. My job paid $6.50 an hour, barely keeping me afloat. I could not afford to repair my decrepit car. I had no new friends and my high school friends did not live near enough to see regularly. I turned 22 that June and had lost my path forward. I was miserable. On top of this I had major brain oxygen deprivation as I slept thanks to a deviated septum that would not be diagnosed or repaired for another 14 years. Did I mention I had no medical insurance at the time either?

I remember driving home after work one day and all the cars on I-35 were pulled over. People were taking shelter from a massive shelf cloud and responding to the sirens warning of the tornado. I drove right into it. I wanted to get home and sleep, which thankfully was my drug of choice back then. I never considered suicide as a serious option ever in my life, but that night I kinda wanted the tornado to take me out. I just didn’t care. It wasn’t until visiting Denton, TX after Misty and I got engaged in 2006 that I realized I lived with a constant pit in my stomach the entire time I lived there from 1996-1999. It isn’t until that dread was gone that I could see I had been in a state of constant, daily fear. At the time it was just my normal. The first ten months of 1996 was just abnormally bad.

I owe much thanks to Troy, a high school friend, who moved to Denton in the fall of 1996. But there was a bright moment that summer. I ran into my future wife at the grocery store. She was shopping with her fiance and she said hello, remembering me from fall marching band, 1994. Being a shy person, I didn’t know how to make friends easily. I spent decades working at being social. Once I do become friends with you, I will be a great friend (as long as you are willing to put up with my dark side). I had a tight group of great friends in high school, but that was after being stuck in the same school together for four years. Which brings me back to Denny’s 1995.

I have video of myself sitting around a table at the Roseville Denny’s, desperately trying to be funny for my old high school friends. I was clinging to a time when I was voted class clown; when I was the only guy ever to do stand-up comedy in my high school; when I had a group of close friends. The video makes me cringe because there is so much desperation in what I am trying to do at that table in Denny’s. That video was shot before I knew my step-father was suicidal, but I look back to that trip and realize I was already a little lost.



I think my sadness started when all my high school friends went off to college and I stayed behind not knowing what the hell I was going to do. Two years later I got into college only to quit after my step-dad went tits up. I got back in again for a year and a half only to quit again for financial reasons. Got a better job, got back into school, and quit school again when the job ended. Eventually I landed an amazing job in San Francisco. Laid off. Another amazing job in Sacramento. Laid off. Which brings me to 2003. Once again I was alone, financially compromised, and very depressed having no clue what to do next. This constant negative state of mind starts to alter your brain chemistry. And I am one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to deal with serious manic depression. I just had a shitty decade. I know what depression feels like but I have NO CLUE what it feels like for someone with lifelong clinical depression. I am so disgusted with the Twitter psychologists who say, “Well why didn’t Robin Williams just do such and such?”  Or that scumbag Rush Limbaugh who said liberalism killed Robin Williams. Fuck you, Rush.

Depression isn’t about being sad. It is a chemical state of the mind. My depression peaked in 1996. I experienced it again in 2003 after two layoffs derailed the beginnings of a great career that, at the time, let me briefly experience a good life. My depression, as bad as it might have been for me, was never close to what my step-father experienced, or Robin Williams, or other family members of mine who have been diagnosed with clinical depression. But I understand it more than most. I am really sick of reading these scumbags on the internet say, “Well why didn’t Robin get help?” He did, Asshole! For decades.

Imagine you are in a car accident, you are unharmed, but the person next to you says, “Hey, you’re not hurt! The accident is over. Snap out of it, Stupid!” You would punch that idiot in the mouth because your brain is saturated with chemicals that override all logic. Imagine being pumped full of adrenaline 24 hours a day for years. Now imagine instead of agitating you, making your mind alert, and your body ready for action… imagine if it did the exact opposite.

You can no more shake off “the sad” than you can shake off the adrenaline after you’ve been in a nasty car accident. It feels like you are falling into a bottomless pit. I was so disconnected at times when I was depressed that I found myself standing in a random aisle at the supermarket staring off into nowhere. Suddenly I would look around and think, “How long have I been standing here?”  Even in the case of treatable, mild depression, a person may take a year to fully snap out of it.  Robin Williams was bipolar for his whole life.

There is another connection I feel to Robin Williams. I have always been the clown and others have often said I reminded them of him. It is a huge compliment and I have always taken it to mean people find me funny. But the comparison runs deeper. We both have a dark side. Granted, I am a very light, mild, less intense, non-famous, mediocre version of him who is likely to never accomplish 1% of what he did in his life. That is probably why I’m stable. As a “funnyman”, when I am feeling down my instinct is to run away and hide so that I don’t depress others who are used to being entertained by me. I tend to only REALLY share innermost feelings with friends I really trust. I am not alone. Most stand up comics I have known, and I’ve known a ton, are just as twisted an messed up in the brain as me. We tend to be bipolar by nature. It’s both a gift and a curse sometimes. It can drive us to create and inspire us to feel and express. At an early age, most comics turned to comedy for help. Laughter is both our superpower and our kryptonite.

There are times when I have felt that not getting a laugh was akin to rejection. It is no surprise I did the most stage time at comedy clubs during the years 1996 and 2003 when I was the most depressed. Laughter is approval to us clowns. That is especially powerful when you are young and very insecure. I escaped constant belittling and ridicule from my brother by going to school and making my friends laugh. At home I was mocked and marginalized, seeking solitude to escape into my own world. Around my friends I was validated. Laughter is how I overcame shyness and got others to notice me. I once made my friend Greg laugh so hard in the first grade that he fell off the jungle gym and knocked the wind out of himself and kept laughing. That power is intoxicating. Especially for someone who felt insecure and repressed.

The problem with being the clown is that you can uplift the world but they don’t always reciprocate. In my case, I was there to uplift those at school, work, or home. But what about when I needed uplifting? I remember in the peak of my 2003 misery, my corporate Kinko’s job ended and I had to work the remaining several months at a Kinko’s branch. The manager thanked me for always making our assistant manager laugh. She had a rough life and I would come into work singing “Hold Me Closer Tony Danza” along with the radio. In the middle of of my own depression I took small hits of joy by making others laugh.

There are many other examples in my life when I have been really down, had no energy whatsoever to be funny, and others got mad at me for not making THEM feel better. Some would say that they relied on my silliness to get them through the day. Well pardon the hell out of me if I have a bad day, let alone bad year.  That is when you see who your real friends are. The ones who stick with you when you are so miserable that you lash out at the world. Your real friends  see you act like an arrogant jackoff and can tell that it’s all an act. They can tell when you are just ranting, knowing that the bitterness in your humor is mostly a defense mechanism. They put up with your bile for a few minutes and then disarm you completely with a few compassionate words. I guarantee you that if you are a good friend of mine and I have ever been hurtful to you, I was wounded at the time.

I have never been this happy and content in my life, partly thanks to my situation. I married my best friend, life is great, my dogs are wonderful, career is moving forward, etc. But I also know what misery feels like. The contrast between misery and joy helps you fully appreciate the two states. My happiness today made me realize how miserable I was in the past. It might be no surprise that the last time I did stand-up comedy was the few months before Misty moved in with me. People say it all the time and don’t mean it, but Misty honestly is the best thing to ever happen to me. There is one happy ending to my step-father and all his misery. His mental instability, and desire to flee when things get tough, is why my parents moved to Texas in the first place. If they had not moved there I would never have applied to the University of North Texas. Who was the very first student I met in college?  Misty.

To quote Tom Hanks in that film where he was marooned on an island full of FedEx product placements:  “You never know what the tide will bring you.”

What is the point of this post? I don’t know. Introspection? Self indulgence? Therapy? All of the above, I suppose. At the end of the day we are each the captain of of our own ships and it is a good idea to dock often and check our hull for holes. My ship is in great shape right now. But you never know what the tide will bring you.

My friend Clark killed himself several years ago the day after we all went and saw Doug Stanhope. He suffered from chronic pain and decided to check out. Clark waited a few extra days so he could see his favorite comic one last time. I am glad I was one of few who got to be with him at that comedy show the night before. I was fairly stoic about his death and I empathized with his choice, especially in the context of his chronic pain. Other than my former step father, a few other family members made suicide attempts. For the sake of privacy I won’t mention them directly.

The suicide of Robin Williams reminded me of so many of my own experiences in dealing with my own depression, being a comedian, and people I love trying to kill themselves. I generally don’t react when a celebrity dies. Losing George Carlin was hard for me, but he had a long history of heart disease and his fifth heart attack was inevitable. I was very stoic about Robin Williams at first. I didn’t start to be reflective about his death until I saw this online. The quote is from The Watchmen, but  in the context of the Robin Williams suicide,  plus this image of him…

It just wrecked me.


Wrong Number, errr… Email

Two years ago a Realtor in Seattle named Chris Robertson put up a website that incorrectly listed his email domain as I started getting dozens of his emails daily and contacted him every week to politely remind him to change it. At first he thanked me and apologized for the inconvenience. A few weeks, later he stopped taking my phone calls but never fixed the issue, which seriously pissed me off.

I decided to have some fun at his expense:


From: melissa c*****
To: chris@
Sent: Sun, June 27, 2010 9:05:33 PM
Subject: Hi Chris!

Hi Chris,
Hope you are doing well. We met when I was with my kids in the ferry line heading over to Seattle from Vashon. I am the one that had the emergency aortic dissection / emergency open heart surgery that moved here with my husband (the chiropractor) from Sonoma about 8 months ago :). We spoke a bit on the ferry & I had also mentioned the documentary I am working on: Project Censored…we’re starting back up again with the editing in about a week or so.

Just wanted to say hello. Mike will finally be up here on Vashon full-time after his last week working down in the Bay Area next week. I came across your card and wanted to send along our contact info.

P.S. We never did get a chance to visit the baby goats. If you hear of any more let us know. Logan & Meriel would love to visit some local farm animals. Also looking forward to meeting your wife.

Best regards,
206-408-#### home


From: Chris R. Robinson
From: melissa c*****
Sent: Mon, 28 Jun 2010 07:16:13 -0000 (UTC)
Subject: Re: Hi Chris!
It was great meeting you.  I am very happy you replied.
Let me be frank. My wife and I are swingers. Would you and your husband be interested in a four way? I know it is upfront, but I thought I should just be honest with you.
Seriously. Think about it.


From: melissa c*****
To: Chris R. Robinson <chris@ch..
Sent: Mon, June 28, 2010 9:55:19 AM
Subject: Re: Hi Chris!

Hi Chris,
Thanks for your reply. Hope you both are enjoying the summer…it took awhile to arrive.

My husband and I are not swingers & are not interested – the only swinging we do is pushing the kids on the swings at Ober Park :). Thanks for being upfront. I’m from NY & appreciate your honesty.

Enjoy the sun,

From: Chris R. Robinson
From: melissa c*****
Sent: Monday, June 28, 2010 10:17 AM
Subject: Re: Hi Chris!

Hi Melissa.

Do me one last favor. Check the card that was given to you, the one where you got this email address. Make sure next time that you type in the correct email.
My guess is that you intended to type or chrisroberTson.
You and I did not meet. I am a comedian living in Las Vegas.
Enjoy your summer and good luck finding the Chris you met in Seattle.





From: Felicia H—–
Sent: Tuesday, June 29, 2010 10:38 AM
Subject: Agent Assistant Book Info


I have ordered the assitant book you requested. It is called The Proffesional Assistant By Monica Reynolds. I will give you call when it comes in. In the mean time you can research it online and see if it is something you would be interested in.

Have a good day

From: Chris Robinson
Sent: Tuesday, June 29, 2010 12:48 PM
To: Felicia H—–
Subject: RE: Agent Assistant Book Info

Its about fucking time!

From: Felicia H—–
Sent: Tuesday, June 29, 2010 1:31 PM
Subject: RE: Agent Assistant Book Info

Wow…. I apologize if there was any inconvenience in my getting back to you, as you know I am in an office by myself and yesterday after you left, I had a hard time getting a hold of the lady who places my orders, as she was out of the office sick. I had to email her and was waiting on a response.

From: Chris R. Robinson
Sent: Tuesday, June 29, 2010 1:22 PM
To: Felicia H——
Subject: Re: Agent Assistant Book Info

Can you locate this book for me next?

From: Tyanna F—-
To: Felicia H—-
Sent: Tue, June 29, 2010 1:50:48 PM
Subject: FW: Agent Assistant Book Info
Hello Felicia,

Please order The Professional Assistant book for agent Chris Robinson Lag #14465 and give him a call once it comes in. He will come into your office to take a look at the book to make sure it is the one he is looking for. Please disregard the request for the midget book; I am sure the agent knows we do not carry such books in our Member Service Store.

If you have any questions or concerns please contact me.

Thank you for all of your help in locating this book, I truly appreciate it!

Tyanna F—-

From: Chris R. Robinson
Sent: Tuesday, June 29, 2010 2:02 PM
To: Tyanna F—–; Felicia H—–
Cc: Tyanna F—–
Subject: Re: Agent Assistant Book Info

No midget books? Are you shittin’ me? What am I supposed to masturbate to, fucking Cat Fancy? You carry any “Chicks with Dicks” books?

From: Tyanna F—–
To: Chris R. Robinson
Cc: Felicia H—–; Monica B—–
Sent: Tue, June 29, 2010 3:29:36 PM
Subject: RE: Agent Assistant Book Info
Mr. Robinson –

I am copying your broker, David —- and -*****’s legal counsel, Chris O—–, on this e-mail.  ***** considers your below e-mail harassment.  When your book arrives, we will mail it to you and charge your ***** account.

Please do not contact anyone at our ***** Office again.

Tyanna F—-
Office Manager

From: Chris R. Robinson
Sent: Tuesday, June 29, 2010 8:08 PM
Subject: Re: Agent Assistant Book Info

I have no idea who you are, what you do or where you are located. I have never met you or any of your associates. In fact, I looked you up and I don’t even live in your state.

I am certain you have the wrong email address.

Thanks for playin’!

After these, I stopped getting emails from Seattle.

High School Reunion Group Page

I unsubscribed from my high school reunion page weeks ago. I still read over it once a week for the same reason people rubber-neck on the highway after a Barnum and Bailey clown car collides with a truck carrying live chickens. It’s a disaster, yet so fun to watch.

I removed myself from the group because I could feel that old adolescent desire to be accepted and admired creeping back up from the bowels of my psyche and I didn’t like it. I checked my urge to tell everyone how “well” I am doing and instead just read over what others posted about themselves. I’m glad I did. It’s a big ME ME ME Festival among my classmates. It reminds me of when someone is talking and the other people are so obsessed with thinking up a good response that they never listen to what the person speaking says.

Here are the broken record posts:

-I have an amazing job
-I have seen the entire world
-I have the most amazing children. 3-4 on average.
-I am into hobbies or activities that all of you should envy.

I see very little about people’s spouses or if they are happy, in love, or if they have found joy in simple things. So much talk about what their children are doing rather than HOW their children are doing. I would be much more interested to read about the adversity experienced in the last 20 years. What have you overcome? What challenges did you face? Those are the things that make you interesting and human. I only see how “picture perfect” you all are and its a lie. I don’t care about your house, car, boat, vacations, retirement funds, investments, or how accomplished your children are at sports or school. Who cares? Tell me how you got through the divorce or how difficult it was when your parent died. Those stories will tap instantly into my heart and fill me with empathy.

Whatever. I guess it’s my turn to brag about my life.

-My job pays the bills.
-My car starts and gets me where I need to go.
-I have adequate shelter.
-I’m in good health.
-I have lots of hobbies and interests.

Those are all distractions from my real joy. The quickest way for me to summarize how my life is right now is to show you this video. This video contains a snapshot of everything that is perfect and wonderful about my life today.

Chris Russell Robinson’s Midge-Poultry-Flatus Conversation Digression Effect

If you engage in a conversation with Chris Russell Robinson for a long enough duration, eventually he will eventually mention midgets, chickens, or farts.

Happy Anniversary… mostly

Today we have been legally married for three years. Yay! But that day was for our friends and family. In reality it was January 14th, 2006 when I woke up knowing that I was totally in love with you. It was Jan. 15th, 2006 when we spoke on the phone and spoke as if marriage was inevitable. Neither of us had to propose. It was just so obvious to the both of us. That was the day we married in my mind and heart. 5 years, 2 months ago. But we legally married on this date. Great excuse for some champagne tonight!